During the past few weeks as we have been looking at the subject of spiritual abuse, I have received some interesting notes from women, each who have a story to tell. One of the questions that keeps coming up is “why did I get involved in this situation in the first place?” It is a question I have asked myself before and I know that has several answers. I believe that one of the reasons can be found by taking a closer look at Luke 9.

The disciples had just witnessed many miraculous works. They had traveled around, under the power and authority of Jesus, healing and casting out demons. They had trusted that God would provide all they needed as they went from town to town and He did. In fact, when they returned from their journey, they witnessed one of the most spectacular miracles of Jesus’ earthly ministry, the feeding of the 5000 men plus any women and children who were present with 5 loaves of bread and two fish. Living by faith and watching God provide in such amazing ways had become a very real part of their lives.

It was on the heels of this miraculous way of life that Jesus took Peter, James, and John with him to a mountain top retreat for a time of prayer. Scripture tells us that as Jesus was praying, his countenance and his clothes became “bright as a flash of lightning.” And as if that wasn’t spectacular enough, suddenly Moses and Elijah appeared, also in “glorious splendor” and began talking to Jesus about the coming events surrounding His death and resurrection. Since the Bible tells us that the disciples had been sleepy, I think they must certainly have been thinking they were dreaming, one of those dreams that seem very real right before we wake up. Even as they had been basking in God’s provision for them in ministry, they must certainly have been blown away by the sheer glory and splendor that surrounded them.

Then Peter, the disciple whose zeal and naiveté I always find myself relating to, excitedly suggested, “Master, it is good for us to be here. Let’s put up three shelters, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah!” Oh, how I can relate to this situation. Peter, bless his heart, was so caught up in the glory of God’s presence and the joy of that small taste of heaven that he didn’t want it to end. His offering to build shelters for those whose glory could not be contained is amusing but it is such a great commentary on our own humanity when we are confronted with the power of God. Even after being shown the taste of what is real and eternal, so often we want to control it, to put it in a “shelter” and keep it according to what we know here on earth. We live in the present and in the temporal even when Jesus gives us a taste of the eternal and the divine.

As moms, we are often overwhelmed, making sure all the housework and schoolwork are done, everyone’s needs are addressed, and that all our responsibilities are met at the end of the day. We are so focused on our earthly lives that we want to bring Jesus down to our level, to house Him on our own property, to keep His glory contained for our own personal benefit. When that happens, I think we tend to take our eyes off of the glorious Jesus, the One who dwells in the heavenlies, the One who has called us His own, saved us by grace, and who is preparing a glorious home for us in heaven. It is at that point that we can become tempted by false teachers and abusers who will use us for their own means.

Luke chapter 9 then goes on to say this: “While he was speaking, a cloud appeared and enveloped them, and they were afraid as they entered the cloud. A voice came from the cloud, saying, “This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to him.” Isn’t this really the solution for all of us who are so caught up in the things of this world? We have to listen to Jesus, to read the Gospels and learn from what He shows us. It is as we stay in the Word and seek to walk with Him that the cares and concerns of this world are put into proper perspective. Spiritual abuse is real and no one is exempt from its influence. But trusting Christ alone for all we need for life and godliness and living in a daily relationship with Him will keep us from placing our confidence in man.

“But Grandma LOVES my freckles.”

Join me this week for part five of my interview with Dr. Cindy Kunsman on the topic of spiritual abuse. In this segment, Cindy shares the story of her recent experience following a presentation on patriarchy and patriocentricity she made at a seminary.  This podcast is very important for two reasons.  First, it clearly demonstrates many of the tactics of spiritual abuse that Cindy has been showing us during the past month.  But, more importantly, it addresses an issue that ought to be troubling to anyone who is concerned about upholding the integrity of the Scriptures. At the core of this controversy is the doctrine of the trinity and how it is being altered by conservative Christian leaders in order to support their views of patriarchy within the gender debate in the church.  I hope you will be listening to this week’s presentation and again next week as we conclude this important series.

The hall was empty as people began to enter quietly and gaze at the Bosendorfer piano, the only instrument on the simple stage. The richness of the walnut wood on the walls and enveloping the platform gave the room a special warmth. The lights came up in the west doorway and a beautiful young lady in a ball gown entered and bowed. As the crisp melodic phrases of Mozart danced off of her fingertips, my heart swelled with pride and a sense of the awesome God who created this child, choosing her as His own before the foundations of the world, and giving her life in my womb.

