Bathed in the Gospel

Posted on April 29, 2013 by mrsgore81

The way she lifted her legs in perpendicular fashion as I lifted her out of the bathtub let me know that the way we do bathtime has become routine to her…

Laying a clean, full-sized towel completely out across the bathmat, I always set her down “just so” on her bottom before pulling the back part of the towel up to her neck and then wrapping the rest of it over her shoulders and around her arms. I finish up by swaddling her little legs, feet, and toes, patting her dry as I go.

Once she looks like a little terrycloth burrito, I grasp her by her towel-covered arms, and, lifting her up into my left arm and perching her on my hip, I hold her legs in a sitting position with my right arm.

We go straight to the bathroom vanity where she says “Hi, baby!” to her reflection in the mirror, her hair a riot of wet, dripping curls, her smile exuberant, her skin glowing with health and cleanliness. I then carry her into my bedroom where a laundered set of clothes awaits her on the bed next to a new diaper, Johnson’s baby lotion, and a brush.

This is our routine, and we could both probably perform it with our eyes closed.

She is used to being bathed, my little one, having the yogurt washed out of her hair, the dirt washed out of her fingernails, the living washed out of her day…

She is used to being wrapped up and dried, cuddled and loved, lotioned and combed, diapered and groomed.

She is used to being dressed in fresh, clean clothes.

Just like she is used to raising her legs just right to land on her towel.

And I realized as I dried her today that, what might feel like routine to me…or even sometimes drudgery, if I’m being honest…says something monumental about her life, as well as my role as her mother…

and that, while bathtime is such a common ritual for us that she knows how to hold her body when she emerges from the tub, the very essence of our routine says something.

Something big. Something important. Something eternal.

Because her simplest routines contrast so deeply with those of children all over this fallen world. They have routines, too…

Rocking themselves to sleep at night in orphanages with too many babies and not enough workers.

Hiding food in their highchairs to make sure there will be enough for their next meal.

Moving from foster home to foster home, different bed, different rituals, different guardians.

Pulling dirty and wrinkled clothes out of a pile before dressing themselves and going to school.

Eating whatever they can dig up in the pantry or whatever someone will give them for free.

Getting on a church van to attend worship and learning about who made them from strangers rather than family.

Bearing their own fears and burdens with no one to talk to, no one to comfort them, no one to guide them.

And it should never be lost on me that, in many ways, one of the simplest and most obvious differences between those children and my little girl who sticks her legs up when I lift her out of the bathtub is…me.

The world can very much disparage and downplay the calling of motherhood, and sometimes I am the first one to listen, forgetting that this full-time job I have of caring for children who would be helpless without me is kind of huge, and that, while I may not be changing the world as I prepare their breakfast…

I have at least changed theirs.

When my children are clean, it is because I’ve bathed them. When they are full, it is because I have fed them. When they sing a song from memory, it is because I have sang to them so often that the words have imprinted themselves on their brains. When they are wearing clean and pressed clothes, it is because I have washed and ironed them. And when they learn how to walk those ancient paths of truth, it will hopefully be because, aided by the Spirit and covered by grace, they are following behind me and their Papa.

The things I do as a mother all day, every day, might be simple gestures…

making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich…

singing hymn after hymn until they fall asleep…

telling them who made the flowers and the rocks and the trees and the sky…

reading them a story…

cleaning up their vomit…

buying them healthy food at the grocery store…

bandaging the tiny cut that made them cry…

taking the time to really listen to them while they talk…

getting the stains out of their clothes…

but they are gospel gestures.

And it hit me with beautiful and convicting clarity today that any amount of passion I have for the sanctity of human life, any compassion I feel for the orphaned or the abused or the hurting, any desire I will ever have to bring the good news to a lost and dying world…

well, it starts here.

At bedtime.

At breakfast, lunch and supper time.

At reading time.

At bathtime.

At home.

And while it may not always feel like I’m doing anything really important in the world and while there are days that I entertain the notion that my life is pretty mundane and that my college degree was a huge waste of time and money, I need to periodically remind myself that I’m doing something pretty big.

And so are you…

Remember that the next time you pull your baby out of the bath and she knows what to do with her legs.

The Greatest Generation, Indeed

Posted on April 22, 2013 by mrsgore81

On the Sunday before Christmas, Mr. Gore and I sat down after lunch to watch “White Christmas”. I had been terribly behind in my holiday movie viewing and was determined to catch up before Christmas Day.

But five minutes into the movie, I was silently crying. And not the kind of cry where one tear leaks out during the sentimental scene of a movie, but the kind where your shoulders are shaking and you’re working really hard to get a grip before your husband notices. “What’s wrong me with me?!” I thought…

Is it the story of the demoted general that set me off?…

or the nostalgia of watching one of my favorite movies one day before Christmas Eve, our beautifully lit Christmas tree in my peripheral vision?…

No.

Turns out I was pregnant and didn’t know it.

But, hormonal fluctuations aside, my tears were actually stemming from something else entirely, and it only took a few seconds of introspection to figure it out.

I have a longtime love for classic movies, dating back to my 12th year when I first saw June Allyson in the 1949 version of “Little Women” at my Aunt Myrtle’s house. Until that day, I knew very little about the treasure trove of “old” movies available for our viewing pleasure today, but five minutes into that sweet little version of one of my favorite books, I was a goner, and silly as it sounds, my life was forever changed.

As soon as we returned home from our trip, my Mom and I hunted down my own copy of the movie, a VHS tape that I still have today, and my home collection of classic films has consistently grown since that time, as has my appreciation for an era that I had previously had very little knowledge of. Nearly 20 years later, our musical playlists are full of tunes from Bing, Doris, Frank, Gene, and Judy (but my favorites are Bing and Doris), my clothes are almost always a nod to my vintage sisters, our life is often a throwback to another era, and you’ll more likely find my children watching “Yankee Doodle Dandy” than any show on Disney Jr. (mostly because we don’t have cable…).

