What's Worth Doing?

At my spiritual retreat to evaluate my job as Area Director last week, it was St. Ansgar day. The most notable achievement of Ansgar, according to all the readings, was that he completely failed at almost everything he attempted. Although he was eventually credited with the conversion of Scandinavia, I couldn’t tell how his actions even lay the groundwork for mass revival actually. Yet according to everything I heard, what we learn from Ansgar’s life is perseverance, and the hope that our labor, although it feel futile, may ultimately result in huge good. The priest who gave a guest homily quoted Reinhold Niehbur:

Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in a lifetime; therefore we must be saved by hope.

Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we are saved by love.

Nothing which is true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we must be saved by faith.

“That’s deep,” I thought, as I listened. But then when I got back to my cell, I started bristling at that first quote. “Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in a lifetime; therefore we must be saved by hope.” Is that true?

Now, as a significance junkie, I’m sure that all my deep-seated sin confuses the matter, and given that all I’ve ever read of Niebuhr are those three quotes, I’m sure I’m getting him wrong. But the more I thought about those words, the more I thought only a man could come up with something that inane.

“Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in a lifetime. . .” Is that true?

Basically then, everything that is considered “women’s work” is completely useless, nursing, cooking, raising children, changing diapers, teaching children, etc.

What in the heck is worth doing that takes more than a lifetime? What was Neihbur or the priest thinking? Building bridges or skyscrapers? Converting whole countries? Abolishing the sex trade? While all of those are good and noble purposes, and most of them probably take more than one lifetime, it seems to me that it’s far more hopeful to remember that the God who created the universe with its multitude of stars and galaxies and black holes somehow also cares about the smallest most minute things. In Jesus, we see a man who took time from rushing to heal an official’s dying daughter, to talk to an outcast woman who touched the hem of his cloak. We see a man who chastised his disciples who were concerned about big important things like overthrowing the Roman empire and told them to let the little children come to him.

I felt personally affronted by the quote precisely because my hope has been that God cares more about the small hard faithful steps I have made rather than the big splashy leaderish things I could have been doing. For me, that call involved being present to my children as they grew up. 20 years ago, I heard someone referred to me as “the Amy Grant of InterVarsity.” Well choosing to work part-time and cease involvement in national committees and national travel means I’m no Amy Grant in InterVarsity anymore, but then Amy Grant isn’t who Amy Grant was either.

My hope has to come from a God who cares about small things that are worth doing because it can’t come from the results of my decisions. My children are no paragons of virtue.

I don’t feel more hope because nothing worth accomplishing can be done in my lifetime. I live in hope because Jesus said the widow who gave 2 pennies gave more than all the rich men pouring their treasures into the temple combined. I live in hope because each small step he calls me to cannot be measured by worth or accomplishment. I live in hope because He has promised that a tiny mustard seed can grow into the largest bush in the garden, so large and stable that birds can nest in its branches and children can play in its shade.

And maybe that was the gift of St. Ansgar, the total failure. Many small faithful unsuccessful steps that were the tiny mustard seed that grew Christendom in Scandinavia

Chili

I’m a tiny bit famous for my chili. Frankly, you can’t survive 20 years of campus ministry without a chili recipe that feeds the hordes. I’ve made huge pots of chili for Columbia students, staff colleagues, Harvard students, faculty from Boston, not to mention many church, family and friend gatherings. Former students tell me when they reminisce about college fellowship days, they talk about my chili—that’s how good it is.

When I cook chili it grows and expands like Jesus multiplying loaves and fishes. I’ve had friends watch this process and laugh because the pound of ground turkey I begin with doesn’t look like much, but 15 minutes later, as I transfer overflowing chili to another pot the quantity seems truly miraculous. Twelve years ago, the chili I made for a Super Bowl party not only fed the 10-15 folks at the party, but the 15 women who came to the Community meal at our church later that week along with our entire small group that was volunteering. On top of that, we scrounged up quart sized yogurt containers and every single woman took home one to two quarts of my chili. Only then did we scrape the bottom and wash the 20 quart pot.