I remember finding out that I was going to be a mother for the very first time. Just finishing my student teaching at a Christian college and being unmarried, I felt alone, helpless, embarrassed, and terribly frightened. Clay and I hoped to one day marry, but this certainly wasn’t part of the plan we had made for ourselves at the time.

During the first few weeks of December that year, I began to consider all my options. I had no money, no job, and no church family in which to confide. My best friends didn’t even know the lifestyle I had chosen to live and I thought I could never tell them. Worst of all, I dreaded telling my parents, knowing it would break their hearts. I remember thinking that no one had to know; I could end the pregnancy and start my life all over again. In desperation, I called the local hospital to ask the cost of an abortion. I spent many hours crying, holding my tummy, and both loving and hating that little one inside of me.

Finally, I called a pastor who had led a Bible study I had attended during one summer and asked if I could speak with him. I poured out my story; the tears of repentance began to flow as he very gently talked to me about God’s forgiveness and the fact that this child was a gift from Him. I left his office, knowing there was a plan for both of our lives.

As the days went by, the desire to mother this child, a tiny little person I had already pictured as a daughter, began to take over. Secretly I called her “Mollie” and pictured her as having dark brown hair like her father and freckles like me. I saw myself dressing her in pink and walking her in a buggy to the park near where I lived. Clay and I began to plan a simple wedding. We thought surely things would all work out for the best.

Christmas came and went, with me going home, not having the courage to face my mom and dad in person. I finally called them and they were wonderful, encouraging me and telling me how much they loved me. But Clay faced another sort of response. While some in his family were supportive, there were those who absolutely insisted that we abort our child. After endless hours of talking with them, wanting them to support our decision, we finally decided that we had to do the right thing, trusting that they would one day understand. And of course, all it took was one look at an adorable baby to change their hearts!

Sometimes I am in utter awe of all that the Lord has done in our lives, at the grace He has poured out to us. I remember once standing along the Pacific Ocean and imagining how much water there was. That is how I see God’s grace….infinite, beyond measure, something that cannot be contained or even held briefly in my hand. In the nearly 33 years since my daughter was born, God has so graciously given me the love and companionship of a wonderful man, my best friend and confident, my brother in Christ and my lover. He has given me the gift of being a mother to six of the most amazing children. And He has blessed me with the precious treasure of grandchildren. He has given me all of that, in spite of my rebellion. But the greatest gift He has given to me has been the gift of eternal life, the promise that while I am yet a sinner, Christ loved me and gave Himself for me.

According to recent research, 250,000 women who profess to be evangelical Christians each year choose to abort their children. That means that 5.6 million women in our churches have chosen abortion as their only option! How many more are struggling for the same reasons I was…guilt, shame, fear, loneliness? I know of the depth of God’s grace to those who have strayed from His righteousness. I love to tell the story of how God, having a plan for my life and for my daughter’s life as well, chose us, sought us, bought us both with a great price, the life of His only begotten Son, that we might have eternal life with Him.

This year as I celebrate Mother’s Day, I will be praying for those mothers who are carrying babies that they didn’t plan and that they don’t really want. They may be married or unmarried, but they are in a time of crisis. They may be Christians or they may be so far from Jesus that they cannot even begin to comprehend the wonder of His mercy. I will pray that each of these moms will know the joy I have found in Him as has been so beautifully written:

“My only comfort in life and death is that I am not my own, but belong with body and soul, both in life and in death, to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ. He has fully paid for all my sins with His precious blood, and has set me free from all the power of the devil. He also preserves me in such a way that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head; indeed all things must work together for my salvation. Therefore, by His Holy Spirit he also assures me of eternal life and makes me heartily willing and ready from now on to live for Him.” ~ Heildelberg Catechism, 1563

“Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Whether seventy or sixteen, there is in every being’s heart a love of wonder; the sweet amazement at the stars and star-like things and thoughts; the undaunted challenge of events, the unfailing childlike appetite for what comes next, and the joy in the game of life.” ~ Samuel Ullman

