It happened again. I’m sitting around, chatting it up with the girls, and one of them queries, “Did you see Supernanny last night?”

Now, I’m expecting an ensuing satire– like the one my children performed when I taped the show to see what all the hoopla was about. But instead, I hear, “Did you see how Supernanny used The Naughty Chair? What a wonderful idea…”

Amy gags in response, but nobody notices her choking because they’re all too engrossed with the finer details of the latest episode. Amy hits herself on the back in a feeble attempt to keep living, and all the gals praise her for illustrating the importance of back-patting.

It’s all very good for the self-esteem.

Now, I don’t want to be the cause of anyone’s sense of worth spiraling out-of-control. But the question begs to be asked: Why are Christian mothers going to secular humanists for parenting advice?

Answer: As a symptom of a greater problem (in a nutshell, worldliness), the Christian community as a whole has failed to follow a Titus 2 model of discipleship.

For the sake of pragmatic efficiency, we’ve replaced front porch bean snapping with Christian Women’s workshops. All one needs to know can be learned in a 12-week Bible study, “how-to” bestseller, or Saturday workshop.

I’m not against efficiency. I’m not against workshops either, and you know how I love (non-self-help) books. Being a mother of several small children, cutting corners and studying efficiency models is time well-spent. However, I just had a conversation with an older mother who knows that a few things would have turned out differently if she’d put down her books and had a cup of tea with a grandmother in the church. I took her words to heart.

There are nuances that can’t be conveyed in a mass-media format (such as this). When you’re at the kitchen table instead of a workshop, you see Mama smile at her little boy every time he enters the room. You witness her firm, gentle voice in response to Baby’s fit. You observe her bending down when she talks to grandchildren. You see her adding a dash of garlic to every dish and setting out the best piece of pie for her husband instead of herself. And it’s also a lot easier to cut to the chase.

A few years ago, I was the only whipper-snapper in a Monday morning quilting circle. I remember watching the older women hand-stitch their pieces, and thinking, “I’ll never have the patience to make more than a twin-size quilt.” I was right. I marveled at how they just took their time, and it was clear why my work didn’t look like their work. (It still doesn’t.) You can’t learn to “pop the knot” by watching HGTV; you have to feeeeeel the knot pop. Likewise, patience– for sewing and living– is gleaned from observing aged wisdom in action.

It bears repeating that Jesus passed on the Kingdom work to twelve men on a fishing boat. No mention of a 40-day program with matching bread and fish journals.

As for SuperNanny, I guess it’s good in some sick way that the media are finally giving us permission to discipline our own children. I mean, it’s pleasurable to know that I can bite, kick, and cuss one of my authorities, and I’ll only get 29 minutes (one minute for each year I’ve been on earth) in The Naughty Chair. That’s actually worth it.

As for me, I’ve found that Biblical wisdom is getting easier to come by now. Just observe the latest trend, and go do the opposite.

10. The only time I “count to five” is when I’m cooking up bowls of oatmeal for Baby Energizer in the morning.

9. All our county resource officers are tied up at our local public preschool.

8. If the teacher needs a little reinforcement, the teacher places a call to the Principal. The Principal speaks on the phone for about 30 seconds to the pupil. Said pupil morphs into Teacher’s Pet instantaneously. Case closed.

7. I never forget to generously dose each child with Prozac and Ritalin before the start of each day.

6. All our kids just skip kindergarten.

5. Withholding library privileges is worse than handcuffs for our kids.

4. If Baby Energizer continues her growth trend, the police will need a forklift by the time she’s five, not handcuffs.

3. The NEA and the ACLU are scared of the HSLDA.

2. Our kindergartners are too busy reading good books to be inconvenienced by a trip to jail.

1. Because our Junior isn’t finally disciplined on his 53rd trial of the same antic.

You can always tell how long my husband has been gone on business by what I’m drinking. Normally, my drink of choice is distilled water. Now, my husband works long days, but I can usually get by with my distilled water. Not filtered. Not spring. Not tap. Just the sweet tinge that comes from the distilling process.

If the day is not going right, you might find me with a Diet Coke in my hand during the bewitching hour. For all you male readers, this is the hour before dinner time when all happy kids loose their smiles. If you are already governing kids that “woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” this is the time wherein the phone rings and the pastor knocks on the door while you’re in the middle of yelling at gently correcting them. Since this never happens to me, I’ll move on.

When my husband goes on a business trip for a few days, I usually begin my mornings with a cup of decaf and flavored creamer. I need something to look forward to when I wake up. Since I didn’t happen to read Edwards’ Safety, Fullness, and Sweet Refreshment in Christ the night before, I settle instead for fleeting, carnal pleasure.

