My stomach clenched as the psychologist continued, "Oh, and you'll need to prepare for your husband cussing more. That just happens with stroke patients."

What?! After waiting for over a month for Mike to utter words--now I have to worry about censoring him in front of the children? I have to continue nurturing and responding to a man whose words may tear down rather than communicate? After all this work, why would this be what comes out?

Yet, I have to admit how often those same words come to my mind. When the loaded laundry basket crashes from the shelf onto my head, when the milk jug splatters to the floor, when the grocery line stalls. What if the part of my brain that stops me from uttering these out loud quit working and people really knew what was going through my head? "God, I don't want a condition that makes me less like You?"

As clear as a bell I heard God's voice saying, "Right now, are you becoming more like Me--or less?"

It hit me. Every situation, even how I respond to Mike's stroke, offers the chance for me to grow more like God or less like God. I'm so tempted to think about what's happening to me, how I feel, and how to get others to give me what I want. Jesus focused on what was happening to others, how they felt, and how He could get them what they need.

Do I see this situation as a chance to grow more like Jesus? Do I focus on the other people at rehab? Do I ensure I listen to all my children are going through? Do I continue to lovingly relate to Mike even though he can't relate back--just as Jesus continues to lovingly relate to me even when I can't relate back?

Every situation--every fight with our spouse, every disobedience by our children, every challenge in our finances offers the opportunity for us to say, "How can I walk through this growing more like Jesus?"

I'm learning it's not about God sending the right situations for me to grow--it's about using each situation rightly. Lord, let me use this to grow to be like You.

Mom, do you remember the moment? That moment when your pregnant body refused to take another stair, to bend to pick up another sock, to even move out of the rocker. Can you imagine climbing on a donkey every day for a week to travel over rocks, up hills, through water to a distant town? Can you envision the fear of labor pains starting on the night you share a floor with goats and cows? No mother, no friend, no familiar midwife to call. Sure, the vision of the angel telling you this is God’s son vividly permeates your thoughts, but could it have been real? Would God have allowed Caesar to order you to move so far in so delicate a condition? Wouldn’t God provide better for His Son?

Dad, do you remember the moment? The moment your bride announced the impending birth of your first child. Do you recall the surprise, the pride, the wonder? Joseph experienced none of that. Horror, anger, despair that the woman he loved had publicly made a mockery of him was all he likely felt at Mary’s announcement of impending birth. Sure, the vision of the angel telling you this is God’s son vividly permeates your thoughts. But, as you struggle to pull a donkey across a desert, find a room for your bride to rest, locate a midwife in a distant town—could it have been real? Would God have allowed this turn of events? Wouldn’t God provide better for His Son?

This Christmas parents will struggle mightily to provide a “good Christmas” for our children. Though times are tough, we will find a way to get something to light their eyes and give a sense of wonder. Yet, even as we troll the aisles looking for “it,” we may struggle with questions. If the God we worship is sovereign, if we are following His plan—how can this be happening to us? Wouldn’t God provide better for His people?

God used Caesar to move Mary to David’s birthplace to fulfill prophesy and clearly establish Jesus’ identity as God’s plan of salvation from the dawn of time. Choosing a woman from Bethlehem could be dismissed as coincidence. The unusual moving of a woman from a far distance pointed to God. God’s provision of a stable instead of suite at the inn allowed socially outcast shepherds to be the first to gaze upon the Savior. God demonstrated, unlike most religions, that His salvation is for all—even the lowliest. God’s movement of the wisest men of the age from a distant land likewise demonstrated that the greatest would bow to Jesus. In every aspect of the Christmas story we see the seemingly worst circumstances intentionally planned to reveal God’s hand.

As you struggle with circumstances that seem to argue against God’s sovereignty, God’s care, or His provision—consider Joseph and Mary. They had every reason to doubt—yet their lives perfectly reveal God to us. As God’s plan unfolded Mary treasured the signs that her faith was well-placed. Stick with the plan God has given you. As you do, your unfolding life will reveal God’s hand both to you and others to demonstrate your faith is well-placed.

As the backdrop to the new bike, the costumed Barbie, and the pile of Lego’s, the security of parents faithfully putting their confidence in the goodness, power, and love of God—even in testing times—ministers to the heart of our children. While you may not have to haul a pregnant belly onto a donkey or live down the rumors surrounding your wife, you will walk in Joseph and Mary’s footsteps each time you trust God despite the circumstances that surround. That faithful walk will become the greatest gift you give your children and the very core of a “good Christmas.”

On the day Joe was born, Uncle Louie was the first visitor, the first non-parent to hold him, the first to feel tiny fingers fold around his thumb. At that moment, a primal love captured Louie’s heart. With no children of his own, Uncle Louie showered all his fatherness on Joe.