But Jesus says a prophet has no honor in her own home, and this applies to chili just as much to words from the Lord. We haven’t hosted a Super Bowl party since that expanding chili party. Instead, we’ve enjoyed the hospitality of my friend Jean and eaten her chili. And my kids FAR prefer her chili to mine.

All night long, as the TV blares and the men gather in front of the screen, we ladle bowls of Jean’s chili with its big chunks of beef chuck, a recipe straight out of the New Basics cookbook, my three kids approach me and say:

“Jean’s chili is SO good!”

“Jean’s chili is SO much better than your chili.”

“Can you make Jean’s chili?”

“I want you to make Jean’s chili instead of your chili.”

“Let me tell you again that I like Jean’s chili better than yours.”

“Can you get the recipe from Jean so you can make her chili?”

I can’t shut them up. I demur with,

“Yes, Jean’s chili is delicious.”

“Isn’t it great that you get to eat Jean’s chili once a year?”

In the spirit of “every family has its different rules,” I even try the “Jean makes her chili and I make mine” parry. But they know that I’m pacifying them so they step up the pressure until I’m hearing:

“Your chili sucks! Jean’s chili is AMAZING!”

They just won’t shut up. And when my middle child, the most persistent foodie of the three kids, finally realized I actually own the New Basics so have the ability to make Jean’s chili, her wrath knew no bounds.

Why don’t I just capitulate and make Jean’s chili? Well first, I actually like my chili. Also, when I cook I try to make healthy foods as delicious as possible. My chili uses ground turkey, beans and tons of vegetables. Because I know it’s so healthy, I don’t feel bad about adding a sprinkle of extra sharp cheddar and a dollop of sour cream. I don't feel bad if my kids wan to eat it for breakfast, lunch and snack. The extra deliciousness that chunks of beef chuck would add just isn’t worth it. And chunks of beef chuck not only take time in the butchering, but also don’t go as far with a crowd. My Chinese frugal soul loves that a couple pounds of ground turkey can eventually feed 50, if not 5000.

All these thoughts and musings about chili cross my mind because I just made a humungo batch in my new 12 quart pot I found at Home Goods and the Super Bowl is next weekend. After feeding my staff team on Friday, tonight I feed the Cana Marriage ministry, and given that once again, the chili overflowed my new pot, I assume we will have chili on hand for many days to go. I will probably freeze a bunch after tonight. I’m not sure if Jean is hosting her Super Bowl party this year, but if she does, I will be eating Jean’s delicious chili next weekend, enjoying it and feeling grateful for her generous hospitality.

As will my kids.

MacTuan’s Loser Vegetable Chili

4 Tbs. Canola Oil

2.5 lbs. ground turkey (or can use beef)

8 medium/large onions, diced

10 cloves garlic, minced or pressed

2 cups Chili powder

1/4 cup Cumin powder

1/4 cup Oregano

2 tsp. cayenne powder (optional since this is really hot stuff)

2 lbs. dried beans, soaked and cooked until very soft (I don't know how many cans of beans this would be--suffice it to say, a lot!)

4 28 oz. cans crushed tomatoes

4 28 oz. cans whole tomatoes, tomatoes cut into large chunks

4 cans corn

2 lbs. carrots diced

4 cups frozen peas (can buy the frozen peas and carrots for ease of preparation)

4 Zucchinis diced (I didn't use this because too expensive)

4 Peppers, Green, Red, Yellow, Orange, whatever color you want (I didn't use this because too expensive also)

Cheddar Cheese (I prefer extra sharp), grated

Sour Cream (I prefer light)

Scallions

Olives

Minced Red Onions

In oil, saute the onions until soft, add the garlic, swish around a little, add the ground turkey, brown. When turkey is browned, add spices, and fry for several minutes to let the spices seep into the oil. Add beans, tomato and carrots. Let simmer for as long as you want. Between half an hour and 10 minutes of serving, add the other vegetables. Salt to taste. Serve over rice, offer cheese, sour cream and other condiments as a garnish.

