Don’t LET Your Heart Be Troubled

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. 
(John 14:27, KJV)

The first time I really took in this scripture was when my friend Mike Hartley died in 1981. I received a phone call one evening saying that he had been killed in a motorcycle accident. When I went to bed a few hours later, my heart was torn up with pain. I needed God’s comfort so badly, and I needed His Word. I opened up my King James Bible and found myself at John Chapter 14. As I slowly read through the chapter, I came to this verse, and through it the peace of God came to me.

The interesting thing was that my soul—my mind and emotions—were still torn up but my spirit was full of a deep and powerful peace; and that peace took dominion over the grief in my soul. The grief was still there, but it could not carry me away because now I was being carried by God’s Spirit through my own spirit. I thought of the words then in Hebrews 4:12, where God says that His Word divides asunder soul and spirit, meaning that it separates and discerns between the two. It was the first time I ever saw, ever experienced, the distinct difference between my soul and my spirit. Because those two entities in me were experiencing two totally different emotions, I saw how they were distinct from one another.

The other morning, reading in the Amplified Bible (Classic), I came across this verse again. Some new things about it struck me, especially in this expanded translation.

Read it thoughtfully:

Peace I leave with you; My [own] peace I now give and bequeath to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. [Stop allowing yourselves to be agitated and disturbed; and do not permit yourselves to be fearful and intimidated and cowardly and unsettled.]

Jesus begins by telling us that He is leaving His peace with us. He explains that it is His very own peace and that He’s not just giving it to us, He is bequeathing it to us. A bequest speaks of what is left to us in a will when someone dies, and Jesus spoke these words immediately before His arrest and crucifixion. His peace is part of our inheritance, an eternal provision. He doesn’t give it to us the way the world often gives, giving only to take away again; He leaves it with us forever.

Whenever we discover that we do not have peace, we need to notice and then stir ourselves up to get it back. It belongs to us, but sometimes when we are not paying attention, it gets stolen from us. It is the thief, John 10:10 tells us, Satan, who comes to steal (and to kill and destroy). When we apprehend him and expose his crime, if we know our spiritual rights, we will command that he return double what he has taken (Ex. 22:4, 7). This means that when we contend to get our peace back, we should find that in the end we have a lot more peace than we did before the theft occurred.

Anxiety creeps up on us just like a thief and tries to steal away our peace. If anxiety comes upon us when circumstances take an adverse turn, it means that normally our peace is based on our circumstances and not on who God is and what He says.

Jesus says not to let our heart be troubled or afraid. This means that we have the power, the authority, to command our hearts in this matter. This command must originate in our spirit, which is filled with and directed by God’s Spirit. We must learn to keep the powers of our soul—mind, will, and emotions—under the direction of our spirit, which in turn is submitted to God.

We might even have to address our soul aloud and say, “Mind, emotions, do not be afraid. Will, I order you to set yourself against this unrest. I command you, soul: do not be troubled.” We must cut off and expel all fearful thoughts and emotions. Paraphrasing 2 Cor. 10:5, we must cast down every thought and emotion that lifts itself up above what we know to be true of God, bringing every one of them captive into submission to Christ.

Just as it is inappropriate for a child to be calling the shots with its parents, it is a disruption of God’s order for the soul to exert dominion over the spirit. The mind, will, and emotions can be like undisciplined children, bent on their own way, refusing to submit, and being “wise in their own eyes” (Proverbs 3:7, KJV). These unruly children might say, “I think I should be worried right now, and so I am going to worry.” But we must stop allowing ourselves to be agitated and disturbed; we must not permit ourselves to be unsettled.

The only way to precipitate this momentous shift in our thoughts and emotions is to get alone with God and transact with Him along these lines, agreeing with His Word, and bringing every essentially blasphemous imagination into obedience to Christ.

Sometimes when something is stolen from us, it seems too much trouble to go to the authorities and try to apprehend the thief. Whether or not it is worth it to us will depend on how valuable the thing is that we have lost. I don’t know about you, but I count the peace of God as one of my most valuable possessions.

