Tag: kids

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There Has to Be More Than This {guest post}

By Lisa Russell

There has to be more than this.

That’s what was ruminating in our hearts and conversations. In the perspective of our Christian culture, we had “arrived.” We were happily married, had started a family, had a dog and a house just shy of a white picket fence. We had a church community, were in Bible studies and serving in ministry. So why the holy discontentment?

Looking at our week, we were with our Christian friends in our Christian community doing Christian things nearly every night, yet we couldn’t shake the feeling that we were full … too full.

I call it Spiritual Gluttony.

We were filling up so much without an outlet for overflow, which left us lethargic, stagnant and, well … bloated.

There has to be more than this.

We started praying and the Lord quickly responded with a question: “If you had the perspective of being a missionary in your own town, how would your life look different?”

At the time, I was an event planner doing an event for a local non-profit raising funds for abused and neglected children in our community. When they put statistics up about children in our very own community, I broke. Our community? Our city in beautiful Colorado that has been on the top places in the country to live? We have the resources, and yet there are children who don’t have a safe haven.

I was shocked to see that there are children even suffering from malnourishment. These kids are in our own backyard–would we be willing to invite them in and care for them for a while? We were already the neighborhood hub for kids–most of whom didn’t have involved parents, who were starving for attention and a fruit snack from our pantry. What if we took it to another level and became foster parents?

Every step of the journey to become certified foster parents involved excitement, hope, fear, anxiousness and self-doubt. And yet every step felt like removing a brick from a dam, unleashing the flowing water built up over time.

The foster care training felt like church–learning how perfect love casts out all fear, actually being the hands and feet of Jesus, loving on the orphan, the “great commission.” Then, one day walking out of a grocery store, I got a call from our case worker. I thought she was calling to let us know our certification went through as we just finished our home study, but she called to ask if we would be willing to take a newborn baby boy just 16 days old. Two hours later, our first foster son entered into our home and immediately into our hearts.

You would have thought he came from my very own womb. I fell in love with this little bundle like he was my own. What I didn’t expect was to fall in love with his family.

There was even more than this.

Even more than taking in a foster child, was taking in a larger family: his aunt, who was emergency care after he was removed from the home, the grandma who was desperate to see her newborn grandson, the extended family that was concerned, and even the biological mom who was entangled with addiction.

Our eyes were opening to see the need in our community that was hidden by masks of prosperity. Driving into our city from the interstate, there was a new strip of trendy restaurants and shops systematically placed in front of a trailer park. We can’t have people seeing a trailer park when they enter into the #1 city to live.

Our eyes were also being opened to the unseen– the evil that claws its way through families by speaking lies of despair and hopelessness. Our hearts were being broken for these families that have had a name spoken over them that they believe to be true.

Unwanted.

Unloved.

Our foster son’s grandma told me she is a pariah–an outcast in this society with little hope a door would be cracked open enough to get back in.

We tend to dehumanize these families. By no means am I giving a free pass or condoning their actions as perpetrators, but we gain no ground to healing and restoration if we don’t start seeing them and hearing their own stories. More often, these bio-parents are suffering from their own trauma, abuse, neglect, mental illness, poverty and injustice. I had a bio-mom tell me once that her mom was the one who taught her to shoot heroin. When that is your model and your norm, it’s more than difficult to cut the generational root of sin and addiction.

It’s a broken system because we are broken people living out generations of brokenness.

The longer we got into fostering, the more I heard and felt that the system is broken. I don’t know how we can have a healthy system with broken people on this side of heaven. The truth is, there are a lot of people who are just doing the best they can- from the caseworkers, to the bio families, to the foster parents and the children that suffer the consequences the most. I do know a good place to start is having eyes to see the humans in front of you, being willing to listen to their stories and have hope for them when they aren’t able to access it themselves.

I do know a good place to start is having eyes to see the humans in front of you, being willing to listen to their stories and have hope for them when they aren’t able to access it themselves.–Lisa Russell

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There is more than this.

There is more than this life–this futile effort to piece together the broken parts of people and our larger communities. It results in a painful glory, through the painful process of diving into the messy, stagnant waters, removing the bricks of the dam, the water will flow once again and produce life and fruit to the land. We have to hold tight to the “more than this” hope.

There is more than this.

About Lisa:

Lisa Russell and her family fostered for 5 years for Larimer County Child Protective Services. She is now focusing on Lisa Russell Ministries as a Counselor, Spiritual Mentor and Speaker.

 

GIVEAWAY OF FINDING HOME!

We’re doing a giveaway of the e-version of this book of essays by various writers about what it’s like to raise or be a Third Culture Kid (TCK). To enter, simply sign up for my newsletter AND Rachel’s newsletter before this Friday, May 26th, midnight (MT) and we’ll draw a name after that and email the winner!

 

 

 

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This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

*This post includes Amazon affiliate links.

There Has to Be More Than This: On Foster Care {guest post}: "Our eyes were opening to see the need in our community that was hidden by masks of prosperity." #fostercare #nationalfostercaremonth #fostercareawareness #fosterparenting #fostermom #fostermother #fostersystem

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A Lament to God for Christ the Foster Child {guest post}

By Gena Thomas | Twitter: @genaLthomas

A few months ago, lament was heavy on my mind as I was hearing the news about DACA recipients. I didn’t know how to express my lament, so I opened up an amazing book by Soong-Chan Rah about lament and found the tool I didn’t know I needed: the acrostic. Then, stretching in a way I didn’t realize I needed to, I began to pen A Lament to God for Christ the Immigrant, with help and direction from the brilliant Juliet Liu.

Today marks a culmination of decisions that have me, once again, feeling the heaviness of lament. So once again, I have turned to the acrostic. And once again, I must thank Prof. Rah for this tool in the midst of weighted pain.