I find that canned tomatoes add a lot of salt, so you really have to add very little. If you use canned beans, you may not have to add any salt. To make it more spicy-hot, add more cayenne pepper. To give it a richer chili flavor, add more chili powder, to make it more smoky, add more cumin.

You can obviously add or delete whatever vegetables you like. The flavor will be the same, but I like it more on the healthy side.

Note: I wrote this recipe because folks kept asking me for it, but everything is approximate. So add what you like in greater or lesser quantities.

Meeting with our youth pastor

Last Friday, Garry our new youth pastor, came over for dinner and to create a spiritual plan for our daughters. I had planned to make Mama's pork chops in cream of mushroom soup because the pork chops had been defrosting in the fridge for awhile and I was getting a lot of pressure from the kids to cook them. But in the afternoon, I had a little panic attack. It felt dishonoring to feed a new acquaintance a meal seasoned by Campbell’s--like feeding the youth pastor Campbell’s flavored food meant I valued him on par with ready-made American casseroles.

So I made coq au vain instead. (This is why I love my new Christmas present deep freezer that replaced our 16 year old one—I can whip up meals because I store up ingredients!) Turns out my panic attack might not have been just a prideful egocentric need to assert my identity. Instead it might have been a word from the Lord. Because when Garry showed up, he told me he’s allergic to pork--that he starts sweating and turns faint within ten minutes of a bite.

Anyway, as we sat down with Ling-Ling, our oldest child, Garry asked her all sorts of questions, prefacing them all with, “I’ve talked to your parents. There’s nothing you can say that will get you in trouble. You can tell the truth and not be worried.”

He needn’t have feared. Ling-Ling has no trouble saying whatever’s on her mind. When he asked “What do you like the best about your mom?” Ling cocked her head and said, “She cooks good food almost every night.” Ever since we got our kitchen re-done and I could only grill or sauté in an electric skillet, the kids have come to a new appreciation for my cooking.

“Anything else?” he prodded her.

“Well, she’s easy to talk to. I can talk to her about pretty much anything.”

Whew! A human quality she appreciates.

“What don’t you like about your mom?”

Uh-oh, here it goes. And as I suspected, Ling had no problem plunging in, “I don’t like how she yells at someone every day. I don’t like the one morning she’s around before school because she gets in a battle with the other two kids about waking up. On mornings she’s not here, it’s really nice and peaceful with Dad.”

For Dad, she reiterated liking the peace of the mornings, how he makes funny jokes and how they make fun of church songs together. Garry seemed a little shocked to hear our family’s bastardizing of “We’re blessed! Blessed! Blessed! Blessed!”

Describing what she didn’t like about Scott, she said, “Dad is like a soda bottle that you shake and shake and shake until it finally explodes.”

She looked at us and laughed. “I think our family has anger management problems.”

I nodded and agreed, trying to look calm and wise and open to airing our dirty laundry. We’ve talked quite a bit about our anger issues as a family, and are pretty transparent about it with our friends. Yet here sat a young man whom we barely know, who’s called to shepherd our children, hearing the truth of our family. But it felt oddly good to let him see our family warts and all.

I truly do have anger management issues. In fact, rage seems to be passed down the female line of my family. My Puo-Puo was known for her temper—even setting down her purse and kicking it on her first date with Gong-Gong because the movie they meant to see in 1920s China wasn’t playing. His response was “Uh-oh, I think I’m going to be in trouble.” My mother has a temper and her temper’s been passed down to me. I swore as a child I would never yell at my kids the way she yelled at me, but instead, I think I’m much worse.

I’ve done just about everything I can to battle my rage. I’ve repented from the childhood vow about not being like my mom. I've read books. I've been in therapy. I’ve gone up for prayer during church repeatedly—for several years, just about every Sunday I got prayer for my anger issues. I did the 20 week Living Waters inner healing course. I’ve even had people bind the demons and cast them out. Yet despite it all, I still lose my temper just about every day. Every night, as our family prays I have to either say, “I’m sorry for losing my temper with ____” or “I’m sorry I was impatient with ___.” My lack of progress around anger issues has often left me with deep feelings of shame.