And I think I might be in love with Gary Cooper (via Seargent York). Sighhh…

When the calendar hits 1960 is when Mrs. Gore and all of her love for nostalgia dies, but until that cultural shift takes place, you’ll find my heart. I love the clothes. I love the tunes. I love the backdrops and the technicolor and the “special” effects. I love the time.

But the reason I was crying today had very little to do with my love for old movies…

and everything to do with my love for the people those old movies bring to mind.

You see, part of the reason I love a classic film is that, when I watch it, there is something so familiar about it…

I know these people.

I recognize the cadence of their voices…

the way they hold themselves…

their manners…

their humor…

their little bitty waists…

their houses and their furnishings and their wardrobes…

and guess what? Many of them are still among us.

Their hair is grey now and more wiry than before, their eyes are hidden behind thick glasses, and their gait is measured where it once was spry, but there is no denying the fact that the era that those classic films represents is still very much alive today.

And these are my people.

I see many of them every week at church.

They are gentle and kind.

They aren’t vulgar.

They dress like ladies and gentleman, and their actions match their clothes.

And, like the soldiers singing “We’ll Follow the Old Man” in White Christmas, many of them were off being heroes during WWII, fighting one of the greatest villains the world has ever known, spending Christmases away from their families, and writing love letters to the same spouses they are with today.

And it just hits me every once in awhile (like it did that day watching “White Christmas”) that we are still rubbing shoulders with the “greatest generation”. We sit among heroes. The very thought of it will make a lady put her head in her hands and weep, whether she is pregnant or not.

Many of these precious people don’t understand our culture today, and if they seem quiet or stand-offish, I think they are probably just at a complete loss as to how they can engage such a foreign group of young folks. Or perhaps many of them think we don’t need or want them in our lives…

That’s why I want to encourage you today to take the first step and reach out to the elderly in your churches and in your community. Ask them questions about their past. Listen to them talk. Seek their guidance and advice. Pick up on their gentle humor.

I guarantee you that, in the course of your conversation, you’ll recognize the voices of Bing and Doris and Gary and Judy…

but you might also gain a wealth of wisdom, and perhaps some of the best friends you’ve ever had.

Me with one of my best friends in the world, Ms. Annette. Her friendship and wisdom enrich my life…

Holy Week (2).

Posted on March 28, 2013 by mrsgore81

Sitting on the tiled seat of our walk-in shower, I watched Rebekah’s hands and arms as she slathered them up with the leftover sliver of Dove soap. Her motions were part girl, part baby, and I drank in the precious sight of her soft, slightly chubby body as the water cleansed a day of play and food and preschool living away…

So young.

So sweet.

So naive and trusting.

And as I heard the (albeit halting) strains of my husband practicing the Getty’s “Communion Hymn” at the piano in our bedroom nearby, my thoughts were drawn to our Maker.

This week we are doing our best to observe “Holy Week”, contemplating the greatest sacrifice history has ever known and one which our human hearts can barely begin to understand. 2000+ years ago, He was preparing for the agony of not only a painful physical death, but for the inconceivable reality of meeting and receiving the full wrath of a holy God.

Propitiation.

To save a race that couldn’t – wouldn’t – recognize Him when He was here in the flesh.

To save a people who loved darkness so much that they would abuse and mock and murder to get Him – and His Words – out of their sight.

To save a woman who has known and experienced His love and forgiveness for a near lifetime but continues to house a weak faith, timorous trust, and is as “prone to wander” as the most wayward sheep in the fold.

To save her family.

Her husband.

Her children…

Amazing love! How can it be?

2000+ years later, as I have the freedom and the leisure to enjoy an afternoon moment with my baby girl, my heart set free from its shackles, my eternity secure, my life complete, my hope bright, I have nothing left to do but praise Him.

Heart trembling with gratitude, I wrapped Rebekah into a towel and lifted her into my arms. She laid her head on my shoulder and I held her close, rocking back and forth to the tinkering of the piano as my heart sang along to the music…

Behold the Lamb who bears our sins away,
Slain for us – and we remember
The promise made that all who come in faith
Find forgiveness at the cross.
So we share in this bread of life,
And we drink of His sacrifice
As a sign of our bonds of peace
Around the table of the King.

The body of our Saviour Jesus Christ,
Torn for you – eat and remember
The wounds that heal, the death that brings us life
Paid the price to make us one.
So we share in this bread of life,
And we drink of His sacrifice
As a sign of our bonds of love
Around the table of the King.

The blood that cleanses every stain of sin,
Shed for you – drink and remember
He drained death’s cup that all may enter in
To receive the life of God.
So we share in this bread of life,
And we drink of His sacrifice
As a sign of our bonds of grace
Around the table of the King.

And so with thankfulness and faith we rise
To respond, – and to remember
Our call to follow in the steps of Christ
As His body here on earth.
As we share in His suffering
We proclaim Christ will come again!
And we’ll join in the feast of heaven
Around the table of the King.

“Behold the Lamb (Communion Hymn)” by Keith and Kristyn Getty and Stuart Townend

By His grace, I remember.

I will teach it to my children.

I will strive to make our life about Him and not us.

I will do my best to write it upon our doorposts.

May He continually write it upon our hearts.

Holy Week.

Posted on March 25, 2013 by mrsgore81

Holy Week is here.

How timely that, just last week, I was wrestling with old, deep issues of selfishness, struggling to find truth in the sticky webs of sin that were clouding my vision. I momentarily felt stifled by my life, by the long sickness that my kids were passing to one another in the longest relay race ever, by the voices in my head that were saying that I had given up so much and that I needed something more and something different.

And I’m not talking like, a new family or a career or something. I’m talking like, Fridays off.

But my pity party was no fun, because I was fully aware the entire time that I was wrong, and that something was very, very off. Thus, my discontentment was of the wrestling rather than the stagnant variety, and the two of us (discontentment and me) sparred all week long in every room of this house until I got to the bottom of my issues…

you know what I found?

