Dear Girl, You Are Not Your Parents

Dear Girl, You Are Not Your Parents

Dear girl,

You’ve stopped on the breakneck journey of life to read this post, and I’m glad you did. For the moment you’re here, I want you to set down the two suitcases you have in your hands – the one called Father, and the other called Mom.

I want you to set them aside and hear something true.

Every person on this earth has parents, whether that term refers simply to their biological origins or if it has the deeper relational meaning of a family tie. You have a mother and dad. Some of you don’t know either of them. Some of you lost one to death or divorce. Some of you were hurt by them, abused by them, or neglected by them. Some feel you can’t meet their expectations. Some of you were babied and enabled by them.

Our parents have a profound effect on our lives, and their choices have the power to influence us for years to come.

But dear girl, your life is not the sum of your parents’ failure or success.

You are neither a trophy nor a disappointment.

Your identity is not based on your last name or your parents’ actions. They are imperfect people, sinners just like you and me. But their flaws should not dictate our value, or we will go through life measuring our worth against the opinions of people instead of the opinion of God.

Some of us had parents who did things well: they loved us, they trained us, they taught us, they cared about us. But those of us with this story carry another burden: the burden of expectation. Just as some carry the weight of their parents’ poor decisions or disapproval, others carry the weight of comparison. They think their marriage is supposed to look just like their parents’ did. They think their lives, homes, and children are supposed to be just like their childhood. And when it isn’t – as most assuredly will be the case – they are assaulted with discontent and disillusionment.

Why Homemaking is a Spiritual Discipline

Why Homemaking is a Spiritual Discipline

Josh had his apartment when we were dating. It’s the same apartment we live in at the writing of this post. Living in a college town means most complexes are noisy: populated by 20-somethings whose late-night priorities always tend toward the loud and obnoxious. But our little place is housed off a country road, in a subdivision, populated mostly by residents over the age of 50. The most noise we endure originates from Canadian geese.

Why Your Homeschooling, Modesty, and Virginity Will Never Save You

Why Your Homeschooling, Modesty, and Virginity Will Never Save You

It had been a day. Not just a day… but a day: the kind that, when you reach the end of it, you either want to put on your best heels and go out on the town or curl up in your duvet and die.

To start, I’d been up late the night before and only had five hours of sleep. I came to work late because I had to pick up some tax forms Financial Aid needed. Then I got sent home sick.

Once home, I found out the tax forms still weren’t right. I couldn’t reach Mr. M, who was in Tennessee – and he’s who put the forms together.

Nationwide wanted information on our renter’s insurance, which I also didn’t have.

I tried to call the doctor to pay an outstanding bill and they wouldn’t answer. I called another doctor – the one I’d been trying to get an appointment with for three months but couldn’t because the last one wouldn’t send my records – and they stated, once again, that my records were MIA.

So I sat on the sofa in Mr. M’s t-shirt eating a bowl of Cocoa Krispies, bawling my eyes out for a good five minutes. This is the most effective response under such circumstances.

And I still had a three page essay and seven page paper due that night. My computer decided it would be nice to just shut down in the middle of my essay.

“Moral question:” I texted my sisters. “Would it be wrong to swear while writing a theology paper?” The answer is quite obvious, and I didn’t do it, but my stars! What a day!!

—-

Our lives are a transcript of our theology. We cannot separate what we believe about God from the choices we make.

One of the saddest things I encounter as a writer is the lack of biblical knowledge many Christians possess. They attempt to parse together a knowledge of God from Sunday School messages, Beth Moore studies, and the every-now-and-then quiet time. We live in a world of Christians who might know the word ‘justification’ but couldn’t tell you what it means for their lives.

Our doctrine – our theology – it matters. It is fundamental to absolutely everything we do as women. What you believe about God and His gospel story will affect:

How you speak
How you think
How you dress
How far you go with your boyfriend
How you navigate your future
How you view marriage and children
How you handle your finances
How you view your purpose in life

Don’t believe me? Here’s an example.

Type A Diaries: Becoming Interruptable

Type A Girl here.

I love children, and I can’t wait for the day Mr. M and I have our own. We’ve arranged our life in a manner that plans for children and is ready to support them if they happen to appear on the scene. But I’m not living in a fantasy world.

I already know what’s going to happen when my precious, mostly-silent infant gains a tongue and mobility: I’m going to be interrupted… all the time.

When I think about our future family, I get this knot of trepidation in my stomach not because I know I’ll be inconvenienced and interrupted, not because life will change, not because some sort of perceived ‘freedom’ is taken away by having kids – but because I know that my current self would have a very, very difficult time dropping everything to take care of pint-size interruptions.

It’s bad enough at work, during my spring cleaning, or even while I’m staring obsessively at my whirring KitchenAid.

I hold up one finger. “Hang on! I’m in the middle of something.”

“But -”

“I can’t talk right now, I’m doing things.”

Which is a lie, because I’ve always been able to talk while doing things. It’s one of my most developed skill sets.

I work with the most interruptable woman I have ever met. Her name is Joy, and she lives up to that name in everything she does. No matter what she is doing – which is always a lot – she will set it down, look you in the face, and listen to your need. She’ll help you. She’ll take care of you. She’ll even do your job for you. And she’s not the least bit put out by the fact you gave her no notice at all….

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