Road Rage Resolves Righteously

It wasn’t until it was all over that I realized I wouldn’t normally even be taking that route through town. Heading for the Farmers’ Market to get my weekly vegetables, on the outskirts of town a random thought came to me: I shouldn’t take the usual way, past all the schools, stop signs, and 30 kph zones. It seemed to be an impression from the Spirit of God.

“Which way shall I go, Lord?” I asked aloud. An alternate route implanted itself in my mind. Well, I thought, there are a couple of stop lights that way, but maybe I’ll get lucky and catch them on green.

The first light was red when it came into view, but it changed before I got to it. The other one, just up ahead, was red also, but it, too, changed as I approached. Thank You, Lord! A vehicle up ahead was entering the intersection from my right, turning right on red. This was bringing him into my lane, but there was lots of leeway for that to happen safely. But as I came into the intersection, I realized that he had pulled over to the curb immediately after completing his turn and had come to a full stop. I wondered what he was doing.

Slow right down, came a prompting in my spirit. You have no idea what he might do. I dropped my speed from 50 kph down to 25 or 30. Then I noticed that his left signal light was on. Ah, I thought, he probably wants to turn across both lanes into the business on the opposite corner, as soon as I get past him.

Just as I was coming up alongside him, he turned left suddenly, right across my path. I jammed on the brakes and leaned on my horn, which caused him to hit the brakes as well. He jolted to a stop, broadside just a few feet in front of me. 

 His window was open; mine was closed, but I still had no trouble hearing what he hollered. “I had my ------- signal on!” he roared, using an f-bomb as a descriptive adjective. Then he gunned his engine and lurched across the other lane and into the parking lot of the business.

I was furious. That he would blast a woman in such a vulgar way, especially when he was in the wrong—well, it made me see red. I glanced at the clock on my dash. I could still get to the market before they closed, even if I stopped to straighten him out. No way was I going to leave him muttering self-righteously under his breath about women drivers. It would only take a minute. Checking carefully in both directions first, as I knew I was not really seeing clearly, I turned hard to the left and followed him across the other lane and into the parking lot. I yanked my keys from the ignition. Realizing how out of control my anger was, I paused long enough to say a quick prayer: “Help me, Lord!”

Wrapped up in that Help me! was a whole string of split-second thoughts. I submit to You, God. Don’t let me say or do anything to discredit You. Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer. The wrath of mankind does not produce the righteousness of God. Be angry, but don’t sin. Lord, put a guard over my mouth. I will bless those that curse me. (James 4:7; Romans 2:24; Psalm 19:14; James 1:20; Ephesians 4:26; Psalm 141:3; Matthew 5:44)

And then as I leapt out of my car and strode over to him, the confrontation unfolded with no conscious forethought on my part.

“Did I do something wrong there?” I challenged him furiously. My, my, I really am angry!

“I had my signal light on!” he roared back.

“I had the right of way,” I retaliated firmly.

“I was turning, and the light turned green,” he said. I didn’t know what he was getting at.

“Yes, the light had turned green. I had the right of way,” I repeated. “I just thank God that I had cut my speed by half before you cut in front of me.”

“I’m glad we didn’t have an accident,” he said, de-escalating a little. Maybe he realized suddenly that if I had been doing the speed limit, my radiator would right now be parked in his lap.

“I’m glad too,” I said. My voice was no softer, but I really was grateful that we had been spared bodily injury and vehicular damage.

“I’m sorry for being such a hothead,” he offered.

“I forgive you,” I said. I found myself extending my hand to shake his; he met me halfway. I heard myself say, “God bless you.” I said it sincerely, feeling God’s blessing moving through me as I spoke.

“God bless you too,” he said, his handshake firm.

I turned back toward my car.

“Have a good day,” he called after me.

I turned briefly over my shoulder. “You too,” I said.