The interview with Ling-Ling took almost an hour and a half, so when Kai-Kai, her younger sister, came up, we had to rush a little bit more. If Ling doesn’t care what others think, Kai-Kai is the opposite, so we had to prod her to reveal anything negative. For my good qualities, she also said that I cooked good food and that I was easy to talk to. Apparently my strengths manifest the same ways for both girls. She wouldn’t confess the anger issues in our family, but we raised them and let her respond a bit.

Overall, it was an encouraging night. For both girls, we were able to talk about their potential, and both girls were encouraged to set dreams and goals for themselves. Garry didn’t start sweating profusely or faint because of the bacon I had added to the coq au vain, for which I felt profoundly grateful. We were all given the chance to speak the truth, not just the hard truth, not just the good truth, but to give Garry a holistic picture of our family and family relationships.

Yet rather than letting the truth of how our family has anger management issues dominate the entire portrait of our family or my entire identity as a parent, I somehow saw it as a significant piece, but not the only piece of what our family is about. And when I raised how Ling had good relationships with many of my friends, and how I’ve heard how a mom’s wise friends have a greater impact than the mom, I felt gratified that she said, “Yeah, but I would talk to you about everything way before I’d talk to any of them.”

Someday she may find the need to confide in one of my friends, or Garry, or another youth leader. I feel grateful that this web of relationships exists to catch her if the anger management issues in our family overwhelm her ability to come talk to me. But mostly I feel grateful that love covers a multitude of sins. Even anger.

(P.S. I made the pork chops the next night, and so can you!)

Coq Au Vin

(adapted from Cook’s Illustrated)

1 bottle medium bodied red wine (I’ve used Trader Joe’s 2 buck chuck cabernet, shiraz and merlot and it’s been fine)

2 cups chicken broth

10 sprigs fresh parsley

2 sprigs fresh thyme

1 bay leaf

½ lb bacon cut into ¼ inch slices

4-5 lbs. boneless skinless chicken thighs cut in half crosswise

Salt and pepper

5 Tbs. unsalted butter

1 bag frozen pearl onions

20 oz. mushrooms (button or cremini)

2 medium garlic cloves, minced or pressed

1 Tbs. tomato paste

2 Tbs. all-purpose flour

1. Bring all but 1 Tbs wine, broth, parsley, thyme and bay leaf to simmer in large saucepan over medium high heat. Cook until reduced to 3 cups, about 25 minutes, discard herbs.
2. Cook bacon in large Dutch oven until browned, using slotted spoon transfer bacon to paper towel-lined plate.
3. Drain fat. Lightly season chicken with salt and pepper. Heat Dutch oven over medium-high until just smoking, add chicken in single layer and cook until lightly browned about 2 minutes per side. Transfer to plate and repeat with remaining chicken and 1 Tbs. bacon fat.
4. Melt 3 Tbs butter in dutch oven, add pearl onions and mushrooms, stirring until lightly browned.
5. Reduce heat to medium, add garlic and cook until quite fragrant, 30 seconds. Add tomato paste and flour, cook stirring frequently until well combined about 1 minute
6. Add reduced wine mixture, deglazing pan. Add ¼ tsp pepper. Return chicken, accumulated juices, and reserved bacon to pot, increase to high and bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover pot and simmer until chicken is tender, about 25 minutes, stirring halfway through cooking time.
7. Using slotted spoon, transfer chicken to large bowl. Increase heat to medium high and simmer sauce until thick and glossy about 5 minutes. If it won’t thicken, add some flour mixed with water.
8. Off heat, stir in remaining 2 Tbs. butter and reserved 1 Tbs wine. Season to taste with salt. Return chicken to pot and top with minced parsley. Serve immediately over noodles or with mashed potatoes.

Note: I’ve added a ton more chicken, onions and mushrooms to the Cook’s Illustrated recipe because there’s enough sauce for it all and why not make twice as much food and either eat it later in the week or freeze it?)