But when the trip morphs from days into weeks, you will find me brewing fully caffeinated, overpriced gourmet beans that I pick up from Publix during a late night we-need-milk run. Instead of scrutinizing the calories on the side of the Vanilla Toffee Caramel bottle, you will not only find me pouring sugar laced intoxications liberally, but you might also hear the “squishhhhhh” from the whipped cream can.

I’m not telling what happens if the weeks should turn into months.

All this commentary because I wanted to link you to Doug’s post, You know you’ve had too much coffee when… at Coffee Swirls. I figured some of you just might know what he’s talking about.

One double latte, please.

Remembering…

Whom have I in heaven but you?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. ~Psalm 73:25-26

O perfect Life, be Thou their full assurance,
Of tender charity and steadfast faith,
Of patient hope and quiet, brave endurance,
With childlike trust that fears nor pain nor death.

(From the hymn, O Perfect Love)

I know some of you enter the monthly Challies drawing via my site. Here’s the link. The details are over there.

This past Sunday night, our children’s choir led a program on the great hymns of the faith. Afterward, a nice gentleman approached me, and asked, “Was your kid the one up there in the gray shirt?”

I paused not because I didn’t remember if my kid was wearing a gray shirt under his choir robe, but because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to own whatever he was going to tell me. My husband is still away on business, so he wasn’t there for me to point to and say, “No, that’s his kid.”

I’m too tired to think up a new line.

I pushed the rewind button in my memory file, and I didn’t recall any of my children misbehaving in the choir loft. So I cautiously acknowledged the offspring as my own. “Well, I’ll be! Did you know that he knew every word to all the hymns?” [Not just the songs he was supposed to know.] ” I just watched him for my cues to sing.”

Gone are the days of quick getaway bedtime tunes like Twinkle, Twinkle.

I beamed with pride…and relief. Then, I pointed out all my other star pupils just in case he wanted to know. All the ones that were smiling sweetly at the moment anyway. If I had a penny Google share for every lady that cautions me to savor the moments because it “goes by so fast”, I could retire. Like The Donald.

Our days are fleeting, and they are numbered. My children will be gone from underfoot before I know it. I will look back and wonder how it went by so fast. (Polly-want-a-cracker? Repeat after me…) For now though, in this stage of motherhood, I’ll just be sure to file the good reports up front and within very close reach. And then, the days won’t seem so long.

Back in the days of my childhood, nobody ever had to tell me to go to bed. I just went. I knew a good thing when I saw it.

Now, instead of collapsing into bed at 8:00 p.m. right after the kiddos, I stay awake even if I have to tape my eyelids open. My husband doesn’t get this and frequently asks, “Why don’t you just go to bed?” To which I frequently reply, “Because I want to stay awake and know what thinking a whole thought feels like.”

Mothers of many young siblings will understand what I’m saying. The day goes like this: remind, repeat, reward, redo, rewind, rework, resort, renew. (Don’t miss my poetic attempt by skimming that line.) Now, attach a 28-pound Butterball to your hip, and repeat.

This is not to say that pouring Cheerios, wiping Cheerios, and then vacuuming Cheerios can’t be done with grace and glory. It can. But, right now in the trenches of work, grit, and determination, sometimes I like to be awake without someone or something needing me.

I should be in bed, but instead I stay awake typing, reading, and– gasp!– watching The Amazing Race on Tuesday nights. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to cheering for Rob and Amber. :mrgreen:

When boneless skinless chicken breasts go on sale for 1.69 a pound, the question is not, “What are we having for dinner?” but instead, “How will the chicken be cooked tonight?”

This is not a recipe blog, but I feel like I’d be remiss if I didn’t share the best chicken dish I ever ate–prepared for me by my husband! Now, I know the ingredients used in this menu might not compare with the thrift of a chicken dumpling meal, but I guarantee that nobody will leave the table disappointed. Serve the Lord and your husbands with gladness. And if he insists on showing off his new chef hat, stroke his boasting with gladness as well. Happy wives make for happy husbands, you know. ;)

Chicken Bryan like Carrabba’s®
Adapted from this site.