A hard and fast lapse in my vision. A forgotten mission. In the trenches of everyday living (and lots of kid diarrhea), I was failing to see with clarity my God-given purpose during my short stay on this earth.

How could I have completely forgotten, in one random week, that I’m supposed to be dying over here?

And that, in my daily death, I find more life than I could ever find in having that free Friday I was throwing an internal hissy-fit over.

God is so good to answer our heartfelt prayers for truth, and you can always know that if you ask for something good and biblical, He will give it to you, posthaste. By the week’s end, I was seeing my mission and purpose everywhere…

in my conscience, prodded by the Spirit…in my deepest convictions…in Desiring God blog posts (I’ll share more on that later)…in random conversations with friends…in our Sunday School lesson…during the singing time…in the sermon…

and the recurring theme was this: die.

This life is not about me and what I want and what I feel and what I expect. And those things would never make me happy anyway…

and as I rocked by Baby Betsie for 45 uninterrupted minutes on Saturday afternoon, I had the sweet relief of using that time to pray and think about God and my growth and my purpose as the wife of my husband and the mama of my little children, rather than feeling that horrid fluttery feeling of impatience and drudgery that had been my trademark earlier in the week.

I could see it with my own eyes and feel it in my own two full and happy arms: when I die to myself and live for someone else in the name of the gospel, I find sweet life. And life abundant…

whether I am on a foreign mission field caring for orphans, writing important books that are changing the world, or…

rocking a 1 1/2 year old girl in the upstairs nursery of my house. She was sad and lonesome while her siblings were away, and she needed me. And, by the grace of God, He reminded that the gospel is found, even here, even in an old, pink, upholstered rocking chair with only me and Betsie in the house.

I worked hard over the weekend and had great plans of a 3- or 4-part series about Gideon’s birthday party this week, but after yesterday’s extremely soul-stirring sermon on Holy Week, I think I’ll postpone that, and encourage all of us to use this entire week to somberly and intentionally meditate on the cross. As my husband said yesterday, we will NEVER take up our own cross daily if we are not dwelling daily on the cross of Christ…

And if we are not dying, we might not be alive to begin with.

I am more excited than I have ever been to examine where and how my life began as I walk through Holy Week alongside my family. Last week’s struggles might have been humbling and difficult and heartbreaking, but their result displays the sovereignty and graciousness of God…

for I am all ears, ready to listen, ready to learn…

and, for this moment at least, ready to die.

Mrs. Gore’s Tips for Being a Jolly Good Church Member

Posted on March 4, 2013 by mrsgore81

By the sweet grace of God, we are in an extremely good place in our church right now, and so I thought it would be the perfect time to share a few tips for how to be a jolly good church member (as no one in our congregation will possibly think I am talking about them as I go about listing all the things one should and shouldn’t do at church).

To research for this post, I am simply drawing from my memory of 30 years of church life, from the many horror stories I have heard from others along the way, and mostly, from my own failings in the past.

Because, let’s face it, all of us have probably been guilty at one time or another (or lots of times or anothers) of behaving poorly and/or sinfully toward our church family. We could, I suppose, sweep our past mistakes under the rug of external perfection…or we could share them, learn from them, be humbled by them, and, by the grace of God, spare others from making the same mistakes we have made. That’s one of our jobs isn’t it? To spur one another on to love and good works?

Consider this, then, my spurring, in the hope that you will be a jolly good member at your church.

Let us begin.

1. Don’t neglect the good manners you employ in the workplace or in the world when you go to church. Would you ever tell your boss his meeting lasted too long? No way, homey. Remember that next time your pastor makes you late to lunch at Sirloin Stockade.

2. Church business meetings can be utterly ridiculous, mostly because angry congregants are too cowardly to discuss their problems face-to-face with their church leaders ahead of time. They wait instead for an open forum to drop bombshells and to make accusations. This is not a nice thing to do. And then some of you may have grown up in this sort of church atmosphere and simply think it is how things are done. Let’s change that (our church did!). If you have a problem or even a loaded question about church finances or polity…go ask about it in a civil and loving manner on a normal day when you don’t have an audience. (Hebrews 13:17).

3. Believe the best about your brothers and sisters. When you start making negative assumptions about what others think or believe, you are opening yourself up for some major sin and could even allow a root of bitterness to spring up in your church (Hebrews 12:15). This is serious, y’all. Don’t even go there. Take your church family at their word, and believe the best about them, always. (to read more on this, see “Uprooting Bitterness“).

4. If you prefer a certain type of music, listen to it in your car or in your home the other 167 hours and 45 minutes of the week. For the 15 minutes of singing that takes place on Sunday morning, put on a smile and sing along, contemplating the words in your heart. Seriously…15 minutes. No need to opine.

5. The church ain’t no place for cliques. You’d better break that circle up, and get to work loving the least loveable in your body as much as you love your BFF’s.

6. Don’t hate. Appreciate. (I have loads more to say on this subject here and would be so happy if you would read it: Less Than Appreciative).

7. If you think you could teach a class better than the teacher you are criticizing or could lead the music better than the current song leader or could preach a sermon better than your pastor, then by all means, do it. I don’t know why, but I feel like this deserves a smiley-face emoticon.

8. Don’t put the “God told me” stamp on the extra-Biblical idea that is formulating in your brain. Recognize it for what it is – an idea – and don’t throw a hissy-fit if everybody else doesn’t jump on the you-train. It takes humility and submission to be a healthy church member, and the Kingdom benefits immensely from such believers…more than it will ever benefit from the idea or the opinion you had. How do I know that? The Bible came up with the eternal truths of humility, unity, love, dying-to-self….you came up with yours. I hugely regret every instance of my past when I made big to-do’s out of pet causes; however, I never regret holding my tongue, swallowing my pride, and acting from a place of love and godly submission. (Ephesians 5:15-21, John 13:34-35).

9. Recognize your church building for what it is, a building to keep you and your fellow worshipers in relative comfort, to provide a room to tinkle in, and to help shelter you from the outside elements. Start acting like it is the inner room of the temple and pretty soon, I promise, you’ll be acting like a big meanie.

