By / Dec 14

Can we be honest and agree that after an exhausting day with toddlers, facing bath time is a true test of perseverance? By the time evening comes, the mom skills are simply depleted. A parenting hack I found useful when my girls were little was transforming into some form of alter ego. A secondary, alternative version of myself somehow ignited the energy to grind out bath time.

One of my favorite transformations was Mrs. Wishy Washy. She was the perfect combination of Mary Poppins’ magic and Mr. Banks’ crotchety disposition. Dirty children were detested by her, and she had no sympathy for filth of any kind. My wide-eyed toddlers watched as I resigned my duties and exited the bathroom, and then burst forth as Mrs. Wishy Washy. Without time to blink, my girls eyed a woman flailing a washcloth and howling that their mother had lost her plot. In constant complaint, Mrs. Wishy Washy began cleaning two toddlers and barking orders to lean left, turn right, and present their hands. Warnings against throwing a fit were common, and the girls usually remained silent. Before you could say, “Buckingham Palace,” bath time was over. Thank you, Mrs. Wishy Washy. 

The Weeping Widow brings laughter

So, it was no surprise to my girls when another alter ego, the Weeping Widow, emerged in the weeks following my husband’s death. Loss had obliterated our home and drained all joy and laughter. During that time, our church engulfed us with support. They put their love for my family into action by providing food and supplies. I didn’t have to cook for 40 days! 

It was somewhere around the 18th meal when the Weeping Widow made her debut in our home. I had just ended a call with a sweet parishioner and made the announcement to the girls that a meal was en route. Suddenly out of nowhere, the girls stood in defiance and declared that they would puke if that meal included ANY potato salad. They continued on a long rant about the amount of potato salad they had been forced to consume. I will admit, we did receive unusually large amounts of it. Nevertheless, when I saw them turn into ungrateful, Hebrew children, I transformed into the Weeping Widow.

Sporting a limp, and in my best English accent, I slid to center stage and pretended to greet the woman bringing us our sustenance. I expressed gratitude for her efforts then sternly warned her that if her meal included any potato salad, my children would throw up! I apologized for being the Weeping Widow—unable to provide proper meals—then demanded that our kind friend turn around and get us fast food. After all, preventing a vomiting incident was the ultimate goal. 

A few silent seconds exposed their thankless attitudes, and after our eyes locked, we all began to laugh. The laughter stood out against the backdrop of grief. I was suddenly aware of the lack of laughter that had crept into our home. You will be glad to know that when the sweet lady arrived, she handed us a delightful casserole with no potato salad. We sighed in relief and laughed some more. That day, I became quite fond of the Weeping Widow alter ego. She brought laughter back to our broken hearts. 

I’ve been walking through grief with God and the Weeping Widow beside me for two years now. Grief in God’s hands leads to holiness and purpose. I now realize God has entrusted me with the Weeping Widow for good works and laughter that he planned in advance. 

James 1:27 in the ESV Bible says, “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this, to visit the orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.” The word “visit” means to inspect, observe, or relieve. I believe God gave me the title of Weeping Widow to be on mission—a divine design enabling me to minister to women who have suffered loss and bring relief to them. 

What title has been given to you that enables you to be on mission? Don’t hate or resist suffering, but allow God to use it for his mission! Think and pray about how you can use it this holiday season and throughout a new year. And I encourage you to enjoy a belly laugh or two while doing it!

By / Aug 3

I grew up believing strongly that every person should have equal rights–every person living and walking was made with the potential to do great things and contribute to society. If you were to label me, perhaps you’d say I was feminist, pro-choice and politically liberal. Like much of America, I believed that a woman had a right to determine what was best for her body. I believed wholeheartedly that I was also pro-women. No one, I thought, should be allowed to control the outcome of an unwanted pregnancy except for the mother. The male partner didn’t have rights to voice an opinion either. I actually don’t believe I thought the baby was a baby. In other words, I adopted the idea that he or she was a fetus of cells that weren’t fully developed and therefore disposable. There wasn’t anything in my mind that would have convinced me otherwise.
But God.

Something radical happened to all of my perceived notions of rights when God captured my heart with his gospel. Nothing was the same. As my heart was being transformed, so was my worldview. As I opened the Word I discovered that what I thought was a bunch of cells in a petri dish was actually the created work of God knitting and molding into a mothers’ womb (Psalm 139:13). God wasn’t creating a specimen. Rather he was creating a human—a man or woman made in His image.
Miscarriages proved to drive home this point as I continued to grow in Christ. I got it. I understood that my loss was real. I mourned the deaths of those babies because I knew that children were a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward (Psalm 127:3). And now that I have two busy and joy-filled children, I understand the joy of a human being that has been born (John 16:21). Oh what joy!

Lately, as the topic of abortion has reentered the public square with great ferocity, I’ve found myself weeping, without words, and unsure where to begin as I think about discussing the topic with my neighbors, I find myself weeping.

Here’s the thing, I know many (many) women who’ve made this choice, the choice to abort their baby. I want them to know that I am indeed pro-women. Not that I affirm their choice but rather that I believe in a God who hates sin and sent his son to die on the cross for our sins. I believe in a God who says, if we confess our sin he’s faithful to forgive us and purify us (1 John 1:9). I believe that all of Romans 8 applies to me and to her and to anyone who has trusted in the Lord.

You, my friend, my sister, are not condemned. That is how I am pro-woman. I want her to know that truth in God’s Word—all of it—and know the love found in Jesus.

Weep with Hope

There is an appropriate time for everything and now is an appropriate time for weeping (Ecclesiastes 3:4). We weep for those babies who lost their lives. We weep for the doctor, nurses, and staff who performed the procedures. We weep with the hundreds of thousands of mothers who are now weeping because of their decision to abort (some of which are near and dear to my heart). We weep with you, mothers. We don’t chastise you; we pray that your next decision would abstinence or life and swift repentance if it has been delayed.

But we don’t mourn as those without hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). We can weep with hope knowing that God sent his son Jesus as a propitiation for our sins and he will return vindicating his righteousness. He will make all things new. And we hope in that future grace because we know that his word is true. And though we are restless and ready for his return, we thank God that he is patient not wanting anyone to perish (2 Peter 3:9).