I lament:

for the Adulting you had to do at such a young age.
for the Bonds that must get prematurely cut.
for the Control you should have over your life but you don’t.
for the Decisions made without your input.
for the Environment you had to grow up in.
for the ‘Foster’ put before your name, and the prejudice that will come from it.
for the Grotesque scenes you’ve witnessed.
for the Heaviness you carry with you.
for the Isolation you constantly feel.
for the Juxtaposing you do daily between your life and everyone else’s.
for the Knowledge that has come to you out of its proper order.
for the Lying you’ve learned to mimic.
for the Mountains others will call mole hills.
for the Notes home from teachers that wouldn’t be there if …
for the Opportunities that never were.
for the Pains of growing up that will be deeper than most kids your age.
for the Questions that may never be answered.
for the Rights that may terminate or may not terminate.
for the Songs of childhood you never learned to sing.
for the Tension you may always hold between your past and your future.
for the Unwillingness for most people to understand you.
for the Visions of horror and the visions of home you hold in your minds eye.
for the Ways the people of God have not been intentional about loving you.
for the X-rays that show & don’t show the abuse.
for the Youth that was stolen and will never fully return.
for the Zeniths of times with blood family that may all be in the past.

For this I pray. For this I lament.

For the ways in which I have been selfish in my love for you, I lament, I repent.

Christ have mercy.

About Gena:

Gena Thomas served as a missionary in northern Mexico for over four years with her husband, Andrew. While there, the couple founded and managed El Buho, a coffee shop ministry that still serves the town of Hidalgo. Gena holds a masters in International Development. Purchase her book, A Smoldering Wick here and/or visit her at her blog or on Twitter.

This post originally appeared at www.genathomas.com and is used with permission by the author.

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This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

*This post includes Amazon affiliate links.

I didn't know how to express my lament, so I opened up an amazing book by Soong-Chan Rah about lament and found the tool I didn't know I needed: the acrostic. Then, stretching in a way I didn't realize I needed to, I began to pen A Lament to God for Christ the Immigrant.

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The Physicality of Motherhood {guest post + BOOK GIVEAWAY!}

By Catherine McNiel | Facebook

I spent my very first Mother’s Day on a cross-continental flight, with my husband and lap-sitting infant—the same baby who had recently made me a mother.

All three of us had the stomach flu.

Let’s just say it was a complicated day.

Oh, the stories that tiny airplane bathroom could tell. Not to mention the airport terminal. Please don’t even ask what happened on the side of the interstate driving home.

My husband and son gave me a loving card and a thoughtful gift but—let’s face it—caring for a sick, squirmy baby on a long flight while feeling sick yourself is not the ideal celebration.

But then again, maybe it is.

Twelve years into motherhood now, with many peaceful Mother’s Days under my belt, I wonder. What more appropriate way is there to mark the first year of motherhood? Let’s face it—motherhood involves quite a lot of throw-up.

From “morning sickness” (that poorly-named wilderness of all-day suffering) to the drama of “transition” during labor, making a baby entails vomit and weird physical symptoms of all kinds. Then, the baby. That precious, wonderful child shares his or her bodily fluids so readily.

Everything about being a parent, and especially a mother, is physical. These children call to us in the deepest places of our bodies and turn us inside out. Goopy noses and flowing tears are wiped on our shoulders and jeans without a thought. Our precious little ones depend upon us for their very physical existence; they unabashedly demand our bodies for themselves.

It can be easy for us to get lost in these physical acts, the unrelenting pouring out of our bodies for the life of another. Furthermore, we’ve been trained to see very little spiritual value in our bodies and what they do, in meeting bodily demands.

And yet, when Jesus came we called him God-made-flesh because he took on a body. He did not appear as a cloud this time, or a fire. He became one of us. God-made-flesh didn’t spend his time in an ivory tower, distaining the messy, physical world in favor of the clearer and more controllable world of thought and idea. No, the baby who was born in a stable and celebrated by shepherds went on to teach about fish and bread, bread and wine, sheep and goats, wheat and yeast. He touched sick people, even lepers. I’m going to guess he saw quite a bit of vomit himself.

The Gospel he taught was incredibly physical and messy. After all, it is his birth and death that most captivate us—the messiest, physical moments of our lives.

For moms—and dads, and grandparents, and caregivers—we preach the Gospel in these same physical, messy ways. We love with our hands and feet, we surrender with our tired bodies, we give life with our wombs, breasts, and hearts.

We love with our hands and feet, we surrender with our tired bodies, we give life with our wombs, breasts, and hearts. @CatherineMcNiel

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All this—and so much more—we willingly take on for the privilege of creating, bearing, sustaining, and giving life.

So, what’s a little throw-up on Mother’s Day?

Raise your air sickness bags with me. Here’s to life.

About Catherine:

Catherine McNiel writes to open eyes to God’s creative, redemptive work in each day—while caring for three kids, two jobs, and one enormous garden. Catherine is the author of Long Days of Small Things: Motherhood as a Spiritual Discipline (NavPress 2017). Look for her second book (NavPress) in 2019. Catherine loves to connect on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, or at www.catherinemcniel.com.

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I have three books to giveaway this month, so keep an eye out for them! This week, I’m giving away a copy of Long Days of Small Things: Motherhood as Spiritual Discipline. You can read my review here, but it’s a fabulous book to buy for moms of young children who need a breath of fresh air. Sign up for my newsletter by this Friday at midnight (MT) and I’ll send you a copy! Already signed up? Then like the Instagram or Facebook post I put up on 5/8 and tag up to four friends in the comments section (I’ll enter your name once per friend you tag)! Sorry, only U.S. residents and no bots allowed. 😉

It would make a fabulous mother’s day gift for a mom in the trenches!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

***

This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that, too. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

 

**Contains Amazon affiliate links.

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No More Fear for Kids~Interview with Author, JoHannah Reardon + Book Giveaway

I’ve always been fascinated by peering “behind the scenes.” Before a show, I always hope to glimpse the actors and catch them being ordinary people. I think most of us are interested–why else would we sit and watch hours of “extras” about the shows, movies and lives of cast members we love? Books are no different. I’m so curious about what inspires us to write and the process each of us takes. In this interview, author JoHannah, a friend of mine at Redbud Writer’s Guild, takes us behind the scenes of her newest book, a 40-day family devotional on fear for kids around age 8-12. But even if you don’t have kids, JoHannah has some fabulous lessons to share about how she has conquered fear in her life.