Serves: 6
Prep. Time: 0:55

1 Tbls. minced garlic
1 Tbls. minced yellow onion
2 Tbls. butter
1/2 cup dry white wine
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
2/3 cup cold butter - sliced
1 1/2 cup chopped sun-dried tomatoes (no substitutes)
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. white pepper
6 boned, skinned chicken breast halves
extra virgin olive oil - for brushing
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper
8 oz. goat cheese - room temperature (not feta)

-Sauté garlic and onion in 2 Tbls. butter in a large skillet over medium heat until tender.
-Stir wine and lemon juice into skillet, increase heat to medium high, and simmer to reduce by half.
-Reduce heat to low and stir in cold butter, one slice at a time.
-Stir in tomatoes, basil, kosher salt, and white pepper; remove from heat; set aside.
-Brush chicken breasts with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and black pepper.
-Grill chicken over hot coals 15 - 20 minutes, or until cooked through.
-A couple of minutes before chicken is done, place equal amounts of cheese on each breast.
-Spoon prepared sun-dried tomato sauce over chicken.

Claimer: I will be held responsible for any ensuing marital bliss that occurs as a result of preparing this recipe. If you’d like to express your appreciation by adding me to your Christmas card list or inviting me to your kid’s birthday party, you may do so by using the contact form at the top of this page. Cash gifts also gladly accepted.

The Feminist Mistake is an exercise for the brain, in that the amount of detail the author, Mary Kassian, presents to solidify her case is truly a bit to wade through. But those who dare to take the challenge aren’t disappointed in the least. (Just don’t plan to read it while you’re overseeing the kids as they finger-paint.) As Kassian details the progression of modern feminist thought from the 1960’s to the present, the reader is rewarded with an understanding of feminist thought on current culture and its implications for today and the future.

The book begins by tracing modern feminism with the advent of The Feminine Mystique and The Second Sex wherein groundbreaking feminists argued that society had wrongly defined women, and therefore, women’s roles were the cause of their own unhappiness, not women themselves. (Eve’s blame game is alive and well.) In order to find fulfillment, they believed that women needed to emulate their masculine counterparts and start contributing more valuable things to society than motherhood. Feminists sought to redefine themselves, and history proves that whoever defines the terms wins the argument.

After feminists succeeded in naming themselves, they won the right to begin naming society. No longer was it enough to be equal to man, now it was time to prove that they were better than the male species. Enter lesbianism and the devaluing of motherhood. Although at the time, radical feminism was viewed as on the fringe edge of the movement, it wasn’t long before the constant barrage of feminist ideals and thought found their way into modern presuppositions. Kassian’s point is well noted, but a truly enjoyable exercise would’ve been to explore these examples and their implications further.

When feminists won the right to name the world, the right to name God was just a natural progression. Kassian presents a compelling, yet disturbing trend: as society chooses a path to militant gender egalitarianism, the modern church has not been far behind. Following radical feminism are moderate feminists and religious feminists. Reading the Bible with the newspaper in hand is the basis of feminist theology. The feminization of God was not the only shocking trend; all passages that didn’t line up with their idea of who they wanted God to be were passed off as cultural in nature, irrelevant, or basically ignored. The feminists espoused an obviously radical, unbiblical concept, and Kassian documents how religious acceptance follows subtly about 15 years later to reflect those changes in modern thought. (Case in point, think the gender neutral Bible.)

In the same way, Kassian also notes that the influence of feminist thought is subtle, dangerous, and alive and well. This is the entire crux of the book, and I admit my disappointment that Kassian did not explore this with the same detail that she gave history. The modern feminist movement is not extinct; it has just so well infiltrated the culture that we don’t recognize for what it is: an assault on Biblical, God-defined gender roles. In a culture where we’re bombarded from every angle with messages from “Just do it” to “Obey your thirst”, we’d do well to remember that God alone is truth, and our satisfaction is only found in obedience to His Word.

For further reading, visit Diet of Bookworms.

I passed this sign on my way home yesterday. I can’t shake it that nobody at the church has realized its error as it languishes there for many days. Bonus points for the first commenter who points out the obvious Biblical text that should immediately come to mind.

I used to think that nobody read church marquees, but I have to admit that my husband and I rubberneck now, gawking at each passing one. They’re just too good not to discuss. We need something to do since our kids don’t bother squabbling in the car. ;)

Now, I’m not an uptight person. I can appreciate the good feelings that the sign intended to convey. But at some point, we must concede that modern evangelicalism is falling far short of Biblical orthodoxy. The message of the cross continues to take a back seat to feel-good theology. Look around. The signs are everywhere.

I couldn’t resist posting this one today. Not only do I not make this stuff up, I don’t even have to go far to find it. Both signs (yesterday’s and today’s) were sighted within two miles of my house. I’m happy to report that my home church’s marquee (a quarter of a mile away) still lists only the service times.

[In case you scrolled down for more commentary, I’m happy to report that I accomplished my once a month shopping trip to Wal-Mart Supercenter last night. Due to the extensive brain and brawn that feat requires, I bring to the table only this five minute post. Maybe I’ll be out of recovery tomorrow. Or maybe not.]