 As I drove away, I was still so full of adrenaline from the close call and from my anger that I was shaking. I phoned Greg and interrupted his business and his busyness so that I could debrief a little. It was an ironic coincidence that just a night or two before, Greg had told me of witnessing something similar in a parking lot. Two drivers, a man and a woman, unsure of who was turning where, both had to jolt to a sudden stop. The man let loose a mouthful of obscenities at the woman, more vile than what I had just heard. Greg was so utterly stunned by the aggression and crudity that, although he thought about intervening, he couldn't get his thoughts together before both cars had gone on their separate ways. Perhaps that was one of the things that had fuelled my determination not to drive quietly away.

It took me only a few minutes to get my things at the market, and then I drove home. Now I found myself close to tears. I felt God’s nearness. That’s when I remembered how I had taken a different route than usual. I remembered how I had felt God’s nearness when each of those lights turned green. It reinforced in my heart that He was also very present in that near-accident and the confrontation that followed. He knew this was going to happen.

I was grateful that the Lord had been able to direct me, even through my anger, helping me to speak words that resisted the blame-shifting and vulgarity but that extended grace at the same time. 

And I was amazed at the warmth and sincerity that had descended on that man and me by the end of our exchange. Maybe he will continue to think about our encounter. I know I will.

Photo Credit: Thanks to an unknown photographer for this perfect pictorial expression of the incident. I found it online and could find nothing about it except that it “may be subject to copyright.”

I Can Fly!

They that wait upon the Lord shall . . . mount up with wings as eagles (Isaiah 40:31).

All of a sudden, I find that I can fly. I can take one or two quick paces and just kind of step up into the air. With my arms outspread, I soar freely up, up. God has enabled me to fly! I’m up above the tree-tops, free of the restraints of gravity, unencumbered by earthly weights. I dive into a glide toward the ground, and just before a harsh landing seems inevitable, I swoop up again and gain altitude, to the amazement of a few who are watching. I wonder if I am dreaming.

Off to one side, I see a flooding river. It has overflowed its banks. The waters are turbulent and frightening, blackish-blue in the sun. But I can fly out over it if I want to. I turn and glide that way, until there is nothing but water below me.

No, this is not right. God has not told me to come this way. Sure I can fly, but if I have to land unexpectedly, or if I suddenly lose this ability, I’d better be over solid ground. I’d better not be where God has not told me to go. It’s potentially dangerous here, and it’s presumptuous of me to be here if it is not in accordance with God’s express command. “Thou shalt not put the Lord thy God to the test,” He has taught me (Luke 4:12, NIV). I veer back on my course until the ground is beneath me again.

Later on, I am once again walking on terra firma, accompanying a couple of elderly church-ladies along a road. I secretly think that they are rather religious, perhaps not as truly spiritual as they think they are. Surely not as spiritual as I think I am! I share with them some wonderful things that I have recently discovered in the scriptures. Then I say to them, “Isn’t it amazing how God has said to us, ‘They that wait upon the Lord shall mount up on wings like eagles’!” And before they can respond, I show them that there is a much deeper meaning to that verse than they have ever guessed: I take two quick steps and ascend up into the air, gliding away.

No, says the Lord in my heart, I have not given you gifts and abilities so that you can show off to other people. I just want to reveal more of Myself to you, and to others. This is not really about the ability to fly; it’s that I’m trying to teach you something, and this is the best way for now.

What are You trying to teach me, Lord?

This is not specifically about flying. I want you to realize that when you wait upon Me, when you meditate on My Word, when you then step out and live by faith in what I have shown you in My Word, you will find yourself no longer bound by physical and material limitations. You will find yourself transcending the boundaries of your temporal existence. How do you feel when you fly?

Oh . . . free. Exhilarated and excited. Full of life. Like I could do anything at all.

Can you think of anything else that makes you feel that way?

Well, yes, I guess that’s how I feel when something is the Scriptures opens up to me.

Yes. Do you remember what I was just showing you in My Word, before you went to sleep?

Oh, yes! It was really good! What exactly was it now?

