Blog

Christmas 2022 fell on a Sunday. And while that isn’t especially remarkable, several people highlighted that the next time Christmas would fall on a Sunday is 2033. Gracious, how different our lives will be by then.

When that Sunday rolls around, my son will be 22, and my daughter, 18. Pending all of the hopeful/traditional things occurring, my husband and I will be empty nesters, edging towards retirement, intentionally transitioning into all the things the back half of life holds.

What brought this reflection back with roaring clarity was the news we heard today. A dear friend, diagnosed with cancer only three weeks ago, has already passed away. The whiplash of this reminded me afresh, we are guaranteed nothing beyond the very breath we are taking. And, I want to make sure we’re living that way. Thankfully, the Christmas of 2022 already started that process.

Following all the discussion that year about how different life will be when Christmas again falls on a Sunday, our family made a small but poignant change. On the dry-erase board in our kitchen, where information changes regularly, one thing remains the same. It reads, “Ten years from now…” and our future ages: Us in our 50s, kids in their late teens and early 20s. It will be here before we know it.

For that reason, it serves as a reminder, a touchstone, and a guide to ask questions like this:

• Ten years from now, what vacations do we want to have taken with our children?
• Ten years from now, how will we want to have spent time with our parents?
• Ten years from now, will it matter that we did this extra activity?
• Ten years from now, would that job opportunity be a good choice?
• Ten years from now…will this matter? Will that matter? What really matters?

Ten years from now…

Such a simple reframe and yet, whenever we follow that answer, it is almost always the most satisfying solution because it helps us align with our deepest values.

Whether it’s ten minutes, ten days, or ten years from now, I want so very much to be living true to what really matters in the great big scheme of it all because we only get one opportunity at this thing called life. May we do it well.

*Oh, and hey Ryan, we miss you buddy. Sure wish we had another 10 years. You were one of the really good ones.

Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash, used with permission.

Check out more of Anne’s mental health and faith content on her blog, in her Bible studies, and through speaking engagements!

Recently, outside of a closed bathroom door, I became keenly aware of something. Arms extended up the trim, leaning forward, I was talking with my daughter when it occurred to me, “I seem to be in this position a lot lately.”

If I remember clearly, the conversation that morning was about an earring issue because the whole wearing earrings thing is fairly new. But, on other mornings it has been a hair issue, an outfit issue, a tummy-doesn’t-feel-good issue, or something else not necessarily new but, my location is.

Because, instead of being inside the door to solve the problem, I’m outside. And, I’m trying to figure out how I feel about that.

To be clear, this burgeoning young lady isn’t refusing to open the door. Instead, she is saying things like:

“I want to do it myself.”
“I want to try on my own.”
“Can you just tell me what to do?”

It’s the voice of independence I have prayed for, with both of my children. However, I also grieve when it manifests in real-life words, behaviors, and attitudes.

Maybe that’s what makes it hurt a little bit more. I’ve done this to myself.

• Like the first time you read a book on your own.
• And when I stopped dressing you.
• When you jumped out of the car and didn’t look back.
• And when you spent the night. And, I didn’t get a call to come get you.

To all the Moms who have gone through this journey (or are going through it now) to the other side of the door, the other side of the text, the other side of the state, or even the other side of the world, it is both beautiful and hard to exist in this space.

And, it’s necessary.

We desperately want children who practice solving their own problems. We want young adults who say, “Teach me how to do it myself.” We want kids who know how to ask for help but also get excited when they can do more, and more, and more…all on their own.

Because, what we ultimately want, is to work ourselves out of a “job” and into life-long healthy, secure relationships with our precious kiddos.

So, as much as it hurts a little with each step you take, press on independent girl.

And, should you need me, I’ll be right here on the other side of the door.

Photo by Super Snapper on Unsplash

Check out more of Anne’s mental health and faith content on her blog, in her Bible studies, and through speaking engagements!

Welcome, dear reader, to a quick reflection on “garage sale season” and the unexpected ways it can help us love, serve, and honor one another.

Oddly, garage sales are one of the only times in modern society when people will just “show up” at your home. Depending on your set-up, they are not just in front of your house but likely in your driveway, garage, or even inside. It is a socially intimate stretch for the garage sale-er and the garage sale-ee to exist together within the physical, emotional, and psychological space normally reserved for family and friends.

