Category Archives: Faith

Just Like Her Mommy

Sometimes, we learn more from our children than we can possibly teach them.

I think that’s God’s way. He gives us children in part, I think, to show us how He sees us. Yes, we teach them, but really, we’re the ones being taught.

The older I get the more I am realizing how utterly dependent I am on God. When I was younger, I didn’t grasp the gravity of my need for Him.

Our littlest Darling is two. I wonder if God sees me as I see Darling.  Sometimes, I grasp the enormity of the lessons I’m learning. Sometimes, I don’t. When I have the occasion to understand the situation I am in, I often look wide-eyed at God for help—in the same way Darling looks at me.

 

“Mommy, I’m stuck.”  or  “It burned, Mommy.”  “Help, please.”  “I’m sorry.”    “But I’m not tired!”

Sometimes, there are no words. Just tears of regret for the suffering that follows a wrong decision or words that were carelessly spoken.

Truly, my two-year-old daughter is just like her mommy.

Just like her, I’m in constant need of God’s tender mercies. I’m fragile. Broken, really. The cracks show up when the light hits them just right   …   these jagged lines that life has left run their course along my soul  and occasionally they expose soft spots I had forgotten about. They serve as an indelible reminder of my humanness.

If I look too long at the jagged lines, I can feel myself begin to sink.  Thoughts that are not from Him creep in.  I wonder how I can be the mother that I need to be. I question how I can adequately serve this amazing man who loves me. I wonder how I can juggle the friendships that I’ve been blessed with. I wonder if I’m a good friend at all.

And then, I remember Darling.

She is growing. Each day, she remembers a lesson (or at the very least, part of a lesson) from the day before—just like her mommy.

Some places are sticky. It’s easy to get stuck. Don’t go back there.

Some things burn. Try, try not to touch things that burn flesh or spirit. No matter how shiny or tempting they are.

The trail in the back woods is not for Darling. She can’t navigate it safely … at least not yet.  Following an old, overgrown trail that I have been told not to travel down is unwise.  (It’s better to close the entrance to trail.)

Saying “I’m sorry” is freeing.

Rest is necessary. Like Darling, I need to learn how to rest without fear that I’ll miss something while my spirit and flesh are being renewed.

We are so much like the children that God entrusts into our care.

Learning.

Trying again.

Falling … and getting back up.

In need of forgiveness.

In need of rest.

And those broken places?  They’re part of the daily reminder that God is in the business of healing.

Healing from the past.
—Emotionally, physically, spiritually.

Help for the present
—Provision, wisdom for parenting, strength for the journey

Hope for the future

Yes, we’re a lot alike, this toddler and me.

Just like her mommy, Darling is learning how to trust, forgive, dust herself off, get back in the game, avoid the sticky places, apologize when necessary and rest without struggling.

Today as I watch our toddler … well … “toddling,” I smile. Because I know that God is watching me—His hands are open wide, His eyes dance with enthusiasm at every new lesson I learn, knowing that I desire to be, well, just like my Daddy.

That makes the journey worth taking.

Heidi St John Firmly Planted Family Devotional For All Ages

Accidental Homeschooler

Many of you know me as “The Busy Homeschool Mom.”A few of you have heard me speak, heard me on the radio or read one of my books. Most people know that my husband and I have seven children ages 2-21, and that we’ve been married for about twenty-four years. And you probably know that I like to laugh.

What you may NOT know about me is that I used to be 100% against homeschooling. Yep.  You read it right. I was the mom that all the homeschool moms I knew ran from.  I just didn’t get homeschoolers.  After all, WHY would anyone want to stay home all day with their kids when they could have the luxury of dropping them off at school and giving the job of educating them to someone else?  (in my best Grinch voice, “Why, why , why, WHY?”)

I just didn’t get it.

The UNIFORM, circa 1993

Besides.  I didn’t have the uniform.  The dreaded “denim jumper” which was being worn by almost every homeschool mom I knew at the time made me wonder if homeschoolers were part of a cult rather than a movement.  A girl needs to consider these things!  I mean, I like jumpers but I really like my jeans.  What was the point of the uniform? I figured it must have something to do with identifying other homeschoolers. No one at the small private school where we had enrolled our first child was really sure.

Truthfully, I felt judged by all those jumper-wearing homeschool moms who, I was told, were making their own jumpers and growing their own wheat while I was buying Wonder Bread on sale and following (dare I say it?) a fashion trend or two now and again.

I felt guilty every time I ran into a homeschool mom at church. I did my best to avoid the topic of education. After all, we had sent our first child to *gasp* PRESCHOOL, and I knew for a fact that this wasn’t going over well in the homeschool mom’s coffee club.