If you love free books like I do, be sure to read to the end for instructions on how to win a copy of this book!

1. Why did you write No More Fear for Kids?
I have battled a lifetime of fear and anxiety that began in childhood. I was afraid of everything and didn’t know how to process that fear. When I became a Christian, I knew the answer was in Christ, but I didn’t know how that translated into my day-to-day living. It wasn’t until I took 40 days to give up fear that I realized the stranglehold it had on me. With that in mind, I wanted to help kids get a head start on dealing with their fears when they are young. I could have avoided a lot of angst if I’d dealt with my fear much earlier in life.

2. Why 40 days to give up fear?
I did not attend a church that practiced Lent, but I worked with many people who did. I thought it would be useful to examine any habits that I knew I needed help with. So for a couple of years, I gave up food and media as everyone else I knew did, but one year I decided to pray about what I should give up. I felt as strongly as I’ve ever felt anything that I was to give up fear. That 40-day journey was absolutely life changing and broke a pattern that had dominated my life from as far back as I could remember.

3. What approach does your book No More Fear for Kids take to overcoming fear?
The 40 days of giving up fear taught me that I had a warped view of God. Since that time, I’ve been meditating on who God truly is. Knowing his good and loving character has helped me to trust him with all that happens in my life and world. In No More Fear for Kids, I stress these characteristics of God, as well as wrestle with what it means that God is a judge, that I should fear him, and that he does get angry. By understanding that I don’t have anything to fear from God has been huge in my journey away from fear and anxiety. So, by closely examining God’s attributes, I found that he was faithful and that giving up fear was simply believing that and trusting him with my life.

My hope in No More Fear for Kids is that children will gain a healthy understanding of God and realize that he loves them beyond measure, giving them a safe harbor no matter their fears and anxieties.

My hope in No More Fear for Kids is that children will gain a healthy understanding of God and realize that he loves them beyond measure, giving them a safe harbor no matter their fears and anxieties.

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 A. W. Tozer said that what we believe about God is the most important thing about us. By giving kids a right view of God’s attributes, their fears are put into perspective.

4. Is simply knowing who God is enough to overcome fears?
Good question. Before I started my 40-day journey, I knew God’s attributes intellectually. However, I hadn’t engaged my emotions in relation to his attributes. In the vein of Christianity I grew in, emotions were considered unimportant and even unnecessary. I was taught to put emotions aside and just go with what I knew to be true. So much about this is good and necessary; yet, it caused me to so disconnect with my emotions that I denied them. I decided I wasn’t afraid, even though I was terrified all the time. That’s why taking 40 days to just concentrate on my emotions of fear and anxiety were so important. I had to face those emotions head on by acknowledging them and by realizing God was trustworthy enough to deal with whatever was causing me terror. That experience with God was what caused a breakthrough for me.

5. Since you gave up fear, have you had any relapses?
I had one relapse when my husband was gone on a trip. I heard some noises in the night and felt the old panic begin to rise. I sat up in bed with all the old fears pouring in on me. But then, I felt angry—angry at Satan for throwing this old pattern of fear at me again. I said aloud, “No, Satan! I am not doing this again.” The fear lifted and I went peacefully back to sleep.

Then when I released No More Fear: 40 Days to Overcome Worry, my adult devotional, and No More Fear for Kids, I began to (ironically) fear that I had just found something simple to placate my emotions and that I couldn’t really offer help to anyone. But that week, a couple of men murdered someone in the town next to mine. They fled to my neighborhood and a massive search occurred. As the police examined every shed, camper, and nook or cranny a person could hide, general panic took over those in my town. People called me and told me I could come stay with them until these men were caught. I was elated when I realized I didn’t feel even an iota of fear. I would rather face armed murderers than return to the prison of fear I’d been locked in for so long.

6. What do you hope a child will come away with after reading No More Fear for Kids?
First of all, I hope a parent doesn’t just hand the child this book and let them read it on their own. It’s designed for discussion between the parent and child, giving the child an opportunity to talk about their fears and misconceptions about who God is. That said, for each child who spends 40 days in my book, I pray the following: that they will be able to identify their fears and rest them one by one at Jesus’ feet, knowing he will banish them. That their experience with God is so powerful they would rather face the worst life can throw at them than return to a life of fear and trembling. That their relationship with Christ becomes so real and palpable that it will affect every part of their lives and permeate it with inner peace—for years to come.

BOOK GIVEAWAY: WIN A FREE COPY OF NO MORE FEAR FOR KIDS

To win, be sure you’re signed up for my newsletter, then tag up to four friends on my Instagram post about this book who you think might be interested in reading this. I’ll enter you one time per new friend you tag. I’ll announce the winner on Instagram on Monday, April 16. Sorry, no bots and only U.S. residents!

 

BUY No More Fear for Kids from Amazon.  

More About JoHannah:

JoHannah Reardon was a Christianity Today editor for nine years. In that time she built and managed their Bible study site, ChristianBibleStudies.com. She also served as an editor for Today’s Christian Woman and Gifted For Leadership (now CTWomen and WomenLeaders). She currently serves as the senior editor for The Redbud Post and is the author of 14 books, including devotionals and novels. Although she loves her work, her favorite things in life are teasing her husband, annoying her children, and spoiling her grandkids. Find out more about JoHannah and her books at johannahreardon.com. Follow her on Twitter, Facebook and Pinterest.

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Our theme for April is “Books and Writing,” and I hope to share my favorite books, podcasts and resources for new writers.  Click here if you’re new to the series and want to catch up on old posts. Be sure to follow me on social media and sign up for my newsletter below so you can be alerted of new posts. Please get in touch at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting on this topic!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

 

**This post includes Amazon affiliate links

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Laundry Overload: Simplify Laundry

A few weeks ago I asked about laundry on Facebook and got more comments than I’ve ever gotten about anything. So while there are both horrific and glorious events happening in the world, humanity ultimately finds solidarity though the universal act of laundry.