Having done only a few garage sales myself, I am always surprised by the number of people who come not only to shop, but to talk. Making their way around, they don’t just ask about prices. They also sometimes ask about the purpose and history of items or offer what memories they brought up for them. Specifically, I want to share about two people I’ve met over the years. We’ll call them Mike and Carol.

Mike, a thin gentleman in his 60’s, inquired about a yellow bike. He shared that he had recently lost over eighty pounds following gastric bypass surgery and hoped to continue his health journey. Then, pausing briefly and tearing up, he also mentioned it looked like his Dad’s bike, and he missed him very much. It was so neat to hear his story, congratulate him, and offer comfort for his Dad’s memory. He walked that bike to his car with a smile.

Carol, a grandma, was definitely not the typical grandma’s age. She looked, patiently searching for toys and books for her seven grandchildren. Of the seven, she shared that only one was biologically related. Even so, she had recently taken all of them in to help support her now-sober, degree-seeking daughter-in-law after a tough start in life. She was clearly proud of them and there was no suggestion of a burden. I was touched by her generosity and helping her love them with “stuff” we didn’t need anymore.

In addition to the exchanges from that day, I’ve also enjoyed some items and stories from garage sales. Things like baby items for my son after learning I was pregnant. Fifty-cent toys for nieces and nephews who then heard about “who used to use that toy.” And, the “big kid bike” conversation because the seller’s kid was now past the stage mine was entering. In short, all of it was more than a transfer of goods. It was the honoring of one another’s journeys.

So, as the days grow warm and neighborhood garage sale days arrive, let us not go out “just because.” Instead, may we enter those driveways and welcome people to ours with intention. Whatever items we are done with not only leaves us with “stuff” to offer but also stories—and maybe even some wisdom and love to pass along.

It is in this exchange of connection, not simply things, where the hidden ministry in garage sales is found. May we keep our eyes open for the deals—and the opportunities.

Photo by Charisse Kenion, used with permission

Originally posted March 24, 2022. Updated for freshness & clarity.

Holy Week is so interesting. I don’t mean to sound cheesy but, as someone who did not have a liturgical church upbringing, I find the traditions of this week fascinating to learn as an adult. For example, my husband was raised in a Lutheran Church and speaks affectionately about the tradition and intentionality around Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and, Easter Sunday. Of these, the one I have come to find particularly meaningful is the Good Friday service.

In this tradition and many others, that service ends with a “strepitus.” Certainly a new word to my vocabulary, strepitus is Latin for “great noise.” At the end of the service, the lights dim, and someone will slam a book, create “thunder” via a sheet of metal, scrape a bench across the floor, or use some other means to create a racket. The reference for the noise seems to vary, with some using it as a representation of the earthquake after Christ’s death and others as a way to mimic the closing of the tomb. Regardless, the strepitus symbolizes the finality of His death and the work He did on the cross.

It is a fitting and thunderous echo of the power of His final words, “It is finished.”

As I considered how we can prepare for Easter, the thought of that noise brought an image to my mind. Darn if God didn’t shut that tomb tight, yet we can’t resist knocking on it.

Please forgive the potential irreverence, but with the urgency of a child standing outside the bathroom door, sometimes we can’t seem to leave Jesus alone. We find ourselves panicked and worried that He has something we need in there while He is just telling us to leave Him alone and let Him do His business.

Us: Hey! Hey Jesus! Hey! I need something in there!

J: No, you don’t. I’ve given you everything you need and I know what I am doing in here.

Us: But Jesus I NEEEEED something in there.

J: Hey, would you trust me? Anything I brought in here with me you do not need.

Us: But, but, Jesus, please?! Could you please open up the door and get me…

The shame I think I’m supposed to keep carrying?
The mistake I made all those years ago?
The insecurity you freed me from?
That thing you told me “no” about?
The opportunity I want but you protected me from?
That habit that gives me comfort but takes me further from You?
The old opinion I used to have of myself?
The mistaken opinions others have of me?
The works I think make me worthy of Your love?
The pride I have in my own abilities?

J: No my child. You are not supposed to take any of that stuff back. Those things are why I am here. Please leave it here with Me.

My goodness.

For all that is Holy (literally), we have to quit banging on that tomb and trying to drag stuff back out. The ONLY thing that was ever supposed to come back out of that dark space was Him. We have to stop trying to resurrect all that other stuff He took in there to die. He took it because He loves us. He took it because He wanted to carry it for us. He took it and He took it for keeps.