Pork Chops in Cream of Mushroom Soup

Pork Chops in Cream of Mushroom Soup

Canola Oil

4-5 lbs pork chops (about 12 chops)

Flour

Garlic Salt (I like Lawry’s the best)

Pepper

4 cans Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup

1. Mix a bunch of garlic salt and pepper in a cup or two of flour in a plastic bag. (sorry, don’t do any measurements here, just dump things together)

2. Rinse each pork chop in water to get any scum or bone meal off, shake and bake the pork chop in the flour mixture,

3. Heat oil in large Dutch oven, brown 3 pork chops at a time on both sides.

4. When all pork chops are browned, remove them all, dump in one can of cream of mushroom soup and scrape up the browned bits on the bottom of the pan.

5. Add a layer of pork chops, put some cream of mushroom soup on top, add another layer, etc. until all the pork chops and soup are in pot.

6. Rinse cans dumping water from one to the other and add to pot.

7. Braise pork chops for 1-2 hours until pork chops are meltingly tender

8. Serve over rice or barley

Note: This is my mother’s recipe, probably off a Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup can in the 60s. It was one of the few “Haole” dishes we ate growing up.

The Good Life

The Good Life

“Of course you’re miserable!” said my advisor Dan, looking over his spectacles at me, “As a doctoral student in Human Development and Social Policy, you of all people should remember that your timing is all wrong for graduate school.” We sat in Dan’s office, and I was whining about my life—my insecure, powerless and confused life. I felt stressed, discontent and anxious. Now I also felt slightly guilty--he knew I was a follower of Jesus and I wasn’t making Jesus look very good by spewing forth all my angst.

But Dan’s comment stopped me short because he was right—according to adult development studies, my timing was all wrong! I entered graduate school straight out of college, and if I charted my life forward, all the major tasks of school and career development directly conflicted with my other goals, especially the hope of having babies. In class we discussed how graduate school put us in a time warp compared to our peers. As our age-peers married, bought houses, bore children, earned money, and climbed their career ladders, we graduate students could feel like we were just standing still, or still worse, going backwards. Looking at the research on women’s lives and my own sorry existence, my on-going argument with Jesus about graduate school intensified. Led by wise advisors, circumstances and prayer to graduate school, I couldn’t help but feel like it had been one big sorry mistake, and if it wasn’t, then Jesus apparently cared little for the quality of my life.

Sad to say, twenty years later, I sometimes still feel the same panic I felt in Dan’s office even though on the outside, I can look like a woman who “has it all.” Despite the nine year route to finishing my degree, I finished, and you can call me Dr. Kathy thank-you-very-much! I have an interesting and enriching job with gifted and fascinating colleagues and students. I married a wonderful man and we have three healthy children. We even own two cars, a home, and stainless steel appliances. So if my life is crammed with blessings, why do I regularly feel my timing is all wrong, that I’ve fallen behind, and that the land around me is scorched and dry?

A quick answer is that I am bombarded every day with messages about the “good life.” It doesn’t take a Ph.D. to see how my life falls short--especially since the definition of a “good life” changes depending on the crowd you’re with. At Harvard, where I’ve worked with doctoral students for the past eleven years, the good life means achieving tenure at a top-tier university. In both the public and private sectors, the good life usually involves rising to a certain level of management, wealth and power. Among certain social activists, the good life entails living harmoniously with nature and humanity, eating organic, marching for justice, or tutoring needy children. In women’s self-help magazines, the good life requires embracing our own positive potential, exercising 30 minutes a day, and losing at least 10-15 pounds. Even individual churches promote a vision of the good life—my church’s motto is “empowering impossibly great lives.”

As I haven’t hit the mark in any of these areas, these competing visions just make me feel tired and discouraged. Where is my impossibly great life? Does God even want me to have a great life? Is it right to ask God for more blessing when I have already been so blessed?

When faced with such eternal questions, I go back to the beginning, to Genesis 1-3. In Genesis 1-2, we see two stories of perfect creation, creation which bursts forth with life, teeming with flora and fauna, all riotously growing and abundant. In fact, God commands all creation to flourish--to be fruitful, to multiply—and pronounces his final product very good. Man and woman together steward creation. The lion lies down with the lamb. Either mosquitoes don’t exist or human bodies are not their food source. Adam and Eve literally hear God’s footsteps in the garden, hear his voice calling them by name, and talk with God face to face while joyfully working the jobs He’s given them to do--naming animals and tilling the garden.