Please know I’m writing this piece more as a journalist than as an expert and that I’m still very much in the experimental stage. But I ‘ve tried out some of my friends’ techniques over the past six weeks, and I think you will find some new ideas to streamline, or at least get control of, the laundry chaos in your life.

Also, for the record, my kids are age 1, 3 and 5. We have a (purposely very large) washer and a dryer, and as a carry-over from my five years living in China without a dryer, I still hang-dry all my own clothing (except for socks and undies), but no one else’s :-).

So how do large-ish and large families do laundry? Here are some tips I’ve gathered from friends, podcasts and strangers on the internet:

To Sort or Not to Sort?

Pretty much everyone with more than three children advised stopping the ridiculousness of sorting kids’ clothing into colors and just dump the whole lot in the washer on warm. Back in the olden days when everyone used powder detergent, clothes used to bleed more than they do now, but if not sorting makes you twitchy, one friend swore by Shout Color Catchers to prevent colors bleeding (5 out of 5 stars on Amazon, too!). 

For adult clothes, we sort by light, medium and darks in our bedroom,  but I stopped sorting the kids’ clothing by color for the past six weeks and it’s been a great change (I stopped buying white clothes for kids a LONG time ago, anyway!)

Sort by Room

Sort according to where you store the clothing so it’s easy to put the clothes away. My two oldest share a room, so I wash their clothes together. I keep the baby’s clothes in our room, so I wash his clothes with ours (which gets tricky because he has sensitive skin and I’d rather use Charlie’s Soap and no fabric softener on his clothes … still figuring that one out.)

Sheets and Towels

I changed the sheets every other week for about a month, and then got lazy. I know it’s gross, but I knew farmers in China who didn’t shower for six months, so that helps put things in perspective for me. But in my ideal world, I’d use the Lazy Genius’ tip and wash all the sheets and towels pretty early on in the day (because putting sheets on the bed is the most annoying task ever–especially right before bed when you forgot), so I could put them right back on the beds and not even bother folding them first. And the towels can just go right back on the rack. I’m okay not sorting and washing all the sheets and towels and washing on warm, but my mom swears they must be done on hot or we will all be overtaken by bacteria. Just go with your gut.

I also heard a recent podcast where the woman got rid of all her towels and bought white towels for the whole house so she could just wash them all together and bleach them when needed (though I haven’t had much success with white, personally).

All in One Day or Spread Throughout the Week?

There are advantages and disadvantages to each. For me, it comes down to my answer to this question:

Will I actually put the clothes away after I wash them?

If the answer is no, then doing them all in one day is a better solution to the laundry problem. If I will be disciplined enough to put them away, then doing a load a day may prevent the despair of having to dedicate one whole day of my life each week to laundry.

That said, I’ve been trying out the “laundry day” phenomenon and I actually kind of like it. One day a week we have to stay home. I throw the kids’ clothes in first and set a timer. I make tea, give the kids a bath, and then we do other at-home-with-little-kids-things like paint, bake or glue pasta onto construction paper. I hate to say it, for the most part it’s kind of relaxing.

Lately, I’ve been washing the adult clothes last. I save them to fold after the kids go to bed and my husband helps fold while we watch T.V.

“Involve the Kids”

I laughed hysterically when people mentioned this, but thought I’d give it a try. One friend said she has her kids doing their own laundry by age 7/second grade and that I should have them learn ASAP–several other friends said theirs were doing it by middle school. I’m still a couple/few years away from that, so here’s what I did:

1. Have the kids sort: The first day of our newly instituted “laundry day,” I dumped the kids’ clothes in the middle of the carpet and had them sort them out themselves. That mostly worked.

2. Have the kids fold: Then I demonstrated how to fold them and nearly fell over when my 5 year old folded ALL off his–and they looked better than they do when I fold them! My 3 year old daughter lost steam after folding two shirts, but I couldn’t believe my son was capable of doing this and I had no idea! I did sit on the floor and turn them all right-side-in just to make it go faster, but I was amazed! (can you tell by the number of exclamation points I’m using?)

3. Have the kids put away: I finished folding my daughter’s clothes, then had them put them all away in their drawers. My daughter dumped them on the floor in front of the dresser first, but my son did it without unfolding them.

(Also, my one year old helps me transfer the clothes from my washer to the dryer. I put them in front and he scoots them in!)

4. For older kids (this is from my friends): give them their own laundry baskets or hampers to pre-sort their clothes into light and dark. Give them each a day a week to wash, dry, fold and put away (yeah right, but maybe?). OR I kind of like this idea:  do all laundry on the weekend, then do a family folding party together in the evening while watching T.V.

Stupid Socks

The most brilliant advice I read was to buy all the same color and type of socks so you don’t even have to go through the weekly madness of trying to match socks. The families with the highest number of kids don’t even bother matching them, but just have a “sock bin.” I’ve also found that even though my kids are 1, 3, and 5, they can all wear basically the same socks.

I also heard a tip about having kids put dirty socks in a washable laundry bag immediately after wearing them. Some people line a small box with it and put it by the door, then you just scoop up all the socks, cinch the bag shut and throw it in the washing machine. That way socks can’t wander away from their match into Sock Never-Never Land.

Hide Your Laundry Baskets

I used to wash, dry, and fold the clothes, then they would sit in laundry baskets until I needed to wash more clothes again. Because of this, I banned myself from even using laundry baskets other than to transport unfolded laundry to the couch for folding. That’s worked for me. Once the clothes are folded and on the coffee table, they go straight into the drawers. This is why washing according to room also works well for me.

I also find that not having too many laundry baskets is a good solution. It’s like the “empty closet” problem–you will always eventually fill up excess storage space in your home. Laundry baskets work the same way. So, in theory, I don’t really need more than one large basket if the clothes aren’t going to hang out there.

