Even if there’s no white picket fence…

I’ve become somewhat of a hybrid. Born and raised in New Jersey, I graduated from Fairfield University in Connecticut at age 21. Three months later, Denny and I married and left for Italy and we’ve lived in Southern Europe ever since. So the two decades of my most formative years were spent in the United States, while the last thirty-one have been lived out in Italy and Portugal.
This has made for a uniquely curious blend of character, lifestyle and perspective.

Growing up, I never considered myself an “average American” nor did I aspire toward the stereotypical dream of having a career, a spouse, a couple of children, a nice house with a white picket fence, two cars and an overall sense of stability that would carry me through life. I loved learning and adventure, pursued uniqueness, admired creative expression, had no particular attraction to the acquisition of material things, and enjoyed identifying and reaching out to the underdog, the broken, the alienated.

With the passage of time, I have had the privilege of living an increasingly simple life. Of learning to find immense value in the little things. As the years have gone by, and Denny and I have continued to follow the pathways and shifts that God has led us in, I have been challenged over and over again to open my hands (as I spoke of in my last post) and let go of all that I might be tempted to covet as my own.

But even simplicity can become an idol. I can begin to glory in all that I have so willingly laid aside; to find my very identity in the most minimal of practices and pleasures. Wonderful meals, leisurely prepared with wholesome ingredients and enjoyed with a tableful of loved ones or newly acquired friends. Quiet mornings spent in communion with God and with my husband, receiving direction and planning for what lies ahead. Motorhome and caravan living, with the freedom to travel and live almost anywhere at the drop of a hat. Warm Portuguese winters and hot summers with the ocean and beaches at our fingertips, barely a need for a coat or extensive heating systems.

This bounty that has become part of God’s rich blessings and treasures in our Southern European life can itself become our “American dream”. We can begin to feel that this is our due; it’s our piece of the pie. It belongs to us.

Yet over the past few weeks, God has been leading me down a path of deeper surrender. It may not be the most well-traveled path, but I choose to follow because it’s my Beloved who beckons to me.

And while I understand that surrender does not necessarily mean walking away from these cherished aspects of my life, I don’t ever want them to become more important to me than my God Himself. Than walking in a beautiful relationship of love, and of obedience to Him. I know His plans for me are good, and I can trust that, most assuredly, wherever He may lead me, “goodness and loving kindness will follow me, every day of my life” (Psalm 23:6). So I cling to Him alone, my Rock, my Stability.

But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,
whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.
Jeremiah 17:7-8

Opening our Hands, Releasing our Children

Last week, I was once again asked a question that is frequently posed to me in conversation: “How, as a Mom, can you deal with having your kids so far away, spread out all over the world?”. An interesting inquiry indeed.
And one whose answer I’ve been reflecting on for quite some time.

I don’t think there’s any “How to” guide for parents living far away from their children. Each one of us is different in character and in our approach to parenting, and we all cope differently with separation. What I believe is fundamental, however, for each mother and father who has yielded herself or himself to God, is walking in that place of trust and surrender to the Father with regards to every aspect of life, including our children.

I love the biblical account of Hannah, Elkanah’s wife, whose story we read of in the first book of Samuel. Hannah was unable to have children, yet this was her deepest desire, a longing that caused her to weep before the Lord when she would go with her husband to worship and sacrifice before Him each year. We read:

And she made a vow, saying, “Lord Almighty, if you will only look
on your servant’s misery and remember me, and not forget your servant
but give her a son, then I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life…”
1 Samuel 1: 11

What does Hannah’s attitude teach me? I see a woman who so deeply desired to bear and raise a child… yet she recognized that, if granted the honor of becoming a mother, her child would not be her own possession. He would be a gift from God, tenderly entrusted to her to parent for a time: to nurture and to care for, to point towards the Father and to then release back into His loving arms. Parenting truly is a gift mercifully bestowed upon us. It’s not a procured position nor a right we achieve.

When each of our three children were yet at a tender age, Denny and I stood before our church families and dedicated them to God. We relinquished ownership of them and publicly confessed our commitment to raising them according to His purposes for their lives. We did this out of obedience to what we felt God had called us to do… though we were as yet unaware of how exactly that would play out and what it would require of us.

Our amazing God so lovingly supports our hearts as we submit to Him in an attitude of confidence, causing our yielding to blossom into a beautiful flower. When it first germinates, we have little perception of the shape, color, texture and magnitude that such surrender will exhibit. Yet with each small step forward, with each loosening of our grip, we learn that He is worthy of our trust and that He loves our children more deeply and passionately than we ever could.

As Hannah rejoices over the gift of her son, she affirms:

The Lord brings death and makes alive;
    he brings down to the grave and raises up.
The Lord sends poverty and wealth;
    he humbles and he exalts.
He raises the poor from the dust
    and lifts the needy from the ash heap;
he seats them with princes
    and has them inherit a throne of honor.

For the foundations of the earth are the Lord’s;
    on them he has set the world.
He will guard the feet of his faithful servants,
    but the wicked will be silenced in the place of darkness.
1 Samuel 2:6-9

I still recall vividly the first time I took a week-long trip from Italy to the U.S., leaving our three and four-year-old girls with Denny. When I reserved my plane ticket, I was convinced that God was leading me to go, but as my departure date drew closer, I became increasingly anxious. What if something happened to them while I was away? What if a situation arose in which Denny didn’t know what to do? What if…? And how about…? I tortured myself with possible scenarios and how they could play out. Finally, I heard God speak clearly to me: Do you believe your children are safe, healthy and cared for because YOU watch over them or because I DO? 

Fast forward to today after years of experience in releasing our kids into the paths God is leading them down, and in particular to these past months. Our three children, now ages 27, 25 and just 19, have recently been on three different continents and often in situations in which their physical, emotional and/or spiritual well-being and safety have been challenged and stretched.

Whitney in Asia

Alana in North America

Isaac in Europe

With every difficulty that arises in their lives, I am reminded of that question whispered to me so long ago, and of the many promises in God’s Word regarding His perfect care for those whose lives are committed to Him.

He will guard the feet of his faithful servants,
but the wicked will be silenced in the place of darkness.

Just yesterday,
I was reading the introduction
to Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s book Life Together: The Classic Exploration of Christian Community and one sentence stood out to me. Six years before his imprisonment by the Gestapo, he (Bonhoeffer) had written, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”
I was reminded of the continual death to ourselves and to our own desire for control
that our Father daily beckons us to step into.

I am not my own. And neither are my husband and my children. I love my spouse and my kids like crazy and treasure every moment that we share together. But desiring to have them continually by my side over seeing them walk in the plans God has for them, using the gifts He has so graciously bestowed on them, would nullify that commitment that Denny and I made when we gave them back to Him so long ago.

It is in the beautiful mystery of releasing our precious ones into God’s marvelously capable care that we discover true freedom to love without condition. In that place of surrender, we experience the inexplicable rapture of seeing our children soar, becoming all they were intended to be.

And this, my friends, is the true joy of parenting.