I did have a few friends who were homeschooling. So I did what any good friend would do: I tried my best to help these poor, tired moms “see the light.”  I invited them to plays and open house night at my daughter’s school. I was sure to talk about how great it was to drop Savannah off at school and spend “quality time” with her little sister.  I even went so far as to take their children to “bring a friend to school day” at the school.  Looking back, I’m a *teensy bit* embarrassed by my behavior. These homeschool moms, bless them, were patient with me.  Never once did one of them tell me to take a hike; and heaven knows, I had it coming.

Of course, I had my own doubts about having our daughter in school. I noticed that because of my husband’s job, he was missing our daughter during most of her waking hours. When he had a few free hours, she was in school. When he came home, she was in bed.  I also noticed that the attitudes of the siblings toward each other were hindered during the school week; I felt as if I was having to “overcorrect” because of the attitudes and actions that Savannah came home with after school.  There were conversations Savannah had with older students on the playground that I would have PAID to have wait another ten years, too.

In the mid 90’s, we ended up in the small town of Wilsonville, Oregon. We enrolled her in a small public school in the little town of Canby. I loved her 2nd grade teacher. The schoolbus came right to our door every morning at 7:30. I thought I had it pretty good.

Meanwhile, Sierra, who was eager to join her big sister, wanted to go to Kindergarten. Trouble was, she missed the age cutoff by a week.  A week!  I decided to console Sierra by telling her I would teach her some things at home. This seemed to do the trick so I set about trying to find workbooks and other materials in order to give her something like “school” to do at home.

I avoided using the word homeschool.  I avoided it like the plague.

But even though I was avoiding it, God was working. God has a way of bringing us around to His way of thinking.

I soon discovered that there was a homeschool supply store about 45 minutes from our house. I decided to “casually” go and check it out. When I arrived, I was overwhelmed by the amount of materials and wonderful books available to homeschooling families.  I asked the store owner what he would suggest for a “non-homeschooler” like me.  He graciously pointed out a few of the curriculum choices. He asked what I wanted to accomplish with Sierra.  I said I just wanted to help her get ready for “real” school.  Then I ducked. But he didn’t flinch. I suspected he had spoken to my kind before.

I left the store with a copy of “Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons” and a math workbook.  I must admit, I was secretly excited to try my hand at teaching Sierra to read.  I had no clue where to start the process, so having a book that gave step by step instructions was just what I needed.

It took about a week of teaching Sierra at home for me to begin to see that I had been totally wrong about homeschooling. All these years I thought homeschooling was about chains, but I was finding freedom instead!  Freedom in the way we did school, freedom in when we did school!  Even the school bus taking our daughter to and from school could not compete with the amount of time I was saving by schooling at home.

My relationships with my children began to be filled with a new sense of purpose as well; I loved seeing Sierra’s eyes light up when she understood a concept for the first time. Knowing that I was able to teach her made it even better. Before too long, we had vowel charts up in the kitchen and posters of the Presidents adorned the walls of the nook where we sat to read. I had to admit:  I was an accidental homeschooler. And I didn’t care who knew it.

I could go on and on about how the Lord softened my heart and drew Jay and me closer together in the process of deciding to pull Savannah out of public school. But that’s another post.  I could tell you about the richness that our family has experienced through homeschooling that we never even thought was possible—but that too, is another post.

I could also tell you that homeschooling is stinkin’ hard.  But boy, is it worth it.  And nothing in this life that’s worth doing, I have discovered, is ever easy.

Homeschooling is not for everyone. But I believe that there are more moms out there like me than not. Maybe you’re watching a homeschool mom right now, wondering what craziness came over her that she would choose to stay home with her children when someone else would take them off her hands for the day.  Well, I’m here to tell you, you’re right. It’s crazy. it’s at least seventeen different kinds of crazy.  Crazy good. Crazy hard. Crazy crazy. Crazy adventure. Crazy amazing.

Turns out homeschooling is not about denim jumpers.  There are no uniforms.  It is as hard as I thought it might be … maybe even more, some days.

And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Heidi St John Homeschooling Guide to Daylight

Heidi St John Firmly Planted Family Devotional For All Ages

{Broken}

Broken. It’s the word I use the most when people ask me who I am.

Broken.

I’m a mess, really.  Memories linger, but with little time to process them. Laundry abounds. Dinner calls. I’m often short-tempered. I’m often frustrated by things that carry no eternal significance.

I often forget how truly blessed I am. 

The Liar is tricky. He whispers “What do you have to offer? Look how broken you are.”  And yes I am. I must confess. I often have more questions than answers.

I wonder. Will my children be broken like I am broken? In my heart I know they will.  Because, really, we’re all broken. That’s why we need a Savior. We do the best we can, in our brokenness. I have found myself crying out to God as I carry the weight of the “what ifs” in life … and I must daily learn (again) to yield to God what I cannot control.