Then comes the fall. The serpent tempts Eve, Eve persuades Adam, the two of them eat the forbidden fruit, and the world is never the same again. Their tiny act of disobedience bears huge ramifications for this planet. What once was lush and green now becomes withered and parched. In an instant, lions chew on lambs, mosquitoes gorge on humans, and humans develop a rapacious appetite that threatens to devour all of creation. Human life--once overflowing with plenty--becomes characterized by scarcity and suffering: male and female begin the epic battle to dominate one another; toil replaces joyful tilling; thorns and thistles grow where fruit once abounded; agony and death now shadow the bringing forth of life.

Genesis 1-3 describes both the promise and the tragedy. God created humankind for the good life, but the fall means our pursuit of this good life is regularly thwarted. No wonder thinking about it makes me feel tired.

As the founding member of Overachiever’s Anonymous (a group I attempted to start at Harvard, but failed at when students didn’t rush at the chance to admit they were overachievers and that it was destroying their lives), I’ve had my share of ups and downs on the road to recovery. A key part of healing has involved realizing that the source of a good life has little to do with my work: the degrees I’ve achieved; the job title I possess; the valuable contributions I’ve made. Neither does living water flow from my relationships. Husband, children, friends, and community are great blessings, but can be the font of every burden as well.

My overachieving mentality can also bleed into my spiritual life. For almost all of my cognizant life, the Daily Quiet Time, the epitome of evangelical Christian spirituality, created inordinate amounts of guilt in my life—mostly because I rarely did it. On the few occasions I disciplined myself to daily pray and read the Bible, I often found my devotional time dry and meaningless, something I performed just to say I did it, to feel better about myself as a spiritual person, rather than to relate to the God of the universe.

But in these last years, something has slowly shifted. Although prayer can still feel dry and rote at times, increasingly, as I make space for God, prayer becomes a way to receive rather than prove myself. And the more I’m able to rest in God’s presence, the more I experience just how good God is, and how good are his intentions for me and the world. The closest I’ve come to sheer contentment, to sitting back and tasting the goodness of life are those evanescent instants when God somehow breaks through my harried busyness and I experience His presence and love. In those grace-filled moments, I need not perform, indeed I cannot perform--all I can do is receive. In God’s presence, I know God’s character and will. Of course he wants me to flourish—to grow, to thrive, to blossom, yes even to prosper—after all, that’s my heart’s desire for my children, and God is a much more loving, patient and kind parent than I am.

Awhile ago, I had a crazy dream. I dreamt that my husband Scott took me on a surprise visit to the Oprah Winfrey show. Although in real life I’ve never seen the program, in the dream, the Oprah Winfrey show was my favorite show of all time. But Scott hadn’t told me about it ahead of time, and I didn’t like how he planned the whole thing. At one point in the dream, I literally turned my back to the stage because it was more important for me to tell Scott my bad feelings than to watch my most favorite thing in the whole world.

When I awoke, I knew the dream wasn’t primarily about my marriage (even though Scott almost sang “glory glory hallelujah” when I told him about it). I knew it was about my relationship with God. Lying in bed, I immediately begged Jesus to change whatever lies within me that is so critical and negative that I’d rather control everything than enjoy the great surprises he wants to give me. He has taken me to various destinations—graduate school, marriage, motherhood and career among them—and I hope he will lead me through many more adventures. But the source of the good life is not the attractions, the speed in which we get there, or the order in which they all happen. The good life comes from every now and then hearing an unexpected crunch in the grass of a footstep and then a voice call out my name.

(First published in "The Well" in 2007)

Spiritual Formation for those beset by Plumbing Demons

Isaiah 40:11 He gently leads those who have young.

