Servant of All

And they came to Capernaum. And when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you discussing on the way?” But they kept silent, for on the way they had argued with one another about who was the greatest. And he sat down and called the twelve. And he said to them, “If anyone would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all." And he took a child and put him in the midst of them, and taking him in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me.”

- Mark 9:33-37 ESV

When I became a stay-at-home mom, someone said about me, "Look at her. She's a nothing, a nobody."

I can remember, after our first son was born, going to parties and business meetings with my husband and being unable to adjust to the sudden change in the way people responded to me. No longer was I a woman of intrigue with an interesting future.

The first question people asked was, "What do you do?"

"I'm a mom at home, " was my reply. Then I'd watch them delicately extract themselves from our conversation and wander off to more interesting options. I couldn't blame them. I knew I had lost my ability to be interesting, to talk intelligently, about other topics. I was often too tired to think of much to say.

Women with careers could be worse than men. They sometimes deliberately snubbed me, drawing a clear line in the ground between us, and then accused me of thinking myself greater. I thought no such thing, of course. I just wanted to be a friend.

But here's the rub. It affected me. I felt that I was nothing, a nobody. I internalized the response of my social circles. I believed it must be true. Being home with a baby confirmed it. I acted like hired help, but without the salary. I cleaned up the mess. I changed the diapers. I cooked the meals. I gave up my sleep when our son cried in the wee hours. After all, I did not have a real job to drive to in the morning. Soon, depression set in.

With homeschooling, the dividing line between me and my past esteem grew wider. Two decades ago, homeschooling was not well understood. No one I knew was in favor of it. Most people responded to the idea with uncomfortable silence.

Friends would pull me aside to ask, "Is it legal?" They hoped I would come to my senses and join mainstream education. Former college professors expressed their disappointment with the way I was neglecting my potential. Even my grandmother, bless her dear soul, told me was I making a grave mistake. I endured distances, animosities, lectures, yelling. I learned to be generous with people who did not share my views. My esteem sank to a new low.

Since those early days, things have changed. I now enjoy the admiration of a large number of friends and family members. Our success has brought with it a certain panache. Not everyone is completely comfortable with what we did, but we have earned their respect in almost any setting. Not only this, but I am considered -- of all things -- wise because of our learning adventures.

I am sure that I have been asssisted by recent improvements in the attitude towards full-time parenting. Many professional women are learning that juggling career and baby does not fulfill, and they are coming home. Even in Hollywood, mothering is popular. Stars take off from movie-making to raise families, and the public applauds. People are fascinated by someone who has "made a career of it" (so I've been told) for at least two minutes before they move on to other topics.

For those two minutes of interest, I served years in a lonely, hard, and thankless role. I hesitate to admit this aspect of mothering, but honesty compels me. Sometimes, I thought I would lose myself in it and never come back. I loved my children more than my own life and was fully committed to them, but I found parenting so difficult that I despaired of doing any part of it well. I was not a good servant. I had to, gradually, peel back the surface layers of my responses to mothering to understand why.

In spite of this, as we struggled together, I grew. Homeschooling brought to me the character that I could not offer in the beginning. I had made my choice -- to leap into the great abyss of nothingness -- and over time, my choice made me. After a long night, I found my morning. I built a life that would not have been possible had I not taken the path that re-fashioned me to my core. This, rather than the change in my social status, was my saving grace.

Being the servant of everyone was arduous. It was an agony. I say this to my shame. But in humbling myself, in losing my old life, I found one that was far better. Riches, mined from our growing together, surround me. There is more here than I have days to savor.

The offering I made at my altar has become food for my soul and life for many. It's amazing what God can do with the smallest, the weakest, the least. I am one of these, and that has been my secret, hidden even from me. Once the truth was out, I could recover and become what I was meant to be. His servant, his child, his disciple.

It has been worth the effort, every minute.

The Course

“Whatever course you decide upon, there is always someone to tell you that you are wrong. There are always difficulties arising which tempt you to believe that your critics are right. To map out a course of action and follow it to an end requires courage.”

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

For my homeschooling friends:

May you have the courage to follow course you have decided upon and see it through to the end.

May you have the joy of making, out of your days, something that was not.

May you have the resolve to believe that your vision is possible, regardless of discouragements and naysayers.

May you have the blessing of God over your home, your little universe, that works all things together for good.

May you know the fellowship that comes to those who have struggled and learned together.

May you enjoy the fruits of your labor.

May you delight in the small things of the earth, the little feet that patter through your kitchen, the faces that greet you at breakfast, the birds on your windowsill, the sun setting behind your trees.

May you have joy, joy that overflows and fills up your eyes.

This is a journey worth taking, worth seeing to the end. You are giving your loved ones something that will be a shelter against the world. You will not understand what you did until its long been over.

So be strong in the only way you know how. Go forth against the fear, against the doubt, against the certainty that you are not enough for this. Grace will meet you on the way, and lift you up, and carry you, and carry your children, into the vision that was given to you.

All things are a gift, even this.

God in Our Lives

Last December, trying to be on time to Nassia's preschool Christmas party in Philadelphia, I asked the Lord -- out loud, so my granddaughter would hear -- for a parking spot. After 15 minutes of circling, I had to resort to the multi-tiered garage: $8. "You didn't come through, God," I complained inaudibly. He said, "Child, you asked for a parking place and I gave you a parking place. You're the one who has a hang-up about $8."