I found myself waking up. I lay there, slowly getting my bearings. Yes, I had been reading an account in Judges, of how the tribe of Dan invaded the city of Laish (18:27). I opened my Bible and reread the passage:

“They went in and slaughtered all the people and burned the city to the ground,” says the Living Bible, at the end of verse 27. The next verse was the one that had lit something on the inside of me: “There was no one to help the inhabitants, for . . . they had no local allies, for they had no dealings with anyone.”

Over the past couple of months, God has been exhorting me: “Nurture your friendships.” I really have only one close friend. I am a notorious loner and I so value my time alone. When I have to go to town, the last thing I want to do is kill an extra hour having a cup of tea with someone. Yet I very much enjoy the fellowship when I do. And slowly I have begun to try to make and keep these kinds of commitments.

In this verse, the Lord was exhorting me again to pursue relationships with the many women, both Christian and not, that I admire and enjoy: You cannot be an island unto yourself. You must have dealings with people; you must have local allies, or when the enemy comes in like an invading army, you will be hopelessly defeated.

I was exhilarated by this little revelation. I felt like I was flying again.

Thank You, Lord!

You bet. Now remember: Stay in My word. Expect Me to speak to you. And heed what I say.

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It is the spirit that quickeneth [or gives life]; the flesh profiteth nothing: the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life (John 6:63).

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It was fifteen years ago that I wrote this piece. Something brought it to mind a few days ago, so I searched it out and found it to be as relevant to me now as it was then.

The photo above comes from unsplash.com. Thank you, Mathew Schwartz, for making your images available royalty-free.

Eat, Baby, Eat!

 It’s a challenge for parents to get their kids to eat properly. From the time Baby is given his first spoonful of solids and he spews it down his chin, a mom and dad invest a lot of time and energy trying to get good foods down their child’s gullet.

As young parents, we are unsure of ourselves in our new role, and especially with a strong-willed child, it can be difficult to persist with healthy choices. We may also have to deal with well-intentioned but contrary philosophies within the extended family, which can further shake our confidence. Recently I was at a dinner party where a young mom was trying to feed a child of around 18 months. The child’s great aunt was present, a woman who had never married or had children of her own, and she stiffly stated her opinion: “I don’t see why children should have to eat something they don’t want. We get to eat what we like.”

I kept my opinion to myself. But God has put parents in charge for good reason: a child does not know what’s good for him and, left to his own choices, he would choose the tastes that easily pique his palette. Sugary treats are a good example. Nobody has to be taught to like sweets. I well recall our little Melissa as a one-year-old getting her first taste of ice cream. She just about went crazy with excitement, so eager for the next bite. And this is such great fun for a parent, it makes it easy to indulge that precious little appetite.

But sugar is nutritionally void, and as the body digests it, it must rob nutrients from elsewhere in its stores to accomplish the task. Essentially, sugar, along with other junk foods, creates a nutritional deficit, and if we are not choosing lots of other vitamin- and mineral-rich food, we will find our kids—and ourselves—down the road in a very unhealthy state.

Even worse than refined white sugar is high-fructose corn syrup, which is now the sweetener of choice for most manufacturers. Bad for our kids and bad for us. Whether it’s your favourite frappa-cappa-jappa, as my husband calls those designer coffee beverages, or baked goods or soda pop or ice cream, most people unwittingly consume HFCS on a daily basis. There are a lot of health problems burgeoning from this major shift, which began in the 1970s, but one of the most sinister is how HFCS impacts a couple of hormones, leptin and ghrelin. Leptin is the “satiety” hormone; it tells your body when it’s had enough to eat. HFCS shuts it down. Ghrelin, on the contrary, is the “hunger” hormone; it tells you when you need to eat. HFCS turns it up. Did someone say obesity epidemic?

Something else: I was quite alarmed, just a few days ago, when I read that HFCS and all its effects are passed along to a nursing baby through breast milk. And of course, it is used in many infant formulas as well.  Scary! So from the get-go, many of our little ones are becoming victims of hormonally confused appetites. And while their tastes for unnatural foods are getting primed, their interest in real food remains undeveloped. It is not uncommon for people young or old to be hesitant to try different foods. New tastes have to be acquired, and it takes time, especially for a child.