10. Likewise, view your church worship times for what they really are, a communal gathering to hear the Word expounded, to stir each other up, and to thank God corporately. This is not a club. And when we treat it as such, we sully up the body and the gospel, which is just…yuck. Abysmal. (Hebrews 10:23-25)

11. If your church is in turmoil, let me encourage you: Don’t give in and allow your heart to be mislead, regardless of how others are acting. Remember that church unity starts with you. Watch your love and your godly example spread, and be amazed at how the Spirit can work when we set our hearts hard after God. (1 Peter 3:8-9).

12. And perhaps most importantly in our modern church-age, don’t leave your fellowship for greener pastures, unless over hardcore matters of Biblical fidelity. The Word provides every answer for working out our problems, and they never include splitting up and leaving each other in anger. Sometimes the church can look like the biggest joke to the watching world, not because they misunderstand us, but because…they understand us perfectly. I think we’re going to have to answer for that, big-time. Let’s fix it, before the Judgement Day. (Quick! Hurry! Spit-spot!). You don’t believe in marital divorce? Don’t be a church-divorcer either. This is your family. Your body. Treat it as such.

13. Finally, let this be your banner: holiness, unity, love. Fight for these traits in your heart rather than your choice of carpet color at the decorating committee meeting, and your view on church and on the brethren will be transformed. I know, because I’ve seen it happen with my own two eyes and in my own wayward and selfish heart.

I’m sure I could go on and on for days, but I think this is a good place to start. Like I said before, the above tips were not always employed by me, but as God has had grace on my heart and sanctified me through solid, biblical teaching, I am learning to treat my church family with great care, and the benefits are endless. The greatest impact we can have on the lost will happen when we are loving each other, through and through. Start today, and watch as God is faithful to His promises.

Also, I want to remind everyone that I sadly don’t have the time or wisdom to parlay in the comments section, and must therefore be very discerning in what comments I allow to go through. I will see all comments, but will only publish those that do not lead to further debate, and that are, of course, edifying to all of my readers. Thank you so much for understanding!

Want to remember this? Pin it!

He Hides the Brightness of His Face (but I Will Never Give Up My Shield)

Posted on February 18, 2013 by mrsgore81

True to the nature of Small Elephant, I’ve been making a lot of self-deprecating jokes about the manic (and starving) version of myself since learning I am pregnant with my 4th child.

(especially on my facebook page – if you haven’t joined us there yet, you should! We have so much fun! At least I do…)

In the near future, I’ll be writing up some longer posts about my 1st trimester hilarity, and I look forward to gathering up all those stories into one place so I can reflect on (and laugh about) what a tumultuous and humorous 3 months this has been…

but, if I’m being honest, it hasn’t been all laughter, and, while Mr. Gore and I joke often about how I am a caricature of a real person, the struggles I have faced, especially in this past month, have been very real, very gritty, and very indicative of my fallen and weak human nature.

Aside from that unexpected scare we experienced a couple of weeks ago (that turned out to be nothing a’tall, thank God!), the past six weeks have been rough as I have fought nearly constant nausea and fatigue while trying to run a household and a homeschool, and on a much deeper level, have tried to maintain a biblical Christian attitude while operating under a very dark cloud of self-loathing (I don’t love myself very much when I am not properly cleaned and groomed), irritability, and hormonal upheaval.

As I have grown in my faith over the past decade, my deepest struggles while pregnant have changed from physical discomfort and vanity issues to heavy spiritual battles as I wage war on this intensified version of my already sinful self.

It is…exhausting.

Because what I understand more and more is this: no matter how badly I feel, and no matter how great the temptation is to be snippy with my husband or short-tempered with my kids, I must strive to glorify God by obeying His Word and, by His grace, seek to overcome my lazy and selfish and sinful desires. It doesn’t matter if they are brought on by pregnant hormonal fluctuations; they still must be done away with and surrendered to Christ!

And so my nights of late have been filled with tearful prayers for the grace of God to cover me, and to make this road easier. I plead that He will allow my feet to hurt and my back to ache worse than ever if He will only keep my love and compassion shining brightly in my heart. I cry out for the ability to be anything but self-absorbed and to be so focused on taking care of others that I won’t even notice my own discomfort…

But sometimes we are simply called to walk through valleys and to experience dark days, and sanctification can be a brutal process.

And over the course of the month, after being away from my church body and the preaching of the Word (due to the kids or myself being sick), and after too many successive days of failure and solitary confinement, I began to drown in that darkness as I listened to the lies of my heart.

It all culminated one night as Mr. Gore and I were readying for bed. I had been focusing on how little I had been able to accomplish, and how meager my contributions, even to my tiny little family, had been, and I began to cry. “Do you ever feel like the most selfish person in the world?” I asked my husband.

He tried to comfort me, but I was on a roll, and I finally confessed what had been sitting heavy on my heart all day: “I just think that, if I were never to show up at church again, no one would suffer for the loss. I know people would miss me, but…my not being there wouldn’t really change anything.”

I realize now what a lie that was, but, in my sad introspective state, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I felt far from God, far from my loved ones, and, as hippy-dippy as this sounds, far from myself. “I don’t even know who I am anymore!” I cried one night.

And I share all of the above for this one reason…

God is faithful.

And even when you are groping about, and you lose sight of your purpose and you lose your joy and you are just trying to survive moment by moment, there will come a day when…

you will feel better. You will join once more with your church family, and your hugs will be so heartfelt, and you will tear up as you hear how much you were missed and how many people were praying for you. Your heart will nearly burst as you hear the Word taught and preached, because you will remember that, yes! This is all true, and I have an identity in this remnant, and this is my life! You will rejoice in the God who made you and who sustains you and who never gives you more than you can bear. And somehow, someway, you will find yourself feeling grateful, even for the darkness you just walked through, because you will never forget that God was there and He did not allow your foot to slip. And you will sing, like you’ve never sang before…

After a soul-stirring sermon that just ripped me apart and made my spirit leap, our beloved brother, Ben, led us in a song that, for me, could not have been more meaningful or more timely:

Away my unbelieving fear,

Fear shall in me no more take place,

My Savior doth not yet appear,

He hides the brightness of his face.