BK (before kids), I was notoriously bad at quiet times. As an ENFP, I both lacked discipline and in the rare periods when I disciplined myself to have a daily quiet time, quickly felt how inauthentic my prayer felt—too often it was about checking the “time with God” box than actually meeting God. So I dreaded what would happen to my already spotty spiritual disciplines when I had kids! But thankfully, forming me into Christ’s image is not my responsibility, but God’s. God is the potter; I am the clay. Motherhood, with all its chaos and demands, can be a time when we’re particularly malleable to Jesus.

Having kids changes everything! How God forms us; how we best meet with God; what spiritual disciplines work or don’t work. When your baby needs to nurse every 1-3 hours and sleeps for only 90 minute stretches throughout the night, your spiritual disciplines BK may not work anymore. Disciplines such as daily quiet times, long meditative prayer times, days spent alone on silent retreat, deep meaningful conversations with an accountability partner, uninterrupted immersion in manuscript study, may all be shattered by the wails of the baby or impossible to undertake in the first place. Even when we carve out space to practice these disciplines, we usually can’t stay awake!

Often mothers experience tremendous guilt around these changes, thinking they’ve become unspiritual, godless, prayerless and faithless. As a Chinese-American performance junkie, my faith BK often revolved around an activist faith, where I pursued God and encouraged students and faculty to pursue with me. But when my life became subsumed with spurting milk ducts, hormonal swings and exploding diapers, there wasn’t much I could “do” for God. When our perception of God’s love for us revolves around our performance, we can quickly sink into discouragement as we lose our ability to perform.

The good news is that the chaos, exhaustion and transition of motherhood gives us the opportunity to step into a better theology—one where God pursues us, and where we matter solely because we are His beloved. New motherhood gives us an unparalleled opportunity to learn and experience God’s grace as we embrace a new season of life. The good news for those of us who juggle many roles is that learning these deep truths about God and ourselves will only deepen and mature our character, our work and our relationships.

Here are some lessons and hints I’ve learned along the journey:

1. Spending time with God is not about hitting some standard to make God happy, instead it’s about receiving my identity as His beloved, receiving His blessing, nurture and resources.

The former president of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, Steve Hayner, once wrote in a letter to staff that kids are the only ones who get it right at Christmas. As they’re obsessed with presents, they embody the spiritual truth that when it comes to our relationship with Jesus, all we can do is receive. Ironically, motherhood is a time when we can feel like a vending machine—everyone wants a part of us. In our often frantic quest to meet others needs, isn’t it refreshing to know that God demands nothing, just wants us to receive from Him?

The chaos of motherhood these past thirteen years has taught me to spend time with God, not because I have anything to give him, but because He has everything to give me.

2. There’s a reason the metaphor of God as a parent is so important in the Bible! Parenthood brings a new experience of:

God’s Love: I am a slow bonder with my kids—in fact, I don’t bond until they smile. But when my oldest first smiled, I felt overwhelmed by the swoosh of love that filled me, the love of a lioness that would do anything and everything to protect and nurture that child. I loved her so much just thinking about that love made me cry. And that gave me multiple opportunities throughout the day to reflect on God’s love for me. I didn’t have time to pray much more than, “God, if you love me anything like I love this baby, you must love me a lot!!” And through the fog of hormones and sleep deprivation, I sensed God’s joy and affirmation, “yes, I do, yes I do.”

Our sin and frailty: If you’re one of those women who has limitless patience and pours yourself in service with nary a complaint, you can skip this part. If you’re like the rest of us who get harried, whiny, and angry you have probably found that motherhood has shown you sins you thought you’d conquered long ago, or revealed new sins and fears that had never existed before! In the ten years between leaving my family of origin and creating my own family, I somehow thought I’d dealt with most of my character flaws. Then I got married. And then I had kids.

As I’ve found myself sinning against my children, often multiple times a day, it’s easy to become overwhelmed with guilt and shame. Some days I wonder whether Jesus’s death on the cross really could atone for my behavior. My still-alive performance junkie rejects how often I actually need to go back to Jesus for forgiveness—shouldn’t I have licked my anger problem by now? Although painful, the wonderful thing about recognizing our own sin (over and over again) is that we can receive more of. . .