I make the mistake of scanning Facebook. More things that remind me. We.Are.Broken.  I try not to feel overwhelmed. There is much to do. Much that my heart aches for in this broken world.

In my brokenness, I’m learning to see something beautiful. I’m learning that being broken is its own kind of beautiful. Being broken means that I don’t have to struggle with the pain of perfectionism (although I still sometimes do.)

Being broken provides a freedom all it’s own—because there can be no glass houses for broken people. No need to compare brokenness. After all, we are all broken the same. Different kinds of broken—but still broken.

Being broken means I am in need of constant repair—and so I find myself at the feet of the One who heals—again.

There is strength there.

My husband touches my hand. He tells me (again) me how cherished I am.

He reminds me that our children will learn from our brokenness. I love this strong, gentle man. He is a gift. Part of my healing. He tempers me.

I need that.     … You too?

 

Broken people carry a beauty all their own. And broken people who know they have been redeemed—bought with a price—are radiant with a light that transcends the pain of this life.

Very little in this life compares to the beauty the comes from brokenness.  The beauty that comes from ashes —is available to me. And you.

As the news plays in the background, and the weight of this life threatens to overwhelm, I claim the gift of brokenness. I claim it to find healing, and peace. I claim it for the one thing I cannot find without being broken. I claim it for grace. I claim it today, again.

Grace.

Grace in my brokenness — healing.

Praise the Lord.

Heidi St John Guide to Romance

Heidi St John Guide to Daylight

Heidi St John Firmly Planted Family Devotional For All Ages

This is Who You Are, Day 6

Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth. 2 Timothy 2:15

I have been talking about parenting for a long time, not because I have it down, by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, the older I get and the older my kids get, I realize how much I really don’t know and how very dependent on the Lord I am.

It’s easy for me to get tired and busy and neglect my own time with the Lord. Maybe you can relate. If you are parenting your children from a spiritually dry place yourself, remember this: you can’t give them what you don’t have. If you don’t have a walk with the Lord, if you don’t have a clear understanding of God’s Word, or a love for His will, or a clear method of reasoning with Biblical convictions, your children won’t have that either.

I want to encourage you today to spend time with God. Read His Word for yourself. Often times, we do not know how to use the Bible to guide us in matters of everyday living, and our own lack of knowledge is keeping us from teaching our children to live in a Biblically wise way. Our job is to teach them to develop their own set of internalized Biblical convictions: a set of standards that they derive from the Bible, so that when we are not around them, they are capable of making good, moral, and wise decisions.

We should be teaching our children to love, serve, and follow the Lord, so that they can stay away from the two spectrums that the world defines as religion. There’s a ditch on either side. We always tell our kids; the one ditch is legalism–where everything is bound by law and things done by rote. The other side of that is moral relativism where truth is undefined.

Neither of those are Biblical boundaries. A true believer decides that the Lord is in charge of his life and willingly lives inside those boundaries, he does not live testing them. Often times we find our children testing them and I’ve noticed some things in the life of our own children, and, frankly, in my own life, that our convictions are based on the truth of God’s word. We must have those convictions in our hearts, and in order for me to impart those to my children, and to do what the Bible says in Deuteronomy, to train my children to love and follow the Lord, I have to be doing that in my own life.

Jay and I wrote a Bible Study series because we are seeing so many families who are giving their kids rules but they are not directing them to Scripture. It’s easy to parent our children out of fear and not even realize we’re doing it. Older kids, especially, need to understand the boundaries that God has set for us in Scripture. As parents, we have to know God’s word.

When you think about what the most important thing is you can do for your children, think of it in the context of how you can help them walk with the Lord. I am convinced that it is so important to define the concept of conviction and personal responsibility in our children within the framework of God’s Word.

So, take them back to His Word–over and over again. If they have a question that you don’t have an answer to, it’s okay to say, “You know what? I don’t have the answer to that. But God does. Let’s pray about it.”

Be a place where your kids can be a sounding board and get to know God’s word yourself in a personal way, because you can’t give your kids what you don’t have yourself. You can do it, because God will give you what you need. Just ask!

This is Who You Are, Day 3

I am complete in Him Who is the Head of all principality and power (Colossians 2:10).
I am alive with Christ (Ephesians 2:5).
I am free from the law of sin and death (Romans 8:2).
I am far from oppression, and fear does not come near me (Isaiah 54:14).
I am born of God, and the evil one does not touch me (1 John 5:18).
I am holy and without blame before Him in love (Ephesians 1:4; 1 Peter 1:16).

I love my kids. Our seven children range in age from 6 to 25 at the moment. Our oldest daughter and her husband have two beautiful little boys. That makes me *gasp* “Mamsi.” Our youngest daughter was an “aunt” at the age of three. I love that too. Sometimes I look at my children and I cannot believe how fast the years go by—but there are days when I have struggled to appreciate the gift I’ve been given.