On the day Joe graduated from college, Uncle Louie gave an amazing gift. He created a trust that gave Joe $86,400 dollars every day. Joe had complete discretion in how to use the money with one catch. Joe had to spend the entire amount every day or the trust would cease.

Dumfounded Joe tried to envision how to use this incredible resource. How could he steward something so generous? How could he convert the trust and honor from his Uncle into a legacy of his own? At first, Joe took care of the basics. He paid off his loans, purchased a home, took care of his parents, and invested in graduate education.

In graduate school, he found his dream. He would start his own pharmaceutical research facility to explore medications for obscure diseases overlooked by larger companies. This was a dream worth pursuing, worth investing Uncle Louie’s gift. Though it would take years--even with the generous daily amounts--intentional planning and conscious focus would build his dream.

Yet, Joe was also tempted by the luxuries he could now afford. Expensive meals, trips to foreign countries, and elaborate gatherings for friends became a mainstay. Though Joe knew he strayed from his master plan every time he focused on one of these, he had little concern. There was always tomorrow’s money. He would get back on track tomorrow. . . .

Twenty years later, Joe ran into Jeff, a physician who had helped develop the dream for the research facility and whose expertise Joe had counted on to spur new research. Embarrassed Joe realized he had not even spoken to Jeff in years. First the six-month safari in Africa, then the months of travel through the Amazon, then a tour of Europe kept Joe out of contact. “Jeff! How are you? What are you up to?”

“I’m great, Joe. How are you? I’m sorry I can’t stop. I’m running late for a board of directors meeting. We’re about to announce a new drug eight years in development. We have a lot to pull together before the press conference this afternoon.”

“Really?! Wow, that’s great. Which company are you with?”

Jeff blushed. “Actually, mine. Your passion for this research was contagious. When you left the country, I decided to give it a shot. Thanks for the inspiration. Gotta run. Call me.”

As Jeff hustled down the street, Joe stood dumbfounded. He had every chance to make his dream come true. The resources were available every day. Yet, their very availability had blinded him to the passing of time. Now his graduate education far behind, support team scattered, and his youth spent—had he blown it?

We may all wish we had Joe’s “problem” of how to spend $86,400 each day. Yet, in reality we face the same dilemma.

Each of us is given 86,400 seconds per day. We spend every one of them. Do we spend them on our dreams? Or, blinded by the availability of tomorrow’s time, do we squander today’s?

We have dreams for our families—the lessons we long to teach, the memories to make, the legacy to leave. Our children reside with us briefly. For our dreams to become reality, we must wisely invest every day. This morning your family was given 86,400 seconds—how will you spend your day?

"Mommy, what are we having for dinner?”
“Can I go play?”
“Why do caterpillars only like milkweed?”
“Why can’t I go play?”
“What are we doing tomorrow?”
“Why is Aunt Gertrude so loud?”
How many questions do you face each day? In a house full of curious, imaginative, intelligent children—I figure 957 easy. If you asked me if I thought questions were good, I’d answer, “Of course! Questions help children learn.” If you asked my children if I thought questions were good, I’m not so sure they’d have the same answer. I say I want our children to ask questions, yet I don’t always respond patiently to the endless torrent. Why are questions so good in theory but so hard in reality?

Selfishness. The hard, cold truth is that my most impatient responses stem from pure selfishness. Like most parents, I’m pushed on all sides. I rarely feel that my day is my own. Instead, I have an endless list of chores to do, deadlines to meet, and needs to address. When a question has a ready response that doesn’t require too much thought, I’m typically OK. I can answer on the fly and keep moving through my day. But for those questions where I don’t know the answer and it will take some investment on my part to puzzle through or go find the answer, I sometimes shut my child down. Rather than focus my limited time and energy on figuring out a good answer to my child’s questions, I’d rather use those resources to make a dent in my list. Not a great strategy.

When I see my child’s question as an opportunity to set aside my agenda and focus on what’s important to her, I grow in my ability to be selfless. I develop a better sense of how to take the focus off me and what I’ve deemed necessary and instead focus on what is important to those around me. Sure most of my list was already focused on those around me, but I created the list and its order. When I choose to expend energy responding to my child, I say in a very real way that their list matters, too. That both affirms my child and diminishes the selfishness in me.

Pride. Again, if I can readily respond, I typically don’t mind questions. When the answer isn’t automatic, I tend to shut down the questions. As I analyze why, I have to acknowledge that I don’t like admitting to not having an answer. This denies my children one of the most important lessons of all—humility.
To freely acknowledge that I don’t have all the answers comforts my children. They are still at the age when they think I’m pretty cool. It reassures them to know cool people don’t have to know everything. They can feel fairly competent now with only some answers. Moreover, when I admit I don’t know a particular answer and go look for it; I teach them how to go get the answers they need. We become a team working together which creates a special bond. A bond I would miss if my pride kept shutting their questions down.

