She calls for one more drink of water… for the third time.

He comes untucked and tip-toes down the stairs to tell me something… again.

The stalling techniques of little children at bedtime are quite extraordinary.

But tonight my patience wears thin. The last words as I say to them before closing the door – hopefully for the final time – are not nice. Words I don’t want echoing through their minds as they drift off to sleep.

I pray for patience and again and again God gives me opportunities to grow this fruit. And many times I fail, yielding to the flesh instead.

I stand at the bottom of the stairs and the guilt washes over me like a tidal wave, all-consuming.

How can I be so impatient when God is so patient with me?

My quick, sharp words starkly contrast His merciful, compassionate, loving ones. He patiently teaches me the same lessons over and over,  and each time I wonder how He can forgive… again. I wonder if there is an end to His patience, like mine, which so quickly is exhausted.

But He is so unlike me. So completely set apart. So holy.

And so I beg His forgiveness and ask for another opportunity to practice patience. Undoubtedly, it will come.

And I sneak back into darkened rooms and kiss the tops of little heads and tell them Mommy’s sorry and ask them to forgive.

They too are quick to forgive and filled with compassion.

I await my next opportunity to grow patience. I’m sure I won’t have to wait long.

We sat around the kitchen table in a home we’d never been in before; listening with rapt attention to people we’d never met before.

They told their story – one of total abandonment to God – and how this refuge for orphans came to be.

Ron & Glenda Allan run an orphanage in Ecuador called The Ark, a place where over 100 children call home. It began 14 years ago when the Allans felt God calling them to Ecuador to minister to children. They arrived in Ecuador, their own children in tow, and began the slow and labour-intensive process of establishing the orphanage. First in a rented house, they began to take in babies who had been abandoned. Their numbers grew over the years as did their needs for a facility, staff, and financial support. Now in a home on the edge of Riobamba, with staff who cook and care for the children alongside them, they are truly serving orphans out of hearts fully devoted to God.

We listened to how God has blessed them and confirmed His calling on their lives. We were captivated by the tales of daily life within the orphanage’s walls, a work that is hard yet incredibly rewarding. They left us wanting that kind of servanthood and radical abandonment to God in our own lives.

When we left she placed her book in my hands – the complete account of their journey. I haven’t been able to put it down since.

We are not sure where God is leading, but certain our meeting was not by chance, we are praying about how we can fulfill James 1:27 as well.

Will you consider giving to the orphans as God leads your heart?

The interruptions are continual, the demands relentless, the whining and bickering and complaining endless.

It’s been a stay-at-home day, treasured by both Mommy and children for different reasons. For me, it’s a day to get caught up with things around the house and perhaps have time to spend on my own interests, while they see it as an opportunity for the three of us to play together.

My list has been a mile long matching my expectations to complete it.

But today the frustration has mounted and the words are short – and my heart aches.

When will I get it right? When will the irritation at interruptions, the anger at complaints, and the frustration cease? When will patience and love rule in this house without exception?

They’ve asked me to read them a book.

“In a minute,” I say. “First Mommy has to finish this.”

Turning back to the computer I continue with my task. When I finish they are happily playing with another toy and I wonder if the book is forgotten. I decide to load the dishwasher, hoping to finish that before they remember about the book.

Mid-task they ask again. “Yes, I’m coming,” I respond taking a few more minutes to store the rest of the dishes before joining them on the sofa, book in hand.

Will I ever learn that playing and laughing and weaving imaginary tales is much more important than clean counters and folded laundry and checks on lists? Investing in them is my mission as a mother – far more important than a sparkling house or my own selfish interests.

Later my husband and I sit over steaming mugs and my words tumble with the tears.

Horrible mother. The accusation in my mind looks big and dark and ugly.

He looks me straight in the eye and tells me I’m not. We talk about the enemy’s loud voice filling me with guilt and the Shepherd’s gentle one, showing me a better way.

My heart is divided, I confess.

I’ve been reading her words in The Mission of Motherhood and they speak straight to this core issue – a divided heart.

A divided heart. Not between work and home – that topic could ignite endless discussion – no, my heart is divided between self and others. Selfishly guarding my time, thinking what I am doing is more important than what my children have asked me to do, I often view their interruptions as irritations in my day.

God is using her words about selfishly pursuing our own ambitions instead of wholeheartedly devoting our time to our children and being fully present in each moment with them, to show me a better way.

The Mission of Motherhood is reminding me of my calling as a mother. Taking advantage of every teachable moment, building into them, modeling patience, forgiveness and love, moulding their character, and revealing God to them – these – these are the priorities of motherhood.

I was only seventeen weeks swollen with our second child when the doctor ordered me to lie down – permanently. Showing signs of continuing down the same path as with our first, we wanted to avoid an early baby.

It was then, during the next four months of bedrest, God began to show me my love for words.

I began to write.

With my laptop by my side, I tapped keys and strung words together. I studied the Word, and then wrote about it, creating studies for others to dig deeper into scripture. Sometimes the words came in the middle of the night, waking me from a deep sleep, prompting me to write them down before they were lost. Most mornings I woke with words swirling in my head, anxious to make their way to paper. I simply wrote as the words came, creating a finished product near the end of my pregnancy. It was a rare opportunity – this concentrated time to spend with Him and be used by Him.

I was surprised at how effortlessly the words came up from within, having been given from above.

I shouldn’t have been. While other young girls were playing games or experimenting with make-up, my friend and I would sit under the maple tree in her backyard on summer afternoons with stacks of lined paper in front of us, pens in hand. We would weave stories of imaginary characters and fill pages and pages – front and back – of their adventures. Taking them home, I would proudly read them to my family.

God had placed the love of words in me from the beginning. When He weaved me together in the seclusion of the womb, He placed in me a passion to write. Why is it we don’t pay more attention to what comes naturally to us as children?

Now the words swirling within me have found their way to this humble blog – to be used as an instrument to His glory.

The Power of Words

Words have the power to build up or tear down, to encourage or to destroy. We, who create with pen in hand, must choose words carefully.

When words are your worship, it is pure joy and complete fulfillment when you’ve strung together beautiful words that inspire and encourage.

When words are your worship, it is utter disappointment and relentless doubt when you realize many other people have said it much better.

And it’s a struggle when the words simply aren’t there. When you reach deep and come up empty-handed.

We, who attempt to change the world with words, lay ourselves bare for all to see – completely vulnerable. We attempt to understand our circumstances, our God, and ourselves through words. We wrestle to make sense of life as we pour onto the page, sorting it out as we go, and seek to gain perspective, understanding, and insight.

The God of Words

God breathed the stars into existence with a word.

God is a God of words, and we, who are made in His image, are a people of words. That is why we create with words.

When words are your worship, you simply must write.

For an audience of One.