You Don’t Have to Fold Everything

One of my friends doesn’t fold her kids’ clothes at all. And it’s true that they mostly just get bunched up in the drawer anyway. I tried not folding, but I couldn’t do it. Plus, they wouldn’t fit in the drawer. Another friend said she doesn’t fold play clothes. Personally, I don’t fold underwear, but everything else gets folded. And you can avoid folding sheets and towels by using the tip above and just putting back on beds and in bathrooms immediately after washing them.

In Summary (and some other random tips):

  1. Only buy wash-and-wear clothes.
  2. Get your kids involved.
  3. Don’t buy white clothes for kids–ever.
  4. Don’t sort kids’ clothes before washing–and wash on warm.
  5. Sort by room.
  6. Get rid of excess laundry baskets.
  7. Always put clothes away immediately after you fold them.
  8. Buy all the same sock colors and types.
  9. Do something fun while you fold like watch T.V. or listen to a podcast.
  10. Wash everything on the fastest speed possible.

What works for you? I’d love to hear your tips in the comments!

10 TIPS FOR SIMPLIFYING LAUNDRY

Here are some other good resources on this very hot topic:

The Lazy Genius Does Laundry

Jen Hatmaker had a hilarious rant about laundry which led to them buying 28 new laundry baskets.

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Thank you for meeting me here in this space. The theme for March is “Simplify,” so you can start here to read posts you may have missed. If you are a writer or just a person with words burning in your soul and are interested in guest posting, email me at scrapingraisins@ gmail (dot) com. Our theme for next month (April) is “books and writing.” I’m looking for personal stories on this theme in the 500-1000 word range. If you haven’t yet, be sure you sign up for my mid-month and monthly secret newsletter for the latest posts and even some news, discount codes and book giveaway information that only Scraping Raisins subscribers get!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

**Contains Amazon affiliate links

Laundry Overload: How Families Do Laundry--I asked all my friends how they simplify doing laundry with 2+ kids, this is how they responded.

 

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Why I’m Not Using “Resurrection Eggs” with My Littles

The “resurrection eggs” I ordered online arrived late last year, so I didn’t open each colored plastic egg before my two and four year olds did. Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, we opened them all at once. I grew increasingly uneasy as we continued. Opening the green egg, my daughter pulled out a whip.

“What’s this?” she asked. My son immediately tried to steal it from her and she clutched it to herself.

“It’s a whip. Bad men whipped Jesus with this. Let’s look at the story book,” I said, hoping for guidance. The picture demonstrated what a whip does.

The next egg, the yellow egg, was innocent enough—a rooster stood for Peter denying Jesus, but when it was my two year old’s turn again, I felt ill when she opened the orange egg and pulled out a tiny, doll-sized crown with spikes—the crown of thorns. With her big blue eyes and wispy blond hair, she looked to me again to explain this interesting object to her.

How could I begin to tell a two year old about the violence Jesus endured? And did I even want to? Was it necessary at such a young age to know?

At this stage in my children’s life, they didn’t even know to accuse someone of being “dumb” or “stupid.” They didn’t know the word “hate” until this past year, so shattering their innocence about humanity’s capabilities for evil felt like a conversation I wasn’t prepared to have.

“My turn, my turn!” my son said, reaching for the light green egg. Inside was a shiny metal nail. I flipped ahead to the last few pages just so I’d know if any other torture devices would appear that I’d have to explain to my tiny children.

The last objects were a spear, a tiny linen cloth, and a stone, but in the picture, the Caucasian angel is sitting on top of the stone and two Middle Eastern-looking soldiers lie dead in front of the tomb. I didn’t remember Jesus (or the angel) murdering the guards when he rose from the grave to save us all, but the story goes that they fell down in fear “as though dead.”

For the first time in my life, I grasped the violence of this story Christians tell over and over again as I saw it through the eyes of my children. In fact, since I’ve become a parent, I’ve cringed at the Bible stories we regularly teach our children. I’ve become aware of my own hypocrisy, because while I won’t even let them watch certain tame kid shows because there is a slight bit of ninja fighting, I teach them about murder on a weekly basis through all the classic Sunday school stories.

I thought through the litany of stories my children have already been exposed to: David and Goliath (a small boy kills a giant with a stone), Noah (everyone in the world who doesn’t listen to Noah and get in the ark drowns), Joshua (the Israelites circle the city, then shout and invade, presumably killing everyone), Daniel (he’s thrown into a den with blood-thirsty lions), Isaac (Abraham is about to sacrifice his own son when God saves him—try explaining THAT one to your four year old son).

When I picked up my daughter from Bible study the week before Easter, I cringed when I saw the “craft” they had made. On pre-made paper hands, my daughter had dipped her fingers in red paint and put her finger print on the palms of the paper hands. Her “craft” was to paint blood on the hands of Jesus where his hands were pierced with nails. I should have said something to her teacher, but I didn’t. She smiled and waved bye to us. “Have a great Easter!” she said happily.

Sometimes I wonder if children who grow up going to church are more desensitized to violence than other children because we expose them to it from such a young age. Talk of whips, nails through hands, thorns crushing someone’s forehead and blood spurting out become such common scenes that they don’t grasp the actual horror of murder and crucifixion.

So this Easter we’re not doing the resurrection eggs. Though the box says “3 and up,” they are not G rated or even PG rated, so we’ll wait until they are old enough to hold an object of torture in hands that are not so tiny. I want my kids to be horrified and sickened by evil, hatred, and violence, not immune to it like I have become.

I want my kids to be horrified and sickened by evil, hatred, and violence, not immune to it like I have become.

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For this Easter, I ordered a book without pictures, called Good Dirt: Lent, Holy Week & Easter Tide. Though it’s still geared towards slightly older kids and talks about the death of Jesus, it is more focused on the joy of resurrection than on the mutilation of Jesus at the cross.

Just a few weeks after 17 teenagers were murdered by a young boy with an assault rifle at a Florida high school, my three year old daughter will not be holding weapons in my home this Easter—even doll-sized ones. This year, we will simplify Easter to palm branches and Easter egg hunts, candy and celebrating new life, songs, dances and ringing bells as despair gives way to the empty tomb and hope.

When and how do you teach your children about the crucifixion in an age-appropriate way?