I pray each of you experiences a sweeter and deeper Easter than any you have known before. And, no matter where you are or how you celebrate on Good Friday I hope you will take a moment, hand Him your stuff, and let Him shut the door.

It. Is. Finished.

*Originally published 4/15/2019, updated for freshness and clarity.

Check out more of Anne’s mental health and faith content on her blog, in her Bible studies, and through speaking engagements!

I love Holy Week. And, somehow, I think I love it more because I didn’t grow up in church. Until I became a Christian at sixteen, Easter was simply the fun of a new dress, searching for my basket, and gathering eggs at my grandmother’s house. I do so appreciate the memories of those early days.

Later, after I married, I had the additional privilege of getting to know Easter not just as Resurrection Sunday, but also as a week full of celebrations per my husband’s Lutheran upbringing. Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday, they were all new to me. It was neat to add those extra days of understanding, sweetening the crescendo up to a victorious Easter celebration.

Unsurprisingly, a lot happened on those less “famous” days of Holy Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday. As a light appetizer, I’ll offer just a little here. Scholars suggest on Monday Jesus cleared the temple. On Tuesday, He visited the Mount of Olives where He would later be betrayed. Wednesday (also referred to as “Spy Wednesday”) is suggested as the day Judas made the decision to betray Jesus. And, finally Saturday, (sometimes referred to as “Black Saturday”) when Jesus lay in the tomb.

Considering these extra pieces of the Easter story, a sweet lesson came to mind. Investigating these more obscure days in Jesus’ last week on earth is a simple reminder that there is much to learn about Him “in between the highlight reel.” Looking closer, we learn more about this important week and other experiences He lived. And, looking closer, we get not only the Sunday School level of Jesus but also see some of the finer nuances of His character. Just like when we spend time getting to know people, when we take the time to know God better, it helps us love, appreciate, and understand Him even more.

During the upcoming Holy Week, I pray you are blessed by learning more about who He was. And, I pray that practice also encourages us to spend time learning and developing deeper relationships with others. I love that any lesson we learn about Jesus also has this cool application for our daily lives.

Holy Week happened a long, long time ago but its implications are as modern-day as they come. Blessings to each of you as the victory of Easter Sunday approaches. May you deeply know Him — and be deeply known. This is where life is truly lived.

(For those interested in a deeper dive, a thorough infographic on Holy Week events can be found here.)

Photo by Bruno van der Kraan on Unsplash, used with permission

*Originally published 3/30/2021, updated for freshness and clarity.

Check out more of Anne’s mental health and faith content on her blog, in her Bible studies, and through speaking engagements!

As one of the most frequently repeated concepts in the Bible, God knew we needed a lot of reminding to not fear, not be afraid, not worry, etc. And, for so many things I feel like I can get on board with that. But, for a handful of others, it feels extra hard. Like health concerns. And sick parents. And losing jobs. Oh yeah, and our children. As far as I’ve been able to discern, there is apparently no asterisk in the Bible that says, “Do not worry (*except about your children).” How the heck are we supposed to do that?!

As a counselor, I know that simply telling someone not to worry is not super helpful. We want strategies! And, I don’t believe for one second that God is insensitive to how hard it is for us to not be afraid or not worry about something as precious as our kids. Of course, He’s given us some obvious tools like prayer and specific verses about parenting. But, He’s also tucked away some additional gems. I wanted to share just one I came across the other day.

Check out this oft-quoted section of Psalm 127 here:

³ Children are a heritage from the Lord,
    offspring a reward from him.
⁴ Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
    are children born in one’s youth.
⁵ Blessed is the man
    whose quiver is full of them.
They will not be put to shame
    when they contend with their opponents in court.
(Ps. 127:3-5)

And now, the verses just before that:

¹Unless the Lord builds the house,
    the builders labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
    the guards stand watch in vain.
² In vain you rise early
    and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat—
    for he grants sleep to those he loves.
(Ps. 127:1-2)

That’s it. The entirety of Psalm 127 is five verses, half about children and half about laboring in vain. I propose this is not by accident. God knows how so many of us labor “in vain” over our children thinking that if we just keep trying hard enough, we will finally manage to be and do and give everything they need—until we are exhausted. And, in doing so, forget He is the one who really does all that.

