Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

God talk: talking to kids about God

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: When You Forget that You Don’t Have to Try to Please God

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“Mommy,” he says, stopping me just as I cross the threshold of his dark bedroom, “is it okay sometimes if I go right to sleep without praying first? Because sometimes I just feel too sleepy to pray before bed.”

I step from the bright hallway back into Noah’s dim bedroom. “Of course it’s okay,” I whisper. “Nothing or no one says you have to pray at a certain time of day. God knows when you’re sleepy, and he cares about you and wants you to rest when you need to. Go to sleep, honey, and don’t worry. You can save your prayers for tomorrow.”

I step into the hallway again, but then turn back to face the dark shape under the navy-blue comforter. “Plus, Noah, God knows your heart,” I remind him. “God already knows the prayers of your heart. You don’t even need to think them or say them out loud. ”

“Okay, good,” he says. “Because I’m just so sleepy.”

Oh, Noah. He’s so much like me. A rule-follower. A pleaser. He wants to do everything right, make everyone happy. Including God.

Isn’t there a little bit of this in all of us? Go to church, volunteer at the soup kitchen, bake cookies for the neighbor, sing the hymns, bow our heads, pray because we feel like we should, even when we can’t keep our eyes open. Obligations, responsibilities, good deeds — all done in the good name of the Lord.

I love how Paul tough-talks with the Galatians about this. Because honestly? I need the tough-talk sometimes.

“How foolish can you be? After starting your Christian lives in the Spirit, why are you now trying to become perfect by your own human efforts? Have you experienced so much for nothing? Surely it was not in vain, was it?” (Galatians 3:3-4)

Here’s the deal, here’s what I realized when I stood in the darkened doorway of my son’s bedroom. Here’s what Paul was trying to pound into those Galatians’ (and my) thick heads:

God loves us. Period.  Not because we follow the rules. Not because we serve the poor or love our neighbor or pray well or pray every single night before bed. But just because.

Nothing is required of us in order to bask in that love.

No obligations.

No sign-on-the-dotted line.

No strings attached.

No red tape.

Nothing.

Isn’t that the craziest, most mind-boggling, most over-the-top notion you’ve ever heard?

Isn’t that the purest, most generous, most gracious, most life-changing gift you have ever received?

That’s love, all wrapped up in grace.

“For you are all children of God through faith in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:26).

Like Noah, do you ever find yourself trying to please God? How might you remind yourself of God’s grace?

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Welcome to the “Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday” community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

If you’re here for the first time, click here for more information. Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code below) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in — thank you!

Please also try to visit and leave some friendly encouragement in the comment box of at least one other Hear It, Use It participant. And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

Thank you — I am so grateful that you are here!

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Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: What To Do When Doubt Takes Your Breath Away

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He drops the bomb at dinner, over meatloaf and baked potato: “I think I might be in a not-believing-in-God stage.” My heart sinks. “Really?” I ask, peering at Rowan around the vase in the middle of the table. “What makes you think that?” I try to sound casual, nonplussed.

“I just can’t get over the idea of being dead,” Rowan explains. “It seems so weird to think that once you’re dead, you’re just gone, like, not existing at all.” Now he’s trying to sound casual. But his eyes are wide, unblinking. He stares at me hard across the dining room table, holds my gaze. I can tell he is afraid.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, spooning sour cream onto my potato. “Everyone doubts sometimes, everyone wonders about God and death and everything. It’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah!” Noah pipes up. “I had my not-believing-in-God stage all the way until the start of fourth grade. Then after that I was fine.” I’m not sure I knew this, but I nod vigorously anyway, like Noah’s example is proof that everything will indeed be okay.

I’m still thinking about that dinnertime conversation a few days later, though, when I read the story of the road to Emmaus. I’m having trouble with verse 16:

But God kept them from recognizing him.

Two of Jesus’ followers were walking together, three days after his crucifixion. Jesus appeared alongside and began to walk with them, but they didn’t know who he was. Not just that they didn’t recognize him, but that God kept them from recognizing him, the text reads.

I don’t like this verse. I search Bible Gateway for other translations, hoping for a different interpretation. Nearly all of them translate the verse the same way or very similarly.

Why? Why does God keep the men from recognizing Jesus? I wonder. Why would God intentionally keep us from seeing him?

I wrestle with the text for days, reading and re-reading the story. And while I’m not sure I get an answer to the why?, I finally realize something important. It’s true, Jesus is exasperated by his followers’ disbelief. But instead of throwing up his hands and walking away, he begins to teach them. Again. From the beginning. He starts way back with Moses and the prophets, and he points out each and every instance in which the Bible paves the way toward his resurrection.

When his own disciples doubt him, when they waver in their faith, Jesus brings them back to the Bible.

He brings them back to him through the Bible.