***

Thank you for meeting me here in this space. The theme for March is “Simplify,” so you can start here to read posts you may have missed. If you are a writer or just a person with words burning in your soul and are interested in guest posting, email me at scrapingraisins@ gmail (dot) com. I’m looking for personal stories on this theme in the 500-1000 word range. If you haven’t yet, be sure you sign up for my mid-month and monthly secret newsletter for the latest posts and even some news, discount codes and book giveaway information that only Scraping Raisins subscribers get!

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Why I'm Not Using Resurrection Eggs with My Littles: "Sometimes I wonder if children who grow up going to church are more desensitized to violence than other children because we expose them to it from such a young age."

 

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My Children are Not Just “Little Sinners”

I have a confession that may or may not shock you. As much as I once longed to be a mom, I spend the majority of my days looking over the shoulders of my constant companions—my three tiny children—wishing I were anywhere but here. Highly educated, I feel largely unqualified and wholly unprepared to be a mother to tots and preschoolers. I often fall into the “just wait it out and survive” camp instead of the “thrive and delight in your circumstances” camp.

But the Holy Spirit snagged me in a few traps recently as I randomly opened the Bible. Not once or twice, but three times in ten minutes, I turned to passages where Jesus talked about children. In each one, he gently stood a child in front of his listeners as an object lesson and bade them look and listen.

“Welcome this child, and you welcome me,” he said in Luke 9:48.

“See that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven,” Jesus said in Matthew 18:10.

And the kicker: “Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven,” he said in Matthew 18:3.

Sitting in the last quiet moments of the dark morning before my three year old would crack open my door, climb into my lap and ask to watch a show, I cocked my head, thinking about my children. Surely God wasn’t talking about my children?  Didn’t he know how selfish, loud, ornery, hyperactive, rude, irrational, impulsive and sinful they are?

I studied culture in college. Other cultures often followed strange social rules, communicated differently, and could even hold an alternate moral code. We were taught to enter new cultures as learners, asking questions instead of bringing solutions. One class assignment led us to laundry mats, train compartments, and third grade classrooms to simply sit, watch, and take copious notes in order to learn how to do ethnographies and prepare us for our six-month long internships in developing countries.  We were taught to approach new people and places with a holy curiosity. Our professors urged us: before judging, observe; before speaking, ask; before asserting, listen.

As I read Jesus’ words that morning, something shifted and stirred in me, challenging me with these questions,

What if I became a student of my children, studying them as I would study a foreign culture? What if I stopped seeing them as little sinners, and started seeing them as little Christs?

As mothers, we are journalists and anthropologists embedded in the country of children. And if we take the posture of a student, what will we learn there? Assuming Jesus didn’t mean for us to take on the negative characteristics of children, what did he mean?

Seeing is not a new concept, but seeing—truly seeing, appreciating, and even revering—my children is a new concept to me. Barbara Brown Taylor makes the distinction between the “language of belief” and the “language of beholding.” We have our beliefs, but are we ready to see God trying to tap into all of life as we “behold” our children?

This year, my goal is to take advantage of the privilege of spending day and night in the company of the little people Jesus commanded us to emulate. I want to enter the country of children with the posture of a person who does not have all the answers, but suspends belief in order to behold.

What can our children teach us about kingdom living?

Children dwell in imagination land and conjure up mystical, magical worlds. They believe in a jolly, bearded man who flies around to houses delivering presents made by elves just as easily as they believe there are monsters in their closets. The lines between sacred and secular are marvelously blurred in the eyes of a child. They notice everything and model holy astonishment with hundreds of questions a day. They give extravagantly of their emotions—both good and bad. They love to be loved. They are silly and squirrely and come programed with giggle buttons.

Their little hands thrive on creating—cutting, gluing, weaving, drawing, sculpting and painting. They are novice artists, uninhibited by criticism or fear of failure. No one expects them to be “good” at anything yet, so they create with the wild abandon of the unshackled and unafraid. And they are utterly and unashamedly dependent.

It’s no mistake Jesus came to earth as a baby. In the Bible, small rarely equals insignificant. Instead, small represents latent power, potential and promise. Manna, mustard seeds, yeast, fish, and bread were divine symbols in ordinary form. The majesty, splendor and radiance of God hide in an infant nursing at the breast of a low class woman.

The majesty, splendor and radiance of God hide in an infant nursing at the breast of a low class woman.

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Incarnation chooses small, ordinary objects in which to veil the divine.

So when Jesus grabs a child and says, “see him,” “see her”—“welcome this little one and you welcome me,” he is pointing to the majesty of God hiding out in our tiny children.

Studying my children will take intentionality on my part. I am usually more intent on molding them into my image than seeing how they already reflect the image of God. I rarely consider them as the tiny priests and priestesses they are, with a direct line to God, unencumbered by adult burdens. Their air is still clean and unpolluted by sin and all the shame it delivers. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”

Does this mean I will stop teaching, guiding and modeling what it means to be a rational, god-fearing adult to my children? Of course not. But instead of seeing my children as a nuisance or as soiled and in need of cleansing, I will welcome, respect and revere them as little Christs. I’ll take the posture of one who enters other cultures to learn: before judging, observe; before speaking, ask; before asserting, listen. I may just see more of Jesus than I have ever seen before.

***

I plan on delving more into this topic in the new year, so sign up for my newsletter to be sure you don’t miss the discussion!

My Children Are Not Just "Little Sinners"--"I am usually more intent on molding them into my image than seeing how they already reflect the image of God."

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Advent in Spite of Christmas (Christmas with Littles Edition)

Christmas is meant to be magical, right? Starry nights, mistletoe, crackling fireplaces and soft snow falling outside while we are snuggled up under blankets with tea inside, watching It’s a Wonderful Life for the 80th time. And it still is—magical, that is– except that for this “brief” (10 year) blip in time, we have a child in our home under five years old. As a mom, perhaps this is what Christmas looks like for you:

1. Pull out the decorations. Unload and figure out where to them put so the kids can’t pull them down and smash every one. Wish you had cleaned the house before decorating on top of the clutter.