Yesterday I heard four things about mothers that I thought were interesting and not necessarily related. The first was that some woman who is 63 years old just gave birth. The second was that another woman in Italy just gave birth to a 22 pound baby. The third was that Michelle Duggar has recently announced that she will be giving birth in the winter to her 18th child. And the fourth is that someone has recently figured out that a stay-at-home mom’s duties are monetarily valued at over $117,000.00 a year. (I figured that if you are also a homeschooling mom and add in a median teacher’s salary that it would boost that number to around $170,000.00. ) Bring on the chocolate.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and judging by the number of wide-eyed children with five dollar bills waving in their fingers as they wander through my local Wal-Mart, the moms in my town will be well-remembered. Whether they gave birth to toddlers or preemies, have zero dollars or a million dollars in the bank, have one child or one dozen children, are young or, as my son says old-lady-Fresca-drinking old, tomorrow they will be honored with flowers, candy, bath powder, clothes they would never choose or lunch at the Sirloin Stockade.

Last Mother’s Day was my first one on this blog and I recognized it by sharing the story of my birth mother on a podcast. Continuing what I hope will be a tradition, this year I thought I would tell you two stories about being a mother that reflect the incredible ability moms have to express the fact that human life is sacred and that a person is a person no matter how small or how old.

My mom came to live with us 14 years ago. My father died in the hospital while she was staying with us after he had a stroke and she never went home. When she came, our older boys gave her their room and moved in with the three little boys….5 sons in 2 bunk beds and a trundle. It was crowded but no one minded enough to really complain. We painted her room her favorite color of blue, brought her reading chair and bedroom furniture along, and began an adventure in multi-generational living that I had no experience or knowledge of before I lived it.

During the first years she was here, my mom was able to go just about anywhere we did. We all went to church, out for lunch, and on family vacations. She had not traveled much, as my dad really hated going very far from his home and his garden. But my mom loved piling into the van and driving to homeschooling conferences or on field trips with us. She flew to both Florida and California for our older sons’ weddings and still talks about how much she loved the sunshine states.

She was also thrilled to be a part of all the planning of our daughter’s wedding, from the sewing of the dress to the cooking for several hundred guests. She enjoyed all the details of the flowers and fruit slushies and the tiny handmade gift boxes. She still talks about the three sweet flower girls. Often she sat around the dining room table, not really doing a thing but soaking in the girl moments. She recalled her own wedding, her navy suit, of traveling by train to Chicago for her honeymoon, the bridal glow still on her face as she talked about it.

We have often joked about homeschooling six children and one grandma because that is really what has happened. As the three younger boys learned to read, she would patiently listen to them read out loud to her. When Joe went through his paper family and house phase, she diligently cut out whatever he drew and taped it to her wall. I still will hear her reading to one of them from a poetry book and look through her door to see a big strapping boy-man stretched out on the floor listening to her. She loves to read about whatever we are currently studying and the past few months have been especially enjoyable for her as we have watched several documentaries on World War 2, often stopping so she can add things to the discussion like “I remember when they hanged Mussolini upside down” or the words to a love song. “Kiss me once, and kiss me twice, and kiss me once again,” she sang several times and I knew she was thinking of my dad, remembering him as the dashing 20 year old with the floppy curls in uniform.

More than anything she looks forward to family devotions in the evenings and is certainly Clay’s most attentive listener. We have been reading through the Old Testament and she has had so many unanswerable questions and really good insights, some of them hilarious. A few weeks ago she got started on a circumcision tangent that had us in uncontrollable laughter! But sharing this time with her has been precious to me and listening to her pray has humbled me and made me so thankful for a mother who has loved the Lord for most of her 86 years.

During the past few years, she has started to show signs of dementia, remembering things that happened to her 70 years ago but forgetting what she just ate for lunch. She doesn’t like to leave the house because she is so unsure of her footing and whether or not she will be able to locate a bathroom quickly. She is content with a stack of good books and she continues to write in a journal every day. Her handwriting is large now but she writes to help herself remember. It is hard to watch and to know that she is slipping away, a little at a time, and that one day she will fade away forever.

So tomorrow I will make something she really likes for dinner, like pot roast and hot rolls and Under-the-Sea Jello salad. I will give her chocolates and bath powder and probably a new book. I will bake a three-layer lemon cake and serve it with her favorite vanilla-orange sherbet swirl ice cream. If we are lucky, she will recite a poem from memory or will sing a stanza of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star in Latin as our dinner entertainment. And I will thank the Lord that He has seen fit to give me the gift of another year with my mom.