Agenda. As a homeschooling mom, I have seemingly endless time to spend with my children. One would think this is a perfect environment for questions. And it should be. Yet, most homeschooling moms are terribly frightened of missing some key teaching our children must have to survive in the world. So, we treat our curriculum as gospel and live in terror of failing to complete a day’s list of subjects. Questions distract horribly from that list. They interrupt. They lead down bunny trails. They hijack conversations. It’s just much more efficient when children sit quietly and simply listen as I get us through the lessons of the day. Efficient but ineffective.

I have to remember that our family’s job is to develop each child into the unique person God made them to be. Questions aren't an interference—they are a prime tool in that role. When I can back away from my agenda and refocus on the purpose of my agenda, to train up my children in the unique path God created for them, I can take a breath and follow the bunny trails of questions down the path they need to go. When I do that, I begin to see how God pulls me from my agenda and gets us all onto His agenda.

Questions force me to focus on what is important to my children rather than me. Questions force me to be humble in front of my children thereby teaching them how to be humble. Questions force me to listen for God’s agenda rather than clinging to my own. Instead of overwhelming distractions, my children’s questions have become—not only a great way for them to learn—but a 957 opportunities a day for me to become a more selfless, humble, listening mom.

Utterly undone, I sat in my hospital bed cradling my screaming newborn. Nothing worked. He wasn’t hungry; he was dry; I was holding him. What more could I do?! Remembering babies like to be swaddled, I clumsily tried to wrap him. The nurse entered to find baby howling and me miserably fumbling the blanket, near tears myself. She took one look and snatched Benjamin out of my hands. She calmly laid him on the bed, snugly arranged his baby blanket into a perfect burrito, and patted his bottom three times. He immediately fell asleep. Without a word she handed him to me and left. Completely defeated, I wondered if the hospital would let me take my son home when I couldn’t even wrap a baby blanket. Maybe he should go home with the nurse?

Most parents feel it—an overwhelming sense of ineptitude when it comes to raising our children. We want so badly to do the right thing and feel so completely at a loss as to what that is or how to accomplish it. Parenting books offer insights that sound great on paper and fall flat when we try to use them. Given our daily failures, wouldn’t our children be better off with some professional parent? The answer—a resounding no.

When God knit you together in your mother’s womb, He was shaping you to parent this child. Your personality, your strengths and weaknesses, your experiences were all ordained as preparation parenting for this child. Likewise, as God knit your child together, He shaped her to be parented by you. Experts may offer insights, options, or support—but they can never take your place. As bumbling as our efforts can be, we are the only experts for our child.

Those daily interactions—the ones that feel like daily failures—are so much more. Through them, we learn our child’s temperament and priorities, his fears and joys. No expert spends the kind of time we spend with our child; no expert has a prayer of gaining our insight. We know the heart of our child. Knowing his heart enables us to inspire, encourage, and train so he becomes the person he was made to be.

As we explore our child’s heart, we also discover our own. When our toddler waves a rebellious finger in our face, we gain insight into God’s reaction to our own rebellion. When our young child listens to his peers rather than us, we perceive God’s frustration at our own choosing of job, prevailing experts, or friends’ advice over Him. When a teen gives in to pleasurable sin rather than choosing to do right, we suffer our heavenly Father’s anguish over our rejection of His standards in favor of our own desires. As we take these to God, repent, and allow Him to guide us into a reconciling relationship; He teaches us how to guide our child into a reconciling relationship. Learning from our heavenly parent, we become the parent our child needs us to be.

Once I got Ben home I was terrified. I began praying as I had never prayed before. “Lord, please help me to parent as You do. Please help me be the mom Ben needs.” As his seven siblings followed, that prayer became ever more fervent. I encountered differing personalities which needed differing approaches. I encountered competing agendas. I encountered even more of my own faults as I saw them played out in the behavior of my children.

Yet through it all, God worked to make me an expert on my children. He brought me friends with great insight. He led me to books by astute experts. Mostly, He revealed, in the tiny bites I could swallow, the truths of His scripture to guide my heart, my mind, and my words with my children. From scripture I learned that in every situation, I needed to be gentle, kind, and self-controlled. I learned to value differences while holding each unique child to the same standard. I learned that I was teaching my children how to love others by the way I loved them. I learned to get regularly on my knees and beg for God’s provision and insight for each day. Slowly, as I became the child of God I needed to be, I became the mom my children needed.

Though over the course of eight babies I never learned to create a burrito-perfect swaddle, I learned that my children didn’t need to go home with that nurse. They were designed to go home with me. She could fold a blanket but she didn’t know that Ben needed to be warned a week in advance that we might not have hot dogs on Wednesday night or that we would need to push him into activities before he would be comfortable or that he loved quiet bike rides to talk. God and time with Ben taught me that. As you seek God in the daily-ness of life, He will guide you into being the parent your child needs.