As I surveyed the kitchen table, the counters, the floors– I turned to my husband tonight and said, “I’m not even lying; it was cleaned spotlessly six times already today.” I sighed and flopped on the couch (in a ladylike manner), reminding myself that there was meaning in the ritual. Somehow. To which my husband responded by gathering the children to help clean the area for the seventh time, while I swooned with my hand on my brow and mumbled unintelligable phrases about rolling large rocks up steep hills.

There are worse things in life than this. But sometimes it’s not always wise to mention that to a post-partum new mom. Or even to a fourth time mom. The fact that one day my house will look like magazine pictures (and supposedly, I’ll be sad) doesn’t bring balm to a mother’s heart during the Groundhog Days of early motherhood.

To have joy for the journey and grit for the days to come, we mothers must offer our routines, chores, sorrows, tasks—yes, our entire days as an offering to Him. In the words of Elisabeth Elliot (via Meg):

The routines of housework and of mothering may be seen as a kind of death, and it is appropriate that they should be, for they offer the chance, day after day, to lay down one’s life for others. Then they are no longer routines… A mother’s part in sustaining the life of her children and making it pleasant and comfortable is no triviality. It calls for self-sacrifice and humility, but it is the route, as was the humiliation of Jesus, to glory.

To modern mothers I would say “Let Christ himself be your example as to what your attitude should be. For he, who had always been God by nature, did not cling to his prerogatives as God’s equal, but stripped himself of all privilege by consenting to be a slave by nature and being born as a mortal man. And, having become man, he humbled himself by living a life of utter obedience, even to the extent of dying, and the death he died was the death of a common criminal. That is why God has now lifted him so high. . .” (Phil. 2:5-11 Phillips).

God’s chosen method of santification for many women in ages past is much like one of the preferred vehicles of His grace for many women today: motherhood. It is a chance to exchange our lives for His, our “loss of self” for His life seen in us. Knowing that the God of the Universe requires such from me and gifts me with this task, I am confident that He will equip me for the asking.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving the kitchen as it is and heading to bed. The crumbs will be there in the morning… along with a new measure of grace.

I don’t think we were ever meant to do this mothering thing alone. The days are long and the years are short, and sometimes the minutes until naptime are even longer. There is no place I’d rather be than here in my home with my children underfoot and my cup spilling running over. There isn’t even a “but.”

However. That said. I just emerged from Mt. Laundry, and I thought to myself, #1. (yes, I number my rational thoughts) I can’t be the only person this happens to:

2. And my whites will never make a Clorox commercial.

3. I can’t be the only one who wants to see how Martha Stewart’s crème brulee turns out with a baby on her hip, and three preschoolers on the counter.

4. My girls’ bangs are below their eyebrows.

5. And I don’t even feel guilty when I cut them a little crooked.

6. I folded a pair of size 4 shorts for my 7-year-old. And didn’t blink an eye when I gave him his stack to put away.

Due to discretion, my list stops here. But, be assured, I could make it to [an undisclosed number] without batting an eye. But I have some socks to put away in drawers–without their mates.

1. Choosing Home launches their new site on June 1st with a housewarming party. To participate, go here to find the details for the Wednesday, May 25th deadline.

2. I won the Challies giveaway for this month, and nobody asked me for an acceptance speech. The prizes were Amazing Grace: The History & Theology of Calvinism DVD and the Luther DVD. My DVD collection just grew from 0 to 2. The giveaway was courtesy Monergism Books. If you’re sad you didn’t win, you can buy yourself a consolation prize there [end commercial]. Winning this contest makes up for missing our church’s annual ornament exchange last year.

Speaking of acceptance speaches, Dr. Mike forgets to name the little people who don’t delete Dr. Mike’s witty comments on their humble blogs. Us little people are the reason he won a Warnie Award. I just know it. Congratulations, Dr. Mike!

3. Thanks for all the what-to-do-with-a-sole-sock ideas. My soul is thankful to those who gave me permission to just pitch them. (Actually, they’ll go to my husband’s wood-staining rag pile.) Freedom! Now, what to do with the Tupperware type stuff with missing lids…

4. My feminist friend, Alice, has started a new site Evangelical Update. The stated purpose of her site is to be a “resource for lefties who want to understand Christian Evangelicals.” Stop by and say, “Hello.” Long-time readers will remember her as “Not Crunchy” and as a great lady to have a conversation with.

[Update: Speaking of conversations, Rev. Ed posts a conversation with Alice here. This is a good first post to read if you’re unfamiliar with the saga.]

5. Real post to follow later.