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Kristen Anne Glover

Five in Tow

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Crusts and Middles

crusts

Crusts

Crusts piled up on the cutting board in a neat mountain of crumbs and edges. Dark sides with white underbellies gathered to the side.

My knife cut away the unwanted bits, leaving perfect squares of pillowy, white middles. That was the best part of the bread—any kid could tell you that—and only the best, prettiest part of the bread could be used for tea sandwiches.

I filled those delicate slices with fluffy egg salad, cut them on the diagonal, and arranged them on a pretty glass cake stand.

But the crusts remained on my board, without purpose for the upcoming party. They were useless, discarded bits. The best had been taken, and the part that was left was not enough for anything good.

At least, that’s how it feels sometimes, like the best of you has been given away already, and the only thing left is the thing you don’t think is wanted.

The leftovers.

The crumbs.

The crusty, tough edges that even a teenager won’t touch.

crusts2

The crusty, tough edges that even a teenager won’t touch

You are the mama who gave away her 20’s and 30’s to raise babies, and now they are growing and pushing into their own independence, and you feel as if your very middle has been cut out.

You are the military wife who gave up her own dreams to follow her husband from assignment to assignment. But now he’s retiring, full of ribbons and honor and federal holidays to honor him, but no one sees what you gave up, and no one understands how it feels when your country doesn’t need you anymore.

You are the woman who held on to a hope that never materialized, and now, now? You wonder if God really has anything for you in these years that are left.

You feel every bit like the boy on a hill, surrounded by thousands of grown-up men who are eager to fill their empty stomachs, and all you have are a few dried-out loaves and the fish that have spent the better part of the day sitting out in the heat of the sun.

“How much do you have?”

“Not much.”

“How much?”

“Just this little bit, and it’s not very good.”

“May I have it?”

You shift your feet from side to side and look down at your basket, afraid to show him the bits and edges, the browned parts that are left after the middles have been cut out.

But he reaches in with hands that are not afraid to touch, hands that know exactly what to do with leftovers, and he blesses it. It is a blessing that speaks something out of the nothing, that moves mountains into being and tosses galaxies farther than any human eye will ever see. It is the kind of blessing that cannot be quantified except by the leftovers.

“And they all ate and were satisfied. And what was left over was picked up, twelve baskets of broken pieces.”

The soft middles don’t even make the story. But those broken pieces—the leftovers of the miracle–stand as a testimony to all time of the kind of God who knows what to do with the things that are small and foolish, old and broken, unchosen and castoff.

It is as if the entire story of redemption is one big smorgasbord, where all the leftovers get remade and served up in a glorious feast that makes even the hardest heart wonder.

It is the grain left around the edges of the field after the harvest that feeds the poor and draws a young widow to the feet of a kinsman redeemer.  It is the remnant of a faithless people that prove the faithfulness of God. It is the last crumb that shakes the coffers and gives Jesus pause to praise a woman who did not hesitate to give the very last bit.

It is the crusts and edges that make up the story. 

If you are the woman who wonders if anything good can come of what is left, if you’ve already used up your middles and only have the crusts–do not hold back from God.  Open your basket and let the blessing rush in.  He knows what to do with the leftovers.  In fact, they are his favorite part.

crusts and middles

crusts and middles

 

Faith, Parenting 15 Comments

When Is Your Child Old Enough to Read the Real Bible?

Reading his first real Bible

Micah reading his first real Bible

(Spoiler: he might be ready for the Bible sooner than you think)

Last year, the kids and I embarked on a journey to read through the Bible in a year. It was a daunting undertaking, especially on January first, when we were staring down the entire Pentateuch, a handful of minor prophets, and the oddities of the book of Revelation.

Prior to this, our family devotions consisted of a much shorter Bible reading, especially when Jeff wasn’t home. I tended to play to the lowest common denominator: my youngest kids. We read Bible story books, memorized verses put to children’s music, and went over the same “big stories” over and over and over again.

David killed Goliath every couple of months at our house.

At some point, I realized we were making a critical error. My kids knew the Bible stories, but they were not reading THE Bible. They knew the tales publishers thought were interesting enough to include in a children’s Bible-the ones that could be easily illustrated or colorfully told. But when the only thing my children knew of Kind David is that he nailed a giant, and all of Revelation was boiled down to, “I’ll be back,” something had to change.