But shall I therefore let him go,

And basely to the tempter yield?

No, in the strength of Jesus, no

I never will give up my shield.

Although the vine its fruit deny,

Although, the olive yield no oil,

The withering fig-tree droop and die,

The field elude the tiller’s toil,

The empty stall no herd afford,

And perish all the bleating race,

Yet will I triumph in the Lord,

The God of my salvation praise.

Barren although my soul remain

And not one bud of grace appear,

No fruit of all my toil and pain,

But sin and only sin is here.

Although my gifts and comforts lost,

My blooming hopes cut off I see,

Yet will I in my Savior trust,

And glory that he died for me.

In hope believing, against hope,

Jesus my Lord, my God I claim,

Jesus my strength shall lift me up,

Salvation is in Jesus’ name,

To me he soon shall bring it nigh,

My soul shall soon out-strip the wind,

On wings of love mount up on high,

And leave the world and sin behind.

(lyrics by Charles Wesley)

Oh, friends. As I sat in my pew with my cheek resting on Rebekah’s golden hair, my voice, my heart, and my tears joined together to offer these words to God, and my soul was once more at rest.

I am not yet brave enough to ask for discomfort or suffering, but, after today, I am convinced of this…

the Light is one hundred times more beautiful after you’ve walked for a spell in the dark.

Mrs. Gore’s Social Media Etiquette

Posted on February 16, 2013 by mrsgore81

I have mixed feelings about social media. It is a blessing, for sure (for instance, a lady like myself can start her own blog, publish her own posts, and call herself a “writer”. Thank you, internet!).

But it can also be a mixed bag of weirdness and drama and unnecessary ridiculousness.

And while I don’t imagine I have the wisdom to speak to the world at large on this subject, I can at least target one group of internet users and abusers: Christians.

My brethren.

My peeps, if you will.

A few days ago, I was contemplating how exciting it is to be able to interact with almost anyone via the web. Have a new favorite author? Entertainer? Someone whose music you admire?

Where just a few decades ago we were resigned to writing fan mail and sending it to addresses we knew Justin Timberlake did not actually live at, praying that somehow his assistant would read it and be struck by its contents before making sure JT saw it with his own eyes, today, we can simply ‘like’ that person on Facebook or follow them on Twitter, and, miracle upon miracles, its like we’re friends, y’all.

And if that person is too launched into fame to actually have time to respond to our little one-liners or even ‘like’ them, we can at least have a glimpse into their every day activities and get a better idea of what they are like as “real” people. I would have died of happiness to know what sandwich Justin was eating for lunch 14 years ago, but (sniffle, sniffle), I just didn’t even know, you guys.

Life was so hard back then.

But I digress.

In the Christian realm, I think this blessing grows exponentially, and it has been a huge thrill for me to interact with my favorite Christian authors and speakers on facebook or through e-mail, to learn more from them, and to have the opportunity to tell them how they have spurred me on in the Christian faith.

Therefore it has been absolutely distressing for me to witness the jabby responses, the unnecessary rudeness and the unsolicited responses and advice that some “believers” are habitually spewing across the internet, especially in the comment threads of influential brothers and sisters who have been kind enough to allow us into their lives.

I am blessed here at Mrs. Gore’s Diary, mostly because my readership is so small, and the only people who really want to read what I have to say seem to agree with me across the board. You might not love the fact that I accidentally dressed up like a witch last Halloween, but…water under the bridge, right? (Right?…)

However, I am shocked sometimes by the things I read in the comments section of other blog posts or in response to even the most innocent and light-hearted facebook status updates.

The commenters obviously consider themselves to be devout and of the Christian faith – I can tell by their language – but their tone can be so very condescending, sometimes laced with bitterness, sometimes dripping with cruel sarcasm, and most of the time, completely inapplicable and utterly off-the-mark. They misread the author, and then in their haste to respond, they wound the original source, they enrage a host of other readers and they make themselves look like arrogant, unfeeling, out-of-touch…meanies! And the sad part is, I bet most of them are pretty nice people in real life.

And so, speaking of unsolicited advice, here is some from yours truly, a glimpse into my personal social media etiquette:

1. Only comment in the following scenarios:

to encourage the author of the blog post (or tweet or status) or to make them giggle.
to ask a serious or heartfelt question that you would like the author to respond to.
to engage with other “followers” or “fans” who are probably of a like heart and mind in a way that edifies both parties.

2. If you are leaving an impassioned response to reform an author or speaker, or to sway their audience, save your breath. These are real people, and they have their own pastors and their own spouses and their own accountability partners. Let’s trust the Spirit to teach them through the people that are actually a part of their life. It is probably a proven fact somewhere that these forums are the least effective for changing anyone’s mind. The only people who will agree with you are going to be the people who already agree with you. Everyone else? You’ll just be riling them up. Not cool.

3. However, if you are truly concerned by something you’ve read and are seeking understanding or a deeper dialogue, do so through a private message!!! If you can’t find a way to private message that person…well, sorry. I was never able to get that private audience with Justin Timberlake, either.

4. Learn to read. I am a very literal person, but I know the difference between a facebook status that is a joke or an attempt at self-deprecation, and a true plea for advice or comments. Unless someone actually says “What should I do?” they are probably not soliciting a serious response.

5. Before hitting ‘enter’ to post your comment, ask yourself “Would I say these words to this person in this context if we were face-to-face? Would I say this to anyone EVER face-to-face?” The answer is usually ‘no’. So don’t say it.