2. Set up the nativity set, Advent wreath, Advent calendar, and Advent book and wonder if you are over-doing it in an attempt to be a Good Christian Mother.

3. Give the kids the Little People nativity set to keep them busy while you put brightly colored lights on the tree (you like white lights, but your five year old won the battle this year). You glance over and see that Mary is in the back of a dump truck with the angels in hot pursuit.

4. Day 3 of decorating: allow the kids to “help” you put ornaments on the tree. Eighty percent of the ornaments end up on the bottom fourth of the tree, though you know that by December 23rd, there will be NO ornaments there.

5. Curse whoever thought it was a good idea to decorate trees with toys that kids aren’t supposed to touch.

6. Advent day 1. Begin the Advent ritual: light a candle, read page one of the Advent Book, move the first figure out of a felt envelope and Velcro precariously onto the manger scene at the top (swatting at hands that try to grab all the other figures tucked into other day’s pockets). Tell kids to stop picking their noses, hitting each other and grab the one year old who is throwing ornaments down the stairs because he likes the sound.

7. Figure out how to answer a tiny person who has no concept of time when they ask you, “When is Christmas?”

8. Do all shopping online from the comfort of your own home while drinking a glass of Merlot in the evenings. You forget about the steep shipping and handling fees, but decide it is still worth it not to schlep three children to stores to shop. Your brothers will get one less candle because of this.

9. Advent day 2 : You try and untangle the theology that mashes up Santa, Bethlehem, the North Pole and frosty the snowman, yet this doesn’t stop you from showing your kids the Christmas cartoons you loved as a kid.

10. You decide not to send Christmas cards this year and feel like a Bad Person. You wonder if you should ask people for their address when they ask you for yours, making them believe they’ll get a card in return.

You reflect on how nutty Christmas with small children is. And yet you remember loving being around kids at Christmas time when you were single. The excitement, energy and wonder is beyond what most adults are capable of exuding. And kids take this ridiculous Christmas story of a young woman getting pregnant with God and they BELIEVE it. They dig into the darker parts of the story we hadn’t thought of excavating. And they draw magic out of the dust, the grit and the grime.

So, yes, this is exhausting, but seeing this season through the prism of small people gives you a unique perspective on a familiar story. It forces you to audibly speak what you believe and why you believe it.

Children escort us through the story of Christmas straight back to Jesus.

Children escort us through the story of Christmas straight back to Jesus.

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 Because after another year of appointments and disappointments, moves, job changes, politics, personal and world tragedies, decisions, new friends, old friends and ordinary life, we are ready for a reset.

Advent whets the appetites of our souls for the Jesus who was born in squalor and later turned water to wine, then thundered from the grave. Advent is the pixie dust we sprinkle on our normal lives to remind us that God was there all along.

Life is not as it seems: a teenage girl isn’t a teenage girl, a star isn’t a star and a baby isn’t a baby. Something within us aches for more and Advent reminds us our ache is not for nothing. There is more–and Advent uses the most childlike among us to bring us back to the sacred ordinary of God-as- squealing-baby lying in a stable.

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When Your Kid is the Bully

I watched with horror from a distance as my 5 year old son stalked two children much younger than he was and poured water on them—and their mother. For thirty seconds, I actually pretended he wasn’t my son. The museum was crowded and I had my other child with me. Maybe the mom would never know that little boy was my son. But when he started throwing wet straw on them, I knew I needed to intervene.

Another day, I looked across the park to find my son throwing mulch at two boys probably three years older than him. The boys had sticks taller than they were, and the boys were creeping closer to my son.

“WHAT was that all about?” I demanded, marching him away from the park.

“I told them I wanted to fight,” he said.

Shaking my head, I inwardly vowed to never go to the park again.

A few months ago, my two year old daughter pushed another girl off of the play structure that was higher than I am tall. I happened to not be on my phone, cooing at my baby or gabbing away with another mom and I caught the girl by her dress—just one foot off the ground.

What’s worse than having your child get bullied at the playground? When your child IS the bully.

The best advice I have received as a parent happened one day as my kid was losing it at the grocery store. I don’t remember which child, though it could have been any one of the three. A woman pulled her cart up to mine, looked me in the eye and said this,

“Just remember, it’s their age, not their personality.”

Thank God, because at this rate my children will be horrible, selfish, out-of-control human beings. OR they are acting exactly their age.

Growing up, we must have watched the movie Overboard a hundred times. In it, Goldie Hawn’s children are especially terrible. But when the teacher at school begins to complain about them, her character, Annie, jumps to their defense. “They may be rotten, but they’re MINE,” she says.

A bad week of feeling like a failure as a mother demands that I spin this story towards the spiritual. Because for my sanity, I sometimes just need to dig around in the mud for meaning in mundane life. Here’s what I got:

As unruly, loud, obnoxious, disobedient, frustrating and obstinate as my children can (often) be, God has just as much a right to label me as “rotten” to my core. And yet just as I cannot really walk away from my children (though I’m tempted to pretend they aren’t mine), God doesn’t disown us just because of bad behavior. Again, thank God.

God loves bullies just as much as he loves the bullied. The Bible says it is his kindness that leads us to repentance. To all who condemn God’s children, he responds, “They may be rotten, but they’re MINE!”

To all who condemn God’s children, he responds, “They may be rotten, but they’re MINE!”

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Perhaps my children acting out is forcing me to wrestle my own perfectionism to the ground. Because sometimes I care more about other people thinking I’m a good mother than I do about actually being a good mother. And God won’t let me get away with that attitude.

So while I am tempted to confine my children at home for the remainder of their days as children, staying in our safe playground in our private backyard, I will continue to risk badness at our neighborhood park. My children leave me open to attack by other bystanders who have their phones out, ready to mom shame. Or, more likely, out of the ashes of my smoldering pride, a new friendship may be born out of the many “me, too” moments shared only by parents who have been there.