I wanted my children to fall in love with the Word of God, not a stylized, dumbed-down version of the Word of God. As good and useful as children’s story book Bibles are for littles (and they are, don’t get me wrong), there comes a point when it’s time to take away the pop gun and give those kids the Sword.

The trouble was, my kids were used to the pretty-picture Bibles, and they liked them. Their biblical attention span was exactly what the Bible story books gave them: five minutes or less. Their vocabulary was similarly challenged. And really, all they wanted to do was look at the pictures.

Story Bible

The real Bible has tough competition against our favorite story Bible–look at those illustrations!

When it came time to read an actual chapter from the actual Bible, my kids got squirmy. They didn’t know where to find Romans and there weren’t any pictures and the sound of it was all so…plain.

In my home, where we value the Word of God, my kids had learned that the real Bible was boring, difficult, and only to be used in church. Without even realizing it, I was teaching them the idea every night when I hauled out the color-saturated children’s story Bible instead of the real thing when they were old enough to see and hear and touch the real thing.

Now, I know they were old enough  because when I was their age, I began reading the Bible on my own. At that time in my life, I spent weekdays at a boarding school, only coming home on the weekends or for school holidays. As part of our daily routine, my dorm parents set aside time for personal devotions. Each of us kids was expected to sit quietly and read our Bibles for a short amount of time each day. No one looked over our shoulders and explained the big words. No one told us to skip over the parts about “begetting” or circumcision or any of the racy stuff about adultery. We just read it, our little brains dismissing the stuff that was too mature for us and absorbing everything else.

And do you know what? There was a lot my seven-year-old brain could absorb. I did not get bored or frustrated by the big words. Quite the opposite: I fell in love with the Bible when I was given the chance.

I was in second grade—the very same age my twins are now.

Bibles

The well-worn story Bible…and the others

That discipline I developed in second grade became a life-long habit.

But six or seven seems so young when the six or seven-year-old is your child, and not yourself. I wasn’t sure my kids could handle reading the real Bible every day, especially the entire real Bible (because whoa, there are some parts I’d rather skip. Having Sex Ed right in the middle of family devotions is…awkward).

We did it anyway. My mother-in-law told me about a one-year audio Bible, so every night after dinner, we got out our Bibles and read along to the day’s audio reading. (Because mamas, you all know that the last thing you want to do at the end of the day is read three chapters of anything out loud to your children).

When Jeff deployed at the end of January, he was able to follow along with our Bible reading way over on the other side of the world, and we could all talk about what we were learning, just as if he was right here with us.

We didn’t do it perfectly. Some days, we missed. Some days, we chewed the Word a little more slowly. But mostly, we did it.

Still, I was worried I was pushing the kids too hard. Maybe we were reading too much each day? Was anything sinking in?

Boy and Bible

A boy and his Bible embarking on a life-long journey together (by the grace of God)

Then amazing things began to happen. My kids began to beg for our Bible reading each day. If we missed, they were genuinely disappointed and wouldn’t let me miss twice. Their questions became more insightful as their love of the Word grew. They began to connect the dots.

Then, a genuine miracle occurred: I bought the twins their first real Bibles for Christmas this year because their reading was finally up to the level where they could try to read it on their own. We began a new year of Bible reading as a family.

But the boys aren’t content to stop with the day’s reading. They snuggle on the couches with their Bibles, reading through Genesis on their own. “Did you read about Cain and Able yet, Paul?” Micah calls from his couch. “Oh, yeah! I’m waaaaay past that. Where are you at?” Paul responds.

Yesterday, they proudly told me they have read up to chapter 13 (although Micah insists Paul skipped chapters 9-11, an accusation Paul adamantly denies).

Let the reader understand: reading is agonizing for these boys. But the Bible has so captivated them, they cannot put it down. My sweet, dyslexic twins are reading their way through Genesis—the real Genesis—one slow word at a time, because they have fallen in love with it.

Can we all just stop and praise Jesus right now?  Because my heart is full to bursting.

Micah and the Bible

I can’t take the credit—God’s Word is living and active, and it is living and active even in the hearts of the very young. In my own home, God is giving me the privilege to see the power in the inspired Word of God, a power that cannot be replicated, no matter how charming the storybook version might be.