Motherhood is hard. Much harder than I thought it would be, and it’s more demanding for sure. No one told me it was going to be so hard.

Many years ago, this truth was shared with me from another wise mother. She had raised her five girls and literally poured her life out to do it. When her last child left home, she was devastated. She battled depression and resentment. Her marriage suffered. Finally, at her husband’s request, she decided to do something that was just for her. She told me she wished she had done it years earlier. She began a small craft business and now, she’s enjoying a season of being a grandmother and an Etsy entrepreneur.

Her advice to me? “Do something to nurture your spirit while you nurture your children. Don’t wait until they’re grown.” .. and so, I began to write. Fifteen years ago I started writing a little column for our church newsletter. I loved it. It helped me think about something other than dishes and diapers. Eventually I wrote a book. Then another.

People sometimes ask me how I find time to write when I’m raising children. I don’t find time. I make it. Sometimes, it’s early in the morning. Sometimes it’s late. Truthfully? Writing is a joy for me. So I make time for it. Find your identity in being the woman God has created you to be. Part of your identity is found in motherhood. Where else is it found? What gifts has He given you? Do you like to organize? Teach? Sew? Write?

If you take time to nurture your spirit, even just a little, while your children are still growing, when they leave, you’ll find the transition will be easier.

Motherhood only lasts for a season. Some of us have longer seasons than others but in the end, motherhood is a journey worth taking.

Now excuse me. I hear hollering from the other room… I think the toddler is having an issue.
I am God’s workmanship, created in Christ unto good works (Ephesians 2:10).

This is Who You Are, Day 2

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear you. You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.” Jeremiah 29:11-13

I looked in the mirror one day and laughed along with God. No joke. I laughed.

Why? Because I have seven kids, that’s why. And I think it makes God smile. Why? Because it’s me, that’s why. Me.

The woman who has to buy silk plants because I have a startling ability to kill both plants and small animals. (I boiled my fish to death in their aquarium when I was 14. True story. In my defense, the thermostat broke while I was at school. But still. I think I have PTSD from that episode.) God knew all about my anti-nurturing qualities and still, He saw fit to entrust me with seven precious lives. S E V E N beautiful pairs of baby feet. Made just for me and my husband by the God of the universe.

I think God is smiling at me right this minute, thinking about my dead fish and my silk plants—and those seven precious people who call me … MOM.

You see, God knows me. I’ve learned He knows me better than I know myself. He knows my name. I like to picture Him saying it … I listen for it. And I hear Him—in the stillness that comes with the morning light. I hear Him. “Heidi.”

Just.Like.That. Gentle, patient, like a father should be.

Like any good father, He knew I was terrified of motherhood. Terrified that I was destined to repeat a generational sin in my family. Terrified that I was not equipped to take care of a baby. Terrified that I would mess it up. And even more terrified to admit it.

My Father knew my fears as a young mother-to-be.

And He still knows them. {He’s good like that.}

Sometimes, Father lets me wrestle with a question. Sometimes, He sends an answer. Rarely early. Never late. I think He knows when I need an answer and when I can wait a while longer.

In September of 1991, I had a question that couldn’t wait. I needed an answer. Life hung in the balance. New life. I was a woman who was about to give birth. My fear of failing bubbled to the surface. My spirit struggled under the weight of an uncertain future.

He knows my name. He knows my name.

Could I do this? Really? Could I overcome my fear?

Just a few days before our precious first-born entered this world, I broke down. As I sat in the living room of a dear woman of God, I confided in her. I unpacked my fears. I told my story, and God sent me His answer through this precious friend. Rarely early. Never late. “I can’t do it!” I wailed. “I don’t know how! I don’t know how not to be angry.” It was all I had ever known, really. Anger.

He knows my name.

“Heidi, ” Nola said, “Why are you crying? God has made you new. You are a new creation! You are redeemed! Called by name. Loved. Set apart. You are not bound by your past. You.Are.New.”

He knows my name.

In that moment, I was set free. Free to be the woman God made me to be. Free to be the mother I wanted to be. That was nearly twenty-two years ago. Do I still battle with my fears? Yes. Do I struggle? Fall? Fail? Yes. But here’s the thing: I’m learning what it means to be truly free. Free to be imperfect. Free to ask for help. Free to mess things up. To ask for grace —grace to be the woman God sees when He looks at me.

He knows my name.

He knows your name too, precious mom. He knows your fears—He’s seen your failures.

And He loves you.

You can trust Him with those. Lean hard into His arms. He can hold you up.

He knows your name. Can you hear Him saying it? Look up. Listen. He knows your name.