So, yes, my child just hit your child. I am sorry and I am doing the best that I can to teach them to be decent human beings. But before we label them, let’s wait and see what the next twenty years will do for their impulse control. God knows I’m still a work in progress, so I’m trusting my children are, too.

When Your Kid is the Bully

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Why I’m Not Apologizing for My Kids and Doing Hospitality Anyway

Lately I’ve been asking myself if I still enjoy hosting people in my home. Gathering around the table, feasting, having deep talks over plates piled high with food in the glow of candlelight is the goal, right? The adults belly laugh, dabbing tears from the corner of their eyes, then grab another steaming roll to dip in their homemade soup while the children run off to laugh together in the backyard. This is my expectation. No, this is my illusion.

Instead, hospitality looks more like this:

I wait until the absolute last minute to tell my three children we are having guests, because they turn into crazed creatures pulsating with energy the second they know more attention-giving bodies will be in our home. Instead, as soon as my pre-arrival stress is about to erupt, I plug them into a movie to do the last minute meal prep, sweep the floor, pick up the toys and issue marching orders to my husband-turned-servant. Seconds before our first guest arrives, we scan the house, noting that it is worth having guests over just to have a decluttered home even if for just a second. But then the reality check arrives.

The doorbell rings and one of my children hides, while the other rushes to the door, suddenly all disheveled hair and stained clothing and immediately drags any newly arrived kids to their messy bedroom. The guests make their way to the kitchen and plant themselves at the kitchen island. My husband delivers drinks while I try not to screw up the whole meal in minutes because I am now not only stressed and hungry, but distracted. The kids race through the house, dumping the toys from every basket, crashing trucks over our feet and racing them on the hardwood floors. They reach grimy hands over the counter to blindly grab at olives, cheese or chips at the edge of the counter.

I calmly and slowly remind my children of “what we talked about before our guests arrived”—they should play outside or in designated rooms. Go there right now. Please. They ignore me. I stand there, hands covered in garlic, knife in hand and keep smiling at my newly-arrived guests.

Welcome to our happy home.

We had a family over last weekend with three children the ages of our children and one man who came solo. We spent the entire afternoon preparing. The food was overcooked and too salty, and I learned the downsides of the popular “open floor plan”—namely that the child chaos ricochets around the room and is impossible to escape. The four older children (all five and under) sat alone at the kitchen island, dueling with the plastic knives they had snuck out of the drawer and turned their food into ships and guns. The other mom and I tried to feed our babies finger food and unsuccessfully police our other children all while trying to talk about plans for a new small group. The older kids finished and the three-year-old girl caught her finger in the sliding glass door and wailed the remainder of the time. We all stood up, leaving our one male friend eating his apple pie alone at the table.

When the baby, too, began to cry, the parents abruptly announced their decision to abort mission. What was meant to last 2 ½ hours lasted 1 ½ hours. They were all out the door in minutes, leaving my husband and I standing in the kitchen, counters piled high with dirty dishes and over-stimulated kids running through the toy and food-littered floor. “Let’s go for a walk,” I said.

And so in the quiet after the chaos, I did what any halfway sensible adult would do and reflected on the wisdom of continuing the stress, anxiety and humiliation of having people to my home during this season with little ones. Maybe this isn’t the time of life. Perhaps I just said I liked hospitality because it seemed like the Good Christian Thing to do. “God, is this really…” And before I could even formulate the thought into a prayer, God interrupted.

“You do it anyway.”

Wait, what?

Do hospitality anyway. You do it in the stress and the mess and the raisins smashed into the carpet. You do it even though you are hollering over three preschoolers telling knock knock jokes with no punchline and talking about poop and pee at the table. You do it when your children throw tantrums and blatantly disobey you in front of your friends and family. You do it because doing life together means not hiding behind closed doors, but inviting people into your actual life. And real life is not pretty. It is not organized, perfect or pristine. Hospitality is not comfortable, clean or controlled.

Hospitality is not comfortable, clean or controlled.

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Three of the four books in the Bible about Jesus’ life and ministry tell a story about his friends trying to keep the kids away from Jesus. I’m sure the children then were not so different from kids today. They had dirt under their fingernails, food on their faces, didn’t know how to use inside voices or walk—not run–inside. They didn’t know they shouldn’t ask people why they are fat or handicapped or black. They probably announced that food was “yucky” and peed on the floor when they forgot to go to the bathroom. They probably fought to hold on to their favorite toys and didn’t like going to sleep in the dark. Those Jewish children probably acted just like my kids.

And yet instead of being embarrassed, Jesus invited those messy, noisy, belligerent children to come to him. He didn’t tell them to clean up or straighten up first. Instead, he reprimanded his well-meaning friends who were eager for a constant atmosphere of contemplation and miracles. “Don’t stop them,” he scolded them. “For the Kingdom of God belongs to people like these.” The Kingdom does not belong to the perfect adults (ha), but the imperfect, loud, obnoxious kids.

Somehow, the Kingdom of God belongs to those with the greatest impropriety.

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Somehow, the Kingdom of God belongs to those with the greatest impropriety. The ones we are embarrassed of are the very ones to whom the kingdom belongs. Instead of working for our children to be seen and not heard, perhaps we should be doing more inviting, listening and learning from them.

I’m not advocating for a child-centered existence, but I am wondering if there is something to Jesus’ command that I’m missing when I expect my children to be anything more or less than what they are–children. Perhaps I need to hang a sign by my table as a reminder: “She is three years old. He is four years old.” Because I forget and expect them to act like adults.

My children are peeling away my masks, forcing me into true, messy relationship without the pretense of perfection. And Jesus says that if I don’t learn to receive the Kingdom of God like one of these kids we apologize for and try to hide, then we will never receive it.

So I’m doing hospitality anyway. In the noise, fuss, mess and chaos. Don’t wipe your feet at the door. Just come on in.

 

How are you doing hospitality anyway?

Somehow, the Kingdom of God belongs to those with the greatest impropriety. The ones we are embarrassed of are the very ones to whom the kingdom belongs. Instead of working for our children to be seen and not heard, perhaps we should be doing more inviting, listening and learning from them.

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