It. is. awe-full.

If you have been wondering what age would be appropriate to begin reading the real Bible with your child, let me encourage you: it might be earlier than you think.  It might be now.

Faith, Parenting 7 Comments

The Calendar Can’t Make You New

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

It is a new year. All the days line up like stepping-stones, as far as the eye can see, until they disappear into a new horizon. I stand on the first one, breathless to see where these days will take me.

At my side, my bags stand ready. I have packed the memories, tucked away the bits of wisdom, and made sure my hopes and dreams and goals are folded neatly inside.

But I have other baggage too. Fears. Hurts. Insecurities. Haunting memories. Bitter disappointments.

Brokenness.

I stand on this little square of a day, the stepping stone to a whole new year, and I know I’m supposed to make all sorts of promises to myself to travel lighter this time. I know I am not supposed to bring all the junk along for the journey.

turquoise Vintage luggage

It is easier said than done. Some of this baggage has been with me a long time. I know the contents of those bags by heart, so often have I opened them and taken each piece out, one by one, to make sure they’re all still there. I reorganize the hurts, make sure I still remember why I should be insecure, and trace over all the wounds.

You’re not good enough.

You’re replaceable.

You’re too flat.

You’re getting fat.

You are not one of us.

You are unkind.

You are too proud.

You are not the quality person you used to be.

Oh yes, everything is there, exactly where I left it. I consider tossing some of them, and even leave a few by the wayside for a time. But I always go back and repack my bags again.

If I really want to travel lighter, I am told, I need to make specific goals. I need to forgive myself and others. I need to accept myself. I need to put things down and not take them up again.

Vintage luggage inside

Soon, I am stressing over the fact that I need to change and can’t seem to be able to do it. I am not really okay with myself. I am not at peace with certain aspects of the past. I am not able to try on swimsuits at Target and embrace my thirty-something, post-twins body, believing I’m every bit as beautiful as the bouncy nineteen-year-old in the stall next to me without feeling like I’m lying to myself.

You haven’t aged well.

Why did you think you’d fit into those jeans?

You have no self-control.  

You don’t stick to anything.

You need to be okay with yourself.

You’re supposed to have this conquered by now.

I might need another suitcase.  

Instead, I stand on this little block of time and squint my eyes out as far as they can go. Day after day after day disappears into the eternity in front of me. One day, I will be free.

That is the hope of eternity. One day, all this baggage will disappear. And it is not up to me to figure out how to empty my bags on my own. It is not my job to be better, to do better, to accept myself with some sort of delusional self-esteem mantra.

Some things will not be okay on this side of heaven.

But there is heaven.

And heaven came down—didn’t we just celebrate that?—so that right here, in this little square of a day on this side of eternity, Jesus can begin that perfect work now.

It is not up to me, or a resolution, or a day on the calendar. It is not the calendar that makes us new. It is Jesus. It does not matter how much we resolve and will and plan and try—without the inner, transforming work of His Spirit, we remain just as hopeless as we were the year before, and the year before that.

Here on this earth, we wrestle with cursed flesh and breathe the stench of singed souls. There isn’t a resolution on earth good enough to change that.

But in heaven, God resolved for us to do what we cannot do for ourselves: to truly change and transform us, to make us new, to forgive and atone for the past, and to make us fully pleasing and acceptable for the future.

Now that is something new.

All things new

Because of Him, I can set my burdens down, right here on the first day of the rest of my eternity, knowing that one day, He will make it okay. There is freedom in the faith that He will open those bags, and I will see that they are empty. And not only empty but clean, bright, and new.

Because all this time, He has been at work, accomplishing the resolutions I have not had the resolve to do. Though I strive for holiness, and should, I fall short. He never does. His transformation of me is perfect.  Complete. And independent of my ability to let go, step up, or do better.

On this, the first day of a new year in which I desperately want to be new too, this is the thing that makes me lighter and freer. Not my resolution, but His. Not my try but His accomplished.

What a beautiful hope. I set my baggage down and spread my arms open to the glorious truth that He is emptying the bag I cannot empty on my own.

He is making all things new.

That is something the calendar can never do.

Faith 5 Comments

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I believe you can find grace for the mother you are and help to become the mother you long to be—a mom who has the freedom to choose the better things and enjoy her kids right now.

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