Many young parents today have grown up without learning much about food and nutrition. I remember a few years ago, a friend of one of our kids, a gal in her mid-twenties, was sitting on a kitchen stool watching me prepare dinner. “Where did you learn to cook?” she asked, rather wistfully. She went on to explain that her mom, left alone to raise two children, had had to work long hours to raise her little family, and supper every night came from a box that went straight from the freezer to the microwave. 

But even when a mom or dad really knows her or his way around the kitchen,  there is a deeper issue that needs to be addressed. You can know everything about good nutrition, but if your child won’t eat what you put in front of him, it’s no help at all.

Here’s our story: When Ben was three years old, our first garden came to fruition. We still talk about that night at supper when I placed in front of Ben a plate with, besides the usual meat and potatoes, some lovely fresh chard and beets. Ben turned up his nose at the vegetables and refused to eat them.

I cautioned Greg that the health unit, at my recent visit, had addressed this very problem, and this was their solution: put a small portion of “whatever the rest of the family is eating” on the side of the plate, “in case he wants to try it,” along with “a peanut butter sandwich or whatever else your child wants.” 

Greg looked at me hard for a moment and then said, “I don’t know about that; I think I’m going to treat it as a discipline problem,” and so saying he marched Ben off to the bedroom and paddled his bottom. I only went along with Greg’s “unscientific” methods initially because I whole-heartedly embraced God’s directive of a wife following her husband’s lead. (This principle of submission may be a cause of offence for some, but I will have to leave that for another time.)

My husband and son returned to the table, and Ben promptly finished his entire meal. He never again questioned eating what was on his plate. As the other three kids came along, they simply followed suit: they saw their older brother eating it (whatever “it” was), so they did too.

I'm certainly not advocating spanking babies like the ones in these pictures (our granddaughter Symphony; a great-nephew, Hayden; and a friend's little boy, Tayen). But some may strongly object to spanking a child of any age to make him eat his food. However, this is what God’s Word says: “Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him” (Proverbs 22:15, KJV). Or as the New Living Translation has it, “A youngster’s heart is filled with foolishness, but physical discipline will drive it far away.” “Chasten (discipline) thy son while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for his crying” (Proverbs 19:18, KJV). In other words, don’t let your emotions give in to his tantrums or his obstinance.

If you simply don’t agree with spanking, there is a good alternative, but it requires the same degree of firmness and determination on the part of the parent. At mealtime, serve him up a reasonable portion of everything you have prepared. He must stay in his chair until he’s done. If he insists on leaving, the meal is over. Save everything he didn’t eat in case he gets hungry before the next meal. 

Absolutely nothing else, except water. Snacks between meals are a privilege for the kid who cleans up his plate the first time around, at the table.

But I will warn you: it’s going to take a lot more time and energy to enforce this while the child learns that you mean business. A firm spanking, calmly administered, one that really smarts for a few minutes, will quickly convince your child that you are the one in charge and that you really do mean what you say.

If we don’t put our foot down about our children eating what’s put in front of them, they may well remain picky eaters all their lives. Greg and I are not above challenging young adults who are guests at our dinner table. I remember a young man eating with us, another friend of our kids, and when I offered him the appetizer, a delightful creamy beet soup that I make, he said, blowing off soup and grammar all in one short sentence, “Me and beets don’t get along.” Well, Greg told him the story of Ben and the beets and chard. The young man then deigned to accept a small serving of the soup. He tasted it cautiously, ate it all up, and then asked for more. Never too late for a firm hand on fussy eaters!
                 

This is the loop parents get stuck in: The child refuses to eat a proper meal. The parent worries that the child must have something in his belly and reverts again to junk food so that the child will not “go hungry.” So the belly gets filled—somewhat; the edge is taken off the appetite; and the child is confirmed in his narrow, willful choices and moves toward a state of malnutrition.