Jesus’s forgiveness! Jesus told us as only those who are sick need a doctor, only those who are sinners need him. Being a mom means we are given opportunities to receive his forgiveness multiple times throughout the day, a process which deepens our love relationship with him, our need for the practical power and transformation of the Holy Spirit, and our sense of gratitude to God the Father.

3. Find new wineskins

Gordon Smith talks about how spiritual disciplines are “cups” to carry and drink the living water of Christ. Thank God that the church has discovered a multitude of “cups” over the centuries. God may even help you discover your own special cup during this time of parenting. Adele Calhoun’s Spiritual Disciplines Handbook (IVP) lists 62! Here are some “cups” which have been helpful to me and new moms I’ve known:

· Examen: The discipline of examen helps us recognize where God has been active throughout the day and where we were able to either receive or ignore His presence. There are various forms and ways of doing the examen. But the quick and dirty way we do it in our family (with kids) is everyone prays 3 one sentence prayers beginning with the words “Thank you. . . Sorry. . . and Please.”

· Practicing the Presence of God: If Brother Lawrence could learn this discipline over dishes, we can learn this discipline over diapers! After hearing that my favorite thing to do on a spiritual retreat was to take a bubble bath, one of my spiritual directors encouraged me to use soap lather every time I washed my hands or did the dishes to remember the luxury of God’s love.

· Confession: Because motherhood unearths and unleashes old and new sin patterns, it is helpful to have a safe person or two with whom we can confess our sins. Apart from sins of anxiety, control, impatience, irritability, rage, unholy speech and stinginess, I also found myself struggling with feeling overshadowed and left behind in my InterVarsity work. I felt envious towards men, especially those younger than me, who I perceived were able to sire children, plunge themselves into ministry and write books in their spare time when I could barely take a shower! In those spaces, having loving, non-judgmental folks who could hear my confession and speak Christ’s grace and forgiveness over me brought me to Jesus in a way I couldn’t go alone.

· Spiritual Direction: Although finding time, money and babysitting to see a spiritual director may feel daunting, I have found spiritual direction to be one of the greatest graces God has given me through this time of motherhood. When my life can sound like a noisy gong (“More food! More attention! More chauffering!”), having a wise prayerful director who listens well, helps me discern God’s movement in my life, and directs my prayer has helped me hear God’s whisper in the whirlwind. At times, it’s felt like marriage therapy between me and God. Other times I’ve had forgiveness pronounced over me, or power prayed into me.

· A long obedience in the same direction: God once showed me that growing in relationship with Him was a lot like growing my marriage, many small positive steps towards building trust and love. My husband and I have grace for one another that we’re just too tired to have deep loving conversations and ecstatic love-making every night. In marriage, we’ve found it’s helpful to schedule in brief check-ins daily, weekly date nights where we can catch up more fully, and if, once or twice a year, someone gives us a weekend away just the two of us, we experience anew why we chose to marry one another.

If my husband can show grace, God has even abundantly more grace for the vicissitudes of life! My interactions with God have the same rhythms of my marriage--we touch base throughout the day, but rarely have time for deep long conversations. Once a week or so, it’s helpful to have a deeper conversation—in my life, usually a time of worship and longer journaling where I try to “be real” with what’s really going on. Then at least twice a year, it’s a super treat if God and I enjoy a couple days away together at a silent retreat. It’s at those times that I generally can both hear God’s voice the best and receive his love and centering grace.

When my babies were nursing, it was almost impossible to have those overnight spiritual retreats, but one time, when I was really in bad shape, my loving husband brought the 10 month old to nurse throughout my weekend at the monastery! It freaked the brothers out a little, but he gave me the precious time I needed with Jesus.

Whatever the wineskins or cups God presents you with, remember, the most important piece of our spiritual formation is trusting that God wants to form us more than we want to be formed. As we lay our lives before him, our messy lives with hormonal bodies and wracked emotions, we are exactly the clay God wants to get His fingers into, shaping us into the image of His Son.

Note: This article was written for InterVarsity Christian Fellowship staff moms, so has that population in mind. Helpful thoughts were provided by my wonderful colleague Kathy Cooper!