Remember, when used correctly, God’s Word always intends to bring about freedom. Consider the applications offered here…

(v.1a) Unless the Lord builds our homes, we are just spinning our wheels. Exhausting ourselves to make sure our children have everything we think they need, access to every opportunity, and avoidance of every hardship leaves little room for how He might build their lives. He offers us the freedom to trust He is building them, rather than exhausting ourselves to make sure they experience “our” best standards.

(v.1b) Rather than perpetually standing guard over their lives, we could find ourselves able to breathe knowing that God is watching over them, with a better view than we will ever have. He offers us the freedom to reduce the intensity of our vigilance, knowing that He is with them as they grow in independence, ability, risk, etc. Visualizing Him standing guard brings great peace.

(v.2) And, this final part from verse two really got me. What if, as parents, we wholesale reject the idea that good parents are always supposed to be exhausted? Instead, He offers us permission to accept help and pursue normal human amounts of rest instead of rising early, staying up late, and toiling. For He loves us, and “He grants sleep to those He loves.” A rested mind is far less likely to fall into irrational worry.

Whatever you are “toiling in vain” for today, please know you are not alone. Each of us has things that fall into this *very-hard-not-to-worry category because fear is such a strong motivator.

May each of us seek to remove whatever our “worry asterisks” are. And, may the permissions and reminders given in this Psalm help us reduce the ways we are “laboring in vain”, allowing God to build, guard, and grant us the rest He designed.

PS – For those who are interested in an extra fun fact, Psalm 127 is one of 15 Psalms known as “Songs of Ascent.” These were the songs sung by Hebrew pilgrims to encourage them as they headed uphill to Jerusalem for annual festivals at the Temple.

A word from God designed to encourage a routine uphill journey toward worship? If that’s not a message to bless parenting I don’t know what is.

Photo by Xavier Mouton Photographie on Unsplash, used with permission

Originally published 2/8/2023, updated for freshness & clarity.

I must admit, I tend to feel a little funny offering reflections for Ash Wednesday. It is such a sacred day in some denominations. But, because it has rarely been a part of my own church experience, I somehow feel unqualified. Oh well, as out-of-place as I may feel, this day has become important to me. May this reflection bless you, offer gratitude to those who have welcomed me in their traditions, and gather us all toward the coming glory of Easter.

Years after I became a Christian, I had my first experience with Ash Wednesday. While I was (vaguely) aware of Lent, I didn’t know anything about this specific day. Arriving at the Catholic school I was serving at the time, I was confused as to why all the kids had black “smudges” on their heads. Imagine my embarrassment as an adult in the room who definitely had to have teenagers teach me about the ashes they received.

My second experience took place at a non-denominational event when someone placed ashes on the foreheads of those in attendance. I remember really liking the symbolism. And, I remember feeling part of an important ritual, somehow beautifully and mysteriously tying me to my own (many, many) Catholic ancestors.

The final (and ongoing) experience has been through my husband’s childhood Lutheran church. When visiting, I have learned so much about the specific days and rituals practiced by so many Christians throughout Lent (the 40 days before Easter, not including Sundays) and Eastertide (the 50 days after Easter). I have previously written about how my Easter experience has been blessed and enhanced by their approach to days in this season such as Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday.

The Beauty of Ash Wednesday

So, whether Ash Wednesday is a part of your tradition or not, the beauty of this day lies primarily in two things: perspective and reflection on our own mortality.

A few verses often used in Ash Wednesday services:

“Then the LORD God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” Gen. 2:7

“By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.” Gen. 3:19

“All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return.” Ecc. 3:20

“As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.” Ps. 103:13-14

As much of a bummer as these verses may sound, there are gifts to be found in recognizing our mortality. Let’s consider just a few:

1. When we reflect on how short our time is, it focuses us. We are less likely to spend time or energy on trivial things, instead clarifying our ideals and behavior to match what truly matters.
   
   
2. When we understand how frail our bodies are, we can stop obsessing over appearance. Yes, take good care of your “temple” but outward appearance was never meant to be idealized or worshiped. It was meant to be used in service to others.
   
   
3. When we grasp what we came from, and what we will return to, we can let go of all that unnecessary self-importance. Yes, we are immeasurably valuable to God but we also think way too much of ourselves sometimes. Living in this paradox is our lifelong battle between humility and pride.
   