6. Remind yourself that, just because you are sitting and staring at a screen, there are real people on the other side, and you will be held responsible for every word you say. The Bible explicitly says that the world will know we belong to Christ by our love for one another, and we are shooting ourselves – and the gospel – in the foot with our unnecessary opining if the overarching theme is not love and kindness and a spirit that at least longs for unity. If you cause one person to stumble by a comment you leave on the web, you, as Michelle Tanner would say, “are in big trouble, mister.” Weigh your words and, no matter how vehemently you disagree and no matter how badly you want to throw in your two cents, silence is usually the best course. On the web, that is.

7. It is lazy to say “well so-and-so put herself out there by saying that in the first place. She asked for it.” Nonsense. That doesn’t mean you should retaliate.

8. Shush.

9. Humble yourself and remember that the world doesn’t really need to hear what you say. Your family needs you, your church, your friends – you are actually called to hold them accountable and to speak truth to them – but those random hundreds of thousands of people on the internet? They might not need you, especially if you are mean-spirited, and you are certainly doing more harm than good by continually picking fights in comments sections. If you are not seeking to encourage or to simply enjoy yourself, it would probably be best to sign off and stop using your computer keys to jab at everyone.

10. If a person you follow is continually riling you up and you just can’t handle the temptation to keep from responding, there is a sure-fire way to soothe what ails you: the ‘unlike’ button. Done. Your life – and everyone else’s – just got a lot sunnier.

Of course, if you run your own blog, you can opine all you want, with 10 points and everything.

Thank you, friends, for listening. Hope this helps. And remember, I will see all comments, but only publish those that are edifying and/or agree with what I said.

Pin it!

The Topsy-Turvy Days…

Posted on January 29, 2013 by mrsgore81

I felt I would be remiss and dishonest if, after yesterday’s glowing report of the day, I did not sit down for a bit to jot down today’s activities…

I woke up extremely late today (at 10:00 a.m.!) in a stuffy bedroom with a sweaty 3-year old laying on my arm. Gideon was peering over us, and as Rebekah and I began to stir and my two eldest children began to converse, it became immediately obvious to me that there was a different tone in our house than there had been yesterday.

They were jabbing at each other before her feet had even hit the floor.

I quickly changed Betsie, made my coffee and bagel in a hurry, threw some dry cereal in bowls for the kids, and ushered us all onto the front porch in hopes that we could revisit Eden again today.

But it soon became apparent that, if yesterday was Eden, today was the day that Adam and Eve got kicked out of the garden.

The wind was blustery, the kids were restless, and as I tried to slather pineapple cream cheese on my toasted bagel, I had 3 wriggling bodies either on me or in my peripheral…regardless of the fact that we have 5 rocking chairs on our front porch. Today we might as well have had one (the one Mama was sitting in…).

Every conversation ended in an argument, and even Baby Betsie was being a bit of a tyrant. Nothing could please her, especially as she seemed to have picked up an extreme case of clumsiness overnight – every other step she took resulted in a hurt toe or a scratched finger…

in other words, it was absolute chaos.

And I won’t mention the fact that it had been an unprecedented amount of time since I had taken my last shower.

“Welcome back to earth…” I told myself.

But I am learning that moments like these always pass, and so, in between the crying and the whining, I pulled out my Bible to do a little reading (for the SECOND DAY in a row, thank you, Lord!), and instead of keeping the words to myself, I started reading out loud, beginning with 1 Corinthians 1:4, the verse Mr. Gore expounded on this past Sunday.

“Do you know what that means, Gid?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Just that we should thank God for the people in our church and we should be so happy when we see Him doing good things for them.” I answered, sealing the words in my own heart with a prayer for the grace to do that very thing.

Gideon’s reply surprised me: “Oh, I really liked that story. Read another one!”

And so I did, finding the next reference on this week’s Daily Bible Reading Guide (my husband weekly publishes a study guide to help our congregation further meditate on Sunday’s text). Galatians 6:1-4.

The kids were milling about by the time I finished that one, Betsie squawking at Gideon for some of the crackers he was eating, Rebekah dragging one of my “dry clean only” Pottery Barn throws onto the porch, but I carried on nonetheless, explaining what that passage meant to the children in terms I hoped they could understand, comparing the idea of “bearing one another’s burdens” to Christian and Faithful in the “Dangerous Journey” book they’ve been reading with Papa at night.

And in the midst of my random snippets of reading and talking, and all the scolding and whining and…living…in between, the Spirit began to whisper to my heart…

Yes, we may not live in Paradise yet. Most days are exactly like the one we were having today, full of ups and downs, surrounded by dangers, toils and snares, where it becomes so disappointingly clear that those “best days” like we experienced yesterday can never be orchestrated and are simply unexpected and unscripted gifts from a loving Father…

but, thank God, regardless of what kind of a day we’re having, there is a thread of consistency found in our fallen world, and it springs triumphantly forth from the words of the ancient Book I sat reading aloud to my children.

There, we find solace and direction…

we find truths that resonate so deeply in our hearts that it burns to hear them…

we find a bond that is so much deeper than our earthly familial relations…

and best of all, we find hope, for the perfect days, and for the not-so-perfect days.

All of a sudden, it became a joy to me to share this topsy-turvy morning with my topsy-turvy family, because I was reminded…

the God we worship and set our hearts after isn’t topsy-turvy at all.

He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

No matter how different the days look.

No matter how different we feel when we wake up in the morning.

(And thankfully, no matter how long it has been since we’ve showered).

Plenty To Be Thankful For

Posted on December 3, 2012 by mrsgore81

The week of Thanksgiving was…

awesome.

So awesome that I didn’t step foot on the internet for many, many days and so awesome that the only word I can think of to describe it is…awesome.

{Which is kind of sad. Not because it is not a wonderful word (though somewhat overused), but because I’m too lazy to look up a different word in the thesaurus. The one that is sitting right next to me. The one that is so big and full of words. Thesauruses make me tired. Or better yet, exhausted. Weary…}

Sorry.

So why was last week awesome?

Many reasons…

1. The entire family was not vomiting (and then some) like we were last year. Read “Thanksgiving or Bust” to hear more on that jolly good holiday.

