The other day, while grocery shopping, I turned down an aisle and faced a roadblock. A two-year-old boy was flinging around on his back. If I were deaf, I may have thought he was in the middle of a seizure, but my ears were working well and I immediately recognized it as a temper-tantrum.

The mom, at her wits-end, grabbed him off the floor and forcefully put him in the shopping cart. He squealed loud and she barked louder (figuratively that is). Twenty years ago my heart would have been with the kid, Poor little guy. What a mean mommy.

However, today it was with the mom. I now have kids and have been there and done that. My busy schedule, lack of sleep and responsibilities had collided and it pushed me over the limit. My patience flew out the door and I said and did things I later regretted.

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   I got a call from Lily’s kindergarten teacher asking if I would come in and volunteer at lunchtime as a playground dad. Someone else could not make it and they needed a replacement. It was early September and the year had just begun.  I agreed and showed up the following Friday for duty.

            Somehow, that one afternoon has turned into four years of Friday lunches, countless dodge ball games and amazing opportunities to let kids know they matter.

            More then anything, it has been a chance to be available—available to my daughter, available to her friends. I never show up with an agenda and I don’t really consider it ministry. It is just life. It is my daughter’s life, and I get tobe a part of it in a way that matters to her.

Most parents have no clue how to disciple their kids. I’m not saying it is their fault; they are as much victims of the crisis of discipleship in the church today as their children.

Here is a good way to figure out if you are measuring up in discipling your son or daughter. Imagine that your child is not your own. Rather, Jesus has introduced them to you with a commission of discipleship. Until he or she turns 18, you will be given 3-5 hours per week to show them the way of the Savior. The sky is the limit, but you only get these 3-5 hours to create a sustainable faith in this kid—to make sure he or she knows Christ in the depths of their soul.

What would you do? How would you do it? Would it be different then what you are doing now?

When we think of a discipler we often conjure up a much different picture than that of a parent. Parents can easily turn to provision and protection and miss the parallel call of discipleship. You can be a fantastic parent and fail as a discipler; non-believers do this all of the time.

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I was recently quite disturbed by this story of a couple in Toronto who have refused to divulge the gender of their recently born child, who they named Storm (how perfectly gender ambiguous!). Though Storm does indeed have a gender, Storm’s parents–Kathy Witterick and David Stocker–aren’t telling anyone, not even family and close friends, what it is.

“We’ve decided not to share Storm’s sex for now–a tribute to freedom and choice in place of limitation,” wrote Witterick in an email. “In fact, in not telling the gender of my precious baby, I am saying to the world, ‘Please can you just let Storm discover for him/herself what s (he) wants to be?!.”

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Does God ever feel silent? I’ve often wondered why He speaks in a “still small voice,” especially since we live in a culture full of noise. I guess it’s much the same with my kids. They have an innate ability to tune me out if I yell at them (they obviously inherited this trait from their father) but when I speak quietly to them they are more likely to tune in.

I, on the other hand, have a hard time hearing unless it’s spoken with a raised voice. The background noise surrounding my life often camouflages His quiet Spirit. Then again, maybe it’s not the noise that keeps me from hearing Him speak. Perhaps it’s my busyness.

Many years ago we lived in Germany and rented an old row house. It was narrow but three stories high and had marble stairs that twisted their way to the top.

Our house was a bit crazy the past couple of weeks. Actually, stressful is a better word to describe it. Everyone was in an eternal irritable state – even the dogs. The kids were fighting, Mark and I were barking at each other and the dogs – well they seemed irked over the lack of a walk and went in the backyard and chewed up part of the playset! (Oh yeah, mama wasn’t happy!)

I made numerous attempts to end it – I put the kids to bed earlier, slipped the dogs some extra treats and made heartier meals to keep Mark from being hungry – but the irritation continued. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Why were we all lacking peace?

One day, my 8-year-old daughter and I were in the car when she snapped at me about something I did that bothered her (I think yawned or something – it was pretty annoying.

Caleb, my fearless, dirt under his fingernails,eccentric eight year old was asked to write an essay responding to the prompt,“Ring out the Old and Ring in the New!” The prompt asked him to write about his three favorite experiences in the last year and about three things he hoped would happen in 2011. I’m sharing it with his permission. He was quite proud that I thought his essay worthy of posting on the blog. He feels “published”now.

 “Pssst! Would you like to hear my writing prompt? It’s about the three things that I loved about the past year and three things I hope will come in 2011! Wait! You have to hear this for yourself!

 The first thing that happened in 2010 is that our family decided to adopt a child from South Africa. His name is Duzi. He fits right into our family! So, if you haven’t adopted yet, it’s hard but fun. So, why don’t you give it a try?

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I've wanted to be a psychotherapist since I was in eighth grade. It's what I went to school for, and it's what I've done for the last ten years. I've been licensed and with with the same private practice for ten years. It was a very comfortable place to be. I liked my colleagues, I liked that the job was challenging and cerebral, and I loved that I could set my own hours and work part-time for a decent wage. One of the things that drew me to this career was that I thought it would be very compatible with motherhood. I thought I could see a part-time caseload during Mark's off days, while staying home with the kids.

This worked out well when Jafta was a baby. I really enjoyed going in to work, and the adult conversation was a welcome change to the quiet days at home with a baby. When India came along, it got a little more difficult to juggle. I felt a little more frazzled in session, and really struggled to keep up with returning phone calls and setting appointments during the week. Once I had Karis, I could barely find the time to call back the referrals I got. The few long-standing clients I saw after her arrival were hard for me. I felt like my brain was in short-circuit mode. I just couldn't get my head into a space where I could really be present with clients. I am an introvert, and motherhood was draining any energy I had that I could previously devote to my job.

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We had the good fortune to travel to the balmy island of Kaua’i (notice the apostrophe – I’m pretty much a local now) last week. We try to get to Hawai’i (again, notice apostrophe) every February to escape the gray doldrums of living in the Pacific Northwest in the winter. Mid-January, our Southern California blood starts demanding we get it some Vitamin D. We use our companion tickets for airfare and my in-laws graciously cover the accommodations. So, the trip really is almost free, if we refrain from eating out too much while we’re on the island. Almost free paradise is my kind of paradise. We were in Kaua’i when we got the news that we can go pick up our son at the end of March. The news felt surreal, dream-like. We weren’t expecting this news until at least mid-summer. I e-mailed a few friends about the news but mostly just walked around in a daze induced by tropical landscape and shock. Toward the end of our trip, I was finally able to blog about it somewhat articulately to announce the news to the world (see previous post).

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