   
4. In Psalm 103 above, we hear God’s love for us. In our ever-present struggle to “have it all together” He says, I got you. Follow Me, for I know how hard it is in that dust-bound shell of yours. It is My compassion that will get you through these years.
   
   
5. Most importantly, the reflection and embracing of our mortality sets us up for a celebration of Easter like nothing else. How much more the joy of that day when we grasp how the love of Jesus will be with us long after these human bodies fail.

Well, there you go, folks. An Ash Wednesday devotional from a non-denominational gal who has come to love the symbolism of this day. Whether you attend a formal service to recognize the start of Lent or just step out your door and run your fingers through the earth, I hope your experience is a blessed one. From dust we came and to dust we will return. Pumped to see you someday on the other side in glory.

Photo by Ahna Ziegler on Unsplash, used with permission

Originally published 3/1/22, updated for clarity and relevance.

My aunt recently sent me a book, The Gift of Perspective, by local Kansas City author Lindsey Roy. And, while the entire story is chock-full of inspiration on coping with adversity, it was the brief mention of a question she occasionally asks her kids that really blessed me.

“Every once in a while, I tell my kids and husband we are going to do family performance reviews. Each person gets to tell the other members of the family one thing they really appreciate and one thing they wish the other person would start/stop/change…most kids get plenty of feedback from [their] parents, so it’s useful to turn the tables.” (p. 29)

She goes on to say that while not every suggestion will be good or lead to action, the perspective you can gain is valuable. And so, (rather impulsively I might add) I asked the question. Turns out, she was right.

First up, my (8yo) daughter. “Hey, what is one thing Mommy does well and one thing you would like her to do differently?” After reassuring her this was not a trick and I really wanted to know, she said:

“I love that you keep the house picked up and tidy, like the pillows on the couch.” And, “I wish you would cook more.”

Okay, “I wish you would cook more” was not a surprise, I don’t like cooking. But, the reason around it was. She meant she wanted me to be more prepared with food rather than waiting until the last minute or forgetting snacks. She wasn’t asking me to change what I cook. It was just thinking about food in a way that helped her feel more secure. I get that.

But, the house picked up? You could have knocked me over with a feather because this child is a wake of creative chaos. She moves from one activity, mess, set of supplies, etc. with complete abandon. For her to want a “tidy” home completely shocked me until we kept talking and I got it. Her home is the space that allows her to explore who she is. And, for her, it’s easier to do that in a calm, clean space.

On to my (12yo) son. His first answer was a total dude response, “I love everything you do Mom.” Okay kid, fine. But, he did ask for one change. “Will you learn to play video games so we can play together?” Further conversation polished something I already knew. This child loves games of any kind. And, he’s hyper-competitive. Because I am not, I tend to avoid it. He’d noticed and was inviting me back into the things that are important to him.

So, now that we are a month in, here’s what’s changed:

• I don’t like cooking any more than I did. But, I am more motivated to think ahead about what we are having and include my daughter in the process because she finds value in it. Side benefit, I enjoy being more prepared and we’ve had more family meals at the table.
  
  
• I already kept a pretty tidy home. It’s not about appearances. I just like to. It makes me feel less crazy. But, now when I am picking up (or helping her pick up/clean up her latest “adventure”) it feels less like a chore and more like a way I can uniquely love her in a way she values.
  
  
• We’ve played more board games as a family this month than any other time. My son is THRILLED. And while I don’t think I’ll ever be able to actually compete with him, I’ve learned enough for him to put me in my own little patch of grass in Minecraft to build something. Turns out, it’s not so bad and he is amused to watch me fumble alongside him.

Of course, the most important part about this post is not these specific examples. Your family and your kids will be totally different. The important part is the impact of learning “why” it might be valuable to do (or not do) something. I am 100% certain there are things I get worked up about or do that my kids could care a hill of beans about (neatly folding clothes comes to mind…they do not care). But, because I hadn’t asked, I was spinning my wheels in ways that were invaluable or neutral to them while missing the mark on things that were (fairly easy) home runs.

Let me be clear. Do my kids run my house? No. Not even close. But, do I want to be aware of and evaluate if there is a wiser, more fulfilling way to spend time with them in the handful of years I have them? Absolutely.

Here’s to parenting smarter, not harder. I’m for it.

Photo by Benjamin Manley on Unsplash, used with permission