2. Seeing the last “Twilight” movie with my Mom and my cousin’s wife, Amanda (who also doubles as my soulmate) in a theater full of teenagers. There was a teenage couple sitting behind us, and I kept imagining they were making out behind us in disgusting teenager fashion, with their long, gangly limbs and their retainer slobbers. Gross. But there is nothing better than getting a fit of the giggles during a melodramatic “Twilight” movie…

3. Little things…

Like coming across these Thanksgiving crafts I let the kids make while I was cleaning. I had to laugh at the obvious difference between boys and girls. Rebekah’s turkey is standing next to a flower. Gideon’s turkey is also standing next to a flower, but is being shot by a hunter. Poor turkey.

Or walking into the schoolroom to see that Gideon had been inspired by the Thanksgiving chalk “art” I had “made” (i.e. copied off of Pinterest). Here’s mine:

Here’s his (so sweet!):

or receiving the pinecone turkey Gideon made in Sunday School, full of “feathers” stating what he was most thankful for…

Thankfully, “Mama and Papa” is also listed, right underneath “armor”. Food and armor and chicken. Little boys are the best.

4. The family. I could go on and on for DAYS, but you all know who you are and you know how much I love you. Bunch of weirdos.

5. The food. Oh, sweet Pete, the food…

6. Watching my Mom do her magic, hosting a houseful of people in the midst of a bedroom renovation (carpet was actually installed during the mayhem), and still managing to feed all of us 2 or 3 times a day without ever losing her cool. Amanda and I were shocked one night to see her pull a beautiful and perfectly cooked turkey out of the oven. NO ONE had seen her do any preparation. But it’s always like that at her house…a timer goes off, bottabing, bottaboom, a turkey. Amazing.

7. The Janie and Jack Black Friday internet sale that enabled me to buy a year’s worth of dress pants for my little vintage boy who wore woolen slacks (with silk lining) all summer long, because he “liked they way they feeled…like I’m not wearing any clothes!” Thank you, God, for 30% off sales, $25 reward cards, and free shipping.

8. And lastly, on a very serious note, I am most thankful for something that happened this Thanksgiving week that has caused my heart to soar in gratitude and wonder. Settle in, why don’t you? This might take a while…

One morning as we were preparing once more to load up and join the rest of my family at Mama and Daddy’s house in the country, Gideon and Rebekah got into a massive fight in the living room. I could hear their shouts clear in my bathroom on the other end of the house, quickly followed by Rebekah’s heavy footfall as she came to rat her brother out.

“Gideon hit me!!!” she wailed.

My heart sank. A most punishable offense, no matter what she had done to entice him. I followed her back into the living room where Gideon met us with tears of anger and frustration gathering in his eyes.

“Did you hit your sister?” I asked him, my own anger barely in check. We had been over this many a time before. Too many times.

He nodded meekly, before defending himself: “But she stomped her foot at me and she did her mouth like this (all twisted up) and said “grrrr!!” His temper began to boil over just thinking about what she had done to him.

I’ll spare you the details, but the discipline was swift and firm, followed by a sound scolding for Rebekah for enticing him to anger, and the two were told to apologize and “make up”. But you know how these things go…you can instruct a child in the way to go, you can present them with the Word of God, you can make them look each other in the eye and say the right words, but…you cannot make them feel conviction. It has all been rather rote and mechanical for us during these preschool years.

Thank God for His Spirit.

For ten minutes later, as I was sitting on my bed braiding Rebekah’s hair, the fight forgotten, Gideon quietly walked in and stood at my door. Our eyes met.

“I’m sorry…” he said quietly, his bottom lick puckering.

“For hitting Rebekah?” I asked, intrigued that he was bringing it up again.

And right before my eyes, his little spirit crumbled, shoulders drooping, despair cloaking his countenance, tears falling freely and sincerely. “I don’t want to hit!” he exclaimed through his tears. “I don’t like to hit people.”

I couldn’t breathe for a minute over the magnitude of what was taking place – this was different than any “remorse” he had ever shown. And then Gideon ran to me, crying, and I gathered him up with all the compassion and love I have for him in my heart.

“Gid, I know you’re upset,” I encouraged, “but this is a great thing!” I shook his shoulders a bit in my excitement. “Do you know who is helping you to not like your anger? The Holy Spirit! He is fixing your heart, just like we’ve prayed!!”

“But…” he whimpered, “I just don’t like how it feels!”

Can a heart rejoice and break at the same time? Because, while thrilled with this new development in his heart, I mourned for my baby to wake up to the horror that is the sin nature. There is no greater pain on earth than realizing our depravity, but…it is a pain that leads us to the Savior, who has a healing balm of redemption for our sin-sick souls.

And the reality that my son, whom I love more than anything, is beginning to feel the very same God-breathed pangs of conviction that I feel on a daily basis…well, it just nearly bowled me over. For nothing has humbled me or caused me to come to grips with my finitude and humanity more than realizing that I have no control over whether or not my children will ever have a love for their Creator or will ever hate their sin. In desperation, I cry out to God on their behalf as we look to His Word for the tools to lead our children, knowing that the only way to parent them well is to parent them biblically.

And all that remains after doing those things is faith that He will keep His promises.

But oh how weak my faith can be.

And so this random and unexpected moment during an otherwise busy week was a holy moment for us, earth-shattering for Gideon, but faith-bolstering for me, and became the highlight of my holiday as it assured me so deeply that God is with us. He is moving. He is working. He is hearing our prayers and causing the truths that we share to take root in our children, softening them, wooing them, making their dead hearts come to life before our very eyes.

This alone would give me every reason to be thankful this holiday season.

No vomiting, silly movies, family, food, and life-changing spiritual breakthroughs. It was a good Thanksgiving.

Me and my sweet Mama, Thanksgiving 2012

I’ve Got the Sun in the Morning…

Posted on November 7, 2012 by mrsgore81

My posture is a bit different this evening as I sit down to gather my thoughts.