It’s only later, after Jesus has been revealed to them in the breaking of the bread, that the two disciples realize this. “Didn’t our hearts burn within us as he talked with us on the road and explained the Scriptures to us?” (Luke 24:32), they say, astounded. The Scriptures had stirred their hearts to God’s presence; their brains simply needed time to catch up.

There’s a lesson in here for all of us.

When we are lost, when we begin to doubt God, when we can’t see him, even when he stands right in front of us, we need to return to his story.

Open the book, Jesus says. The proof is right there.

And so, even though Rowan’s declaration of doubt takes my breath away, and even though I’m terrified he’ll suffer a lifetime of questions and uncertainty, much like me, I do what Jesus does with his own wanderers. I bring Rowan back to the Bible.

And we begin again.




And a quick note: Kim from Kim’s Country Line won the free copy of Matt Appling’s book Life After Art. Kim, Rowan picked your name from the bowl this morning — congratulations! I sent you an email – please email me your mailing address so Matt can mail you your copy of his book!

: : :

Welcome to the “Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday” community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

If you’re here for the first time, click here for more information. Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code below) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in — thank you!

Please also try to visit and leave some friendly encouragement in the comment box of at least one other Hear It, Use It participant. And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

Thank you — I am so grateful that you are here!

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Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: Glorious to See

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“So, sometimes I get a really strong but quick feeling of happiness,” he says. “Like the other day, when I watched the wind blowing the cedar boughs. I felt a burst of happy feeling. What is that? Why does that happen?”

We are snuggled on the couch, sharing a fleece blanket, our books open on our laps.

“Well, when that happens to me, I tend to think it’s God,” I say, nudging my glasses down on my nose so I can look at Noah over the frames. “You know, God is with us all the time, but I think sometimes he makes himself extra noticeable, sort of as a way to tell us to pay attention. I think those happy moments that come out of nowhere are God.”

Our conversation reminds me of an experience I had about a year ago, just after my father-in-law was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. It was the Christmas season, but I was so angry, bitter and sad, my heart was hardened against joy. All I felt during those dark days was the weight of grief.

One night, as I stood at the kitchen sink with an apron around my waist and a stack of dirty dishes on the counter and my arms elbow-deep in soapy water, I felt an inexplicable flash of joy. And I knew instantly it was God, making his presence known to me, assuring me that despite the darkness, despite the fact that we were walking in the shadow of death, we would be okay. We would laugh and celebrate and find joy again.

Such was the case with Peter, John and James when they hiked with Jesus up the mountain to pray. I imagine the mood that day was somber. Just days before, Jesus had told his disciples that he would suffer, be killed and be raised from the dead — news that must have been terrifying and confusing for them. I suspect they were bewildered, unsure of themselves and afraid, perhaps even wavering in their faith or questioning their decision to follow Jesus. I imagine that hike up the mountain was a quiet one, as each man contemplated Jesus’ dire prediction, dread and fear creeping into the pits of their stomachs. Perhaps they, too, felt like they were journeying into the shadow of death.

At the top of the mountain Peter, John and James inexplicably fell asleep while Jesus prayed and as “the appearance of his face was transformed, and his clothes became dazzling white.” (Luke 9:29) Moses and Elijah appeared and spoke with Jesus, and “they were glorious to see.” (9:31). When the disciples awoke, they were shocked to see “Jesus’ glory,” with Moses and Elijah standing next to him. Amazed, the three disciples scrambled to process the unbelievable sight.

Jesus understood that his disciples needed to be shaken awake. He understood that they needed to stop, stand still and take notice. And just as Jesus knew his beloved disciples needed a jolt of joy and reassurance, he knows when we, too, need to be awakened to his constant presence.

We don’t always experience God’s presence in such a dramatic way, in the magnitude of a transfiguration or in the midst of dark grief. Sometimes God shows himself on an ordinary day, in a seemingly ordinary way. Like in the hallowed hush of wind through cedar boughs.

Can you think of a time when God stopped you in your tracks and made his presence known? How can you make a practice of catching more of these moments?

Linking with Ann Voskamp and her Wednesday series on the Practice of Radical…because seeing God on an ordinary day, in a seemingly ordinary way, is radical indeed:





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Welcome to the “Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday” community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word.

If you’re here for the first time, click here for more information. Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code below) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in — thank you!

Please also try to visit and leave some friendly encouragement in the comment box of at least one other Hear It, Use It participant. And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

Thank you — I am so grateful that you are here!

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When You’re Afraid You’re Raising Spiritual Barbarians

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You may recall that we don’t have a good track record with family devotions. I’ve tried a number of them, and so far we’ve failed to make it a regular habit. At one point last year, fed up with my kids’ persistent mutiny against devotions, I actually gave away my own copy of Sarah Young’s Jesus Calling for Kids in a random blog drawing.

When Advent rolled around this year I decided to simplify the whole process by going straight to the source. I decided we would read some of the Gospel of Luke as our nightly dinnertime devotion.

“Mommy! Read more!” Rowan begged one night at the table, after I’d finished the story