I realize the anecdote casts me in an unflattering light, but actually it represents a progress for me. I never used to ask for parking spaces, ostensibly because it's a petty, non-kingdom-minded request, but really to protect myself, and God, from looking bad. Not to harp too much on the divine dispatching of cars, but that is after all the locus classicus of the prayer issue -- just how involved does God mean to be in our lives?

- Andree Seu, "Getting to Know Him" , World Magazine, August 15, 2009

From Chapter 21 of the Gospel of John, the way I have imagined it . . .

The day was breaking. The disciples had been fishing all night, some weeks after the terrible and unthinkable things had happened -- that He, their teacher and dearest friend, had been executed in the most horrible manner and that they, His loyal followers, had fled the scene in terror. They had abandoned Him in His hour of greatest need. They were hard put, in their thoughts, to decide which was worse, His gruesome death or their failing.

But life goes on, and men must make a living somehow. So they went back to doing what they knew. At the very least, it kept their minds and hands busy with something else.

But not tonight. They had, oddly, caught nothing at all. It made no sense. Fishing was simple: put the net down and the fish swim in. But this time, there had been nothing. Not one fish. The sun came up on the tired, hungry, and frustrated men. That was when Peter spotted the stranger, a lone figure on the shore waving at them, and a fire nearby.

"Children, you do not have any fish, do you?"

They answered him, "No."

"Cast the net on the right-hand side of the boat, and you will find a catch."

What had they to lose? Crazy as it sounded, it just might work. They tossed the net into the water on the other side and the numbers of fish that filled it made it too heavy to lift. Suddenly, John knew. This was no coincidence. He said to Peter in a voice tight with excitement, "It is the Lord."

Peter reacted as though he had been struck, whipped on his outer garment, and plunged into the cold, dark water to reach the shore by his own strokes, leaving the others behind to tend the heavy net and bring in the boat. No one minded. Peter was like that. Besides, they were all in a state of shock.

They were in shock at the sight of Jesus. Yes, they knew He had somehow been transformed after His death. He had appeared twice, briefly , in the the upper room when the door was shut. Then He was gone again.

None of them had any inkling what it meant, whether it made any difference in what they should do now. It was a wonder that they allowed it to slip into conversation between themselves, at rare moments. No one knew how to talk about it.

Here He was again. Smiling warmly, with that same penetrating look in his eyes, He stood among the rocks, sand, and driftwood. Like flesh and blood. There were scars on his hands.

The smell wafting from the fire, of hot bread and grilled fish, was nearly enough to make them weep. After the long night, they were more exhausted than they'd realized.

"Come and have breakfast," He said.

They sat, uneasily and self-consciously, while He served them. Everyone was too tired and hungry, too much in shock, to protest or to ask questions. It was enough to eat this heavenly fare, watch Him smile and glance over them the way He used to, and hear the deep, powerful voice that clung to them unlike other sounds which faded over time and space.

John realized why, after a few moments, none of the disciples were meeting His eyes. We are all ashamed. We are ashamed because we've failed Him. Glancing at Jesus, he also realized, in a flash of insight, that He knew about the shame and was helping them move past it.

As the Lord served and smiled and chatted with them over breakfast, it became clear to each one that He was still their friend. It was just what was needed, and Jesus had always been attentive to that.

It was as though He had, by these simple things, wrapped His warmth, His trueness, His great love around their shivering and confused souls and rendered them strong again.

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How involved does God mean to be in our lives? What do you think?

There and Back Again

There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known. What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs. Do not be afraid . . . Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

-Mark 6:26-31 NIV

It's that time of year again. We can see it everywhere. Back-to-school sales and signs and advertisements. Hurry to the nearest store and stock up.

For the homeschooling mom, this is often cause for anxiety. She remembers last year. There were many things that she did not address, because she ran out of time. The specifics are a little vague, but she has this sinking feeling that her school might be deficient in some essential way if she doesn't organize her life and get the school room ready. From here, she is gazing at a trail that leads through the woods and up a steep slope covered with rocks and rough brush, and possibly hosting a snake or two. What's around that bend, past the point where she can see? How much should she take in her backpack? How much should she assume she will find on the trail as she goes? The choices for preparation are many, and the time is short.

A trail map would help, but none is available. The journey is unique for every family. But she can have a guide who will go with her, if she chooses. The tricky thing about this guide is that she must, ironically, learn to be still in order to benefit from his advice. She must train herself to pause before each bend in the road. She must teach herself to be quiet and listen before allowing the needs of the day to rush in upon her. Her inner ear must become so tuned to his voice that it becomes as noticeable to her as the noise of other voices. She must learn, by trial and error, that ignoring this voice leads to regrets and heeding this voice brings joy.

Sometimes she will have to go against her best guess. Or perhaps against her own preferences. But the voice will always be true. Sometimes she will have to focus to hear. Or to obey his instructions. For the voice is usually soft, a whisper or a thought or an impression. Nevertheless, she will learn to recognize it readily if she wants to. And practices.

Practicing is the key. For she has already been given ears to hear. She has to learn how to use them. He will be patient with her. He will attend to her. He will wait for her. She does not need to be afraid. But she does need to try. He can't do that for her.

So he waits, smiling, with his hand held out to her. When he, the Spirit of truth comes, He will guide you into all truth. The promise has been made. The initiative is now hers. Every day.

I've been up that trail on the steep slope and back again. I can tell you now that listening to the guide matters more than anything else. Trust that he will speak. Learn to be still every day. Write down your impressions. Mull them over. Ask, what does this mean. Lord? Show me how to apply it. Speak to me again. I am waiting for you.

Trust that he will speak.