We carry quite a responsibility as parents. Our child is completely under our control—or should be!—regarding what he puts in his body, at least for the first several years; and this is when life-long food habits are established. It is our soul—our mind, our will, and our emotions—that determines what foods our child is offered. This is where we must not let our “soul spare for his crying.” We must choose well for him or her. Think in terms of 25% meat, 25% complex carbs—like brown rice or whole-grain pasta, and 50% vegetables. This is a good rule of thumb for adults as well.

We would never dream of putting any other fuel in our car or truck than what it is designed to use, even if we drive an old clunker. And we certainly fill the tank when we should so that we don’t run out of gas. Surely our bodies deserve at least as much respect as that, considering they are the vehicle that God has given us to move around in—and in which, amazingly, He chooses to ride around with us. “What?” says His Word, “don’t you know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit?” (1 Corinthians 6:19).

As Christians, we must continually allow the Spirit of God to work through our own spirit and to rule over our soul—concerning what we eat and what we teach our children to eat. Nutrition is not magic: it doesn’t happen just because we put something in our mouths. Our bodies absolutely need certain nutrients, and if they are not present in the food we serve ourselves and our families, then everyone’s health is going to suffer.

I’m Nothin’ Till Somethin’ Loves Me

When I was a teenager, my sister Polly, a year and a half older than I, made this philosophical statement: “Everyone is basically insecure.” I accepted it as fact; never questioned it. The wisdom of her age was worthy of my respect.

I still think her observation is true, except now I might qualify it by saying “almost” at the beginning of the sentence. I have to allow for exceptions, because my husband is very secure, and he says he has always been that way. “It’s because,” he explains, “I always knew I was loved.” Throughout his childhood, he felt free at any time to go and hug his mom and bury his face in her ample waistline, no matter what she was busy with.

Something else that happened when I was a teenager: a girlfriend gave me a gift on my birthday, a figurine, a woebegone little fellow with a soft shock of synthetic, black hair. He held a sign that read, “I’m Nothin’ Till Somethin’ Loves Me.” I always liked that little guy, and I kept him for a long time.

When I was 24, God revealed His great love to me and my life was forever changed. His love made the difference. Now when I looked at that little guy, I thought of the love of God. I had begun to study the Bible faithfully, the King James Version, and one day I came across Romans 5:8: “But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” If that little guy was asking a question, here was the answer.                   

I spent some time musing on this subject in an unpublished manuscript called Marriage by Faith:

We all have a need to know we are loved…. We all need to be in relationship with others, whether in marriage, in meaningful friendships, or in community. And yet I believe that, for most of us, the default setting with which we were born tells us subliminally that we are unlovable and alone.

Unlovable and alone.

I believe this is a reflection of what came down to us through Adam from the Fall. No matter what our belief system or lack thereof, there is an overshadowing uneasiness, a feeling of unworthiness, a deep loneliness, a sense of abandonment, a fear of never quite measuring up.

It’s not that God has left us alone: remember, He came after Adam and Eve, calling to them, “Where are you?” But the separation caused by Adam’s choice to act independently of God left a genetic stamp of isolation on all of us.

This is what is so vital about the mystery of Christ dying on the Cross. In this unfathomable provision, “God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself” (2 Corinthians 5:19). Ever since, reconciliation has been an established fact for the whole world; it only remains for each of us to understand that and accept it. Until we do, this deep sense of isolation pervades and prevails. It is a measure of our true state.

When we are reconciled, individually, to God, we find tremendous relief from that loneliness, and we know without a doubt that we are deeply loved. But as we grow in God, we find that we don’t stay in that easy place of security; rather, that God is continually at work, stripping off layer after layer of wounding and demonic lies and accusations, to render us able to truly enter in to the security of His love.