Most usually, I wait until the children are in bed or otherwise situated before I even attempt to jot down a blog post. The reason being, I kind of have trouble doing any two things at one time – cooking and listening to people talk, patting my head and rubbing my tummy, driving and reading street signs, being alive and doing any sort of math problem, watching television and folding clothes – in other words, I’m a big, fat dummy and need absolute silence in order to properly think or do much of anything.

But today, I’m feeling spontaneous and am sitting at the kitchen table with my refurbished laptop, my eldest children on either side of me, happily occupied with their coloring books…and, evidenced by the buttery fingerprints on my keyboard, there is a giant bowl of popcorn right smack in the middle of the table. Betsie, of course, is locked up nearby us in her highchair, eating sugar snap peas and deli turkey and as much popcorn as she can convince us to share with her. For, if Betsie is loose, NObody gets ANYthing done, whether they are a big, fat dummy or a smartypants genius or even, I’m betting, the old lady in the shoe. Betsie just has that effect on people.

So what is it that has me feeling so spontaneous? What has happened to me that makes my heart feel so contented and calm within me? How in the world am I able to sit amongst this throng of little people and find the mental fortitude to make intelligable sentences?…

I don’t really know. It has just been one of those laidback (but productive) Saturdays that makes me want to be near to my family, to count my blessings, to bask in our togetherness as long as possible.

And all afternoon, an old song has been lilting through my mind, the perfect soundtrack to highlight our first weekend in November…

Got no diamonds, got no pearls,

Still I think I’m a lucky girl.

I’ve got the sun in the morning

And the moon at night.

Got no mansions, got no yachts,

Still I’m happy with what I got.

I’ve got the sun in the morning

And the moon at night…

It all started this afternoon during the children’s naptime. I was going through the 9,000 pictures I have stored on our desktop (sadly, all of them taken since January), deleting some, adding some to albums, moving some to the external harddrive…

And as I scanned through photo after photo of my family last Spring, I could hardly fathom how quickly the children have grown and how much they’ve changed in so short a season. Days and moments I had completely forgotten about came rushing back into my soul in a flood of sweet memories. And although I enjoyed looking at all the fun parties we’ve had where our clothes were matching and our hair was tidy, the sweetest pictures were just of us…unscripted…untidy…mismatched…living!

They were pictures of life and life abundant, the very thing I set about celebrating here on my blog. And they were so beautiful, they made my heart ache. Not because we are particularly special or beautiful people, but because the things I see in those pictures are real and substantial things that are eternal and were the main components of the perfect world God initially created for us to enjoy: love…family…laughter…innocence…work…nature…home…

Each and every one a gift created by and given from a very loving Father.

As the children woke up and our afternoon wore on, we all ended up in the old, spacious shed on our property. Mr. Gore was finishing up a woodworking project and the children and I were sitting on our bottoms on a swept-off concrete slab, coloring and talking (we color a LOT in this house). I looked around me. Mr. Gore was deep in concentration as he measured and tinkered, and looked especially resplendent and manly with his coarse, red beard glowing copper and awesome in the natural light of the shed. Gideon was dressed in a full-out pirate costume, complete with strands of beads and a bright red headwrap. Rebekah was covered in dust, as was her ditsy floral sundress that is two sizes too small, her “golden hair” (as she affectionately calls it) flowing down her back where it ended with little curls, also covered in dust. Betsie was, again, locked up, this time in her big, red wagon, peering up at us from behind her straggly bangs, eating a box of raisins and doing her darndest to reach the bucket of crayons. (She loves to eat crayons even more than she loves to eat raisins).

And my heart just sighed for a minute, and I thought…

I could live in this shed with these people.

These moments of clarity and contentment are my very favorite in life, and I can’t tell you how much I love it when all of our junk is out of my sight and I am with the people I adore, and I asked myself the same question I’ve asked a thousand times this year: why, Mrs. Gore, do you continue to store up treasures on this earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal (Matthew 6:19)?

For there, in that dirty old shed, with a bucket of crayons and two coloring books, I was as happy as I’ve ever been in my entire life.

And I realized once again that NOT being rich is a great blessing.

I’ll never forget the first time Mr. Gore mentioned this rather radical thought near the end of a sermon, and he encouraged our congregation to stop striving after silver and gold and to refrain from doggedly pursuing the next level of financial comfort, not because it is a sin to be rich, but because God might be showing us great mercy by keeping us in the financial situation we are in. He went on to point out the many times the Bible warns us of the snare of money, and how the human heart is naturally inclined to make gods of the corruptible, citing John Calvin’s famous words: “the human heart is an idol-making factory”. My heart agreed so vehemently. “Be content with your lot,” he warned us, “for God might know that if He gave you more, you would become a slave to it. One of the greatest blessings in your life might be that the small income He has given you is just enough to keep you from depending upon yourself. Rest in that.”

I would never have come to that conclusion on my own, but the minute the words rolled off of his tongue, I was a believer. How great and how kind is our God, working all things for our good, even when we are little aware of it.

Since that day, the drive inside my soul to make more so we can have more has slowed considerably, and I am learning to relax with what we have today, knowing and trusting that God knows best what we need for our future. In the meantime, even though there are springs sticking up through the cushions of our couch, and even though our cars are becoming more “vintage” by the day, I am seeing with fresh eyes how abundantly we have been blessed, and how little we need to live happily and contentedly in this world.

And who knows? Someday we might have to move into our shed, and convert our home into a boarding house (what? I told you I read a lot of Christian fiction). But guess what would go with us? Love. Laughter. Gratitude. Probably a bucket of crayons and a couple of coloring books. Some flowers maybe and a set of lace curtains. The sun in the morning. The moon at night. But most importantly…

Grace.

Grace that sustains us, that fulfills us, and that allows us to have even the tiniest speck of love or gratitude in our hearts in the first place. Grace that is enough for today and gives us faith for tomorrow.

To read more on this subject, see “Mother Hen Paints the Fence Some More” and “Mrs. Gore is in Seven Heaven” from the archives

Category Archives: Christian Living