Speculating on the thoughts above, I was intrigued to come across a quote of C.S. Lewis that addresses the same thing:

“Apparently, then, our lifelong nostalgia, our longing to be reunited with something in the universe from which we now feel cut off, to be on the inside of some door which we have always seen from the outside, is no mere neurotic fancy, but the truest index of our real situation. And to be at last summoned inside would be both glory and honour beyond all our merits and also the healing of that old ache” (The Weight of Glory).

I’ve been reading a book called More by Todd Wilson. He tells the story of a beautiful golden retriever they had. Initially obedient and compliant, she began to chew up carpets and furniture while they were away at work. When they finally went to a vet for help,

The veterinarian quickly diagnosed the problem. Separation anxiety. … (A)lone and isolated… (h)er loneliness overflowed into bad behavior.… (D)eep longings to be returned to her master … produced unhealthy behaviors.

He then draws a parallel between that dog and us.

We are all born with a form of separation anxiety. The quiet, persistent, often unrecognized gnawing of the pain of separation from our heavenly Father produces equally unhealthy behaviors in each of us” (Page 34).

“I’m nothin’ till somethin’ loves me,” said the little guy with the sad face. Twenty-five years after he was given to me, I had a friend make me a plaque with a platform for him to stand on. Because his message now seemed incomplete without the quote from Romans, I had her inscribe it above his head: “God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” I loved the message it proclaimed: our problem and the solution.

   

But one year when we were between homes, a shed in which we were storing our belongings was broken into and a lot of things went missing, including that dear little guy. The plaque was still there, however. For years I kept my eyes open for a figurine that could replace him. 

Then one day in a dollar store, I saw a statuette of a little girl that fit the bill. For a toonie, she was mine. I made her a new sign and set her up on the plaque, on the wall in our main floor bathroom, where visitors could contemplate her and her message in private.

But the glue I used to fix her in place was weak. The day came when Greg bumped the little girl and she broke loose, fell, and hit the ceramic floor, knocking a large hole in her skirt. Some days later, I painstakingly glued the pieces back, one by one, into her dress. But some of the bits had gone missing; even once I had replaced every piece Greg had salvaged, there was still a hole left. The sign she holds covers it nicely, though, and I think the evidence of “the fall” is fittingly symbolic. We have all been hurt and damaged. However, once we have found the love of God, the scars are no longer signs of brokenness but, rather, proof of our healing.                         

Tired Momma

I had a text from a young mom a few days ago, asking me about some health issues. We agreed to meet in town the next day for a face-to-face. Her chief complaint was what she called mood swings, suddenly flying off the handle with her kids. We talked about thyroid and candida, my two pet peeves, and I found myself zeroing in on the latter. I had her fill out a questionnaire, the results of which certainly seemed to indicate that she has a problem with overgrowth of this opportunistic yeast/fungus; so we talked about a strategy to begin to tackle this issue.

But underneath it all seemed to lie a more foundational problem: this poor mother was terribly sleep-deprived. Her youngest child is just seven months old. He has got into a routine where he naps off and on, all day long; then at 1:00 a.m., he wakes up to be taken into his parents’ bed to nurse. After that he’s wide awake for the next four hours—and so are the parents.

I hesitated to express any opinions or advice, as I am trying to learn to not answer questions that I haven’t even been asked. But I certainly went home thinking about it. I recollected the time when Ben, my first baby, was seven months old and Greg and I drove out to my parents’ place in B.C. to celebrate Christmas with them. Ben and I were still on the schedule we’d been on ever since he was born: awake at 1:00 a.m. to nurse, fuss, burp, and sooth, to finally settle him once more shortly before he awoke again at 4:00 a.m. to start the process all over again. My father, a doctor, was concerned about how little sleep I was getting, and he talked to my husband about it. Greg didn’t say anything to me until after we had returned to Wetaskiwin.

“I didn’t say this to Nancy,” Dad had apparently told Greg, “because I don’t think she would hear it from me, but I tell all my moms by this age to make their babies sleep through the night.”

Greg thought we should try it. I was dubious, but I was also, as “a good Christian wife,” of the conviction that I should follow my husband’s lead, and that God would see to it that Greg was given the necessary wisdom if I honoured God’s chain of authority.

The plan was that when Ben woke in the night, we would let him cry himself back to sleep. It was kind of brutal, that first night. Mother-instinct had me yearning to comfort my unhappy baby. But I stuck to the plan, with my husband’s sleepy encouragement. The crying went on and on—for an hour. And then suddenly, all was amazingly quiet. He didn’t wake up again that night.

The second night was almost as bad; Baby cried nearly as long. And then the third night, he slept through. We never looked back. As our other children came along, we were much firmer in our direction with things like this. We saw that I could do a much better job of mothering all day long if I didn’t mother all night as well. I don’t recall exactly when we began to give Baby Lindsay the “opportunity” to learn to sleep through the night; probably at around six months. Melissa began to sleep through the night of her own volition when she was only ten days old! Rachel was more typical, like Ben and Lindsay, but she had to fall into line here too, even though in every other way she was not a fall-in-line kind of girl.

As I pondered the young mom I had just been talking to, I wondered if my experience and advice would be helpful to her or if my methods would be considered out of date. That would be a pity though. One hates to see every generation trying to reinvent the wheel, so to speak. Wisdom, gleaned from God’s truths, has no expiry date. There is no new thing under the sun. God says the older women are to teach the younger, among other things, how to love their children.

I sent a text to my daughter-in-law Margaret. “Hey, what would you suggest to the mother of a seven-month-old, who’s not getting any sleep because Baby naps off and on all day and then comes to bed to nurse in the middle of the night and then is wide awake and keeps them awake for four hours at a stretch?”

She answered: “Brian started doing this when he was a baby, so I kept him up as long as I could during the day, even when he was grumpy and tired. I shortened his naps during the day as well. When it was bedtime I fed him a lot! And he slept longer; then he also would wake up once a night and go right back to sleep.”

Then I consulted with Google as well, searching “self-soothing techniques baby.” I gleaned here that between four and six months of age is a good time to begin allowing Baby to learn this important skill. If he is eating some solids by this point, it will help carry him through the night. I know this was the case with Baby Ben.

Some schools of thought are dead-set against any kind of self-soothing. “My baby needs me. He will be more secure, more confident that we will always be there for him, if we pick him up every time he cries.” The mother has needs, too, that are fulfilled in the short term by this philosophy. She feels powerfully affirmed as a mother when her baby needs her and when she can and does meet that need. But if she is up all night trying to assuage the immediate whims of her baby, what is the trade-off, the price to be paid during the day, when she is so exhausted that she flips into a rage with the baby and the other children, or slides into a depression, just because life becomes so overwhelming?

Also, if she gives in and caters to every whimper, assuring him subliminally that she will always be there for him, she is teaching him other things that don’t work well in the years to come. This is what he is learning: “The world revolves around me. Every need I have should be fulfilled, right now. Mom and Dad will always make sure that life is not too hard for me.” (Some of us spend most of our lives trying to unlearn these things.)

Most parents would be quick to agree that they don’t want their child entering adulthood still swaddled in this kind of immaturity; the question is, when should the harsh truth be allowed to come upon them? Well, it begins when Baby is expelled from the womb, and from there the journey of independence begins, however slowly.

Baby must learn, along with the rest of us: The world does not revolve around me. Not every need I have is going to be met when I think it should. Life is hard, and nobody can shield me from that raw fact.

It will be up to the individual parents to decide as a couple what their philosophy is, but perhaps it helps to realize that no matter when you begin this separation process, it’s going to be painful, to the child, and to the parents—most especially to the mother. Her emotions will shape her philosophy as long as she allows them to do so.

It helps tremendously for her to learn to look to her husband for guidance here, to offer him the respect of taking to heart what he says, and to pray for him—and believe—that God will impart the wisdom he needs. By all means, she should pray for wisdom for herself as well, but there is another dynamic, a force to be reckoned with, when she learns to fit herself into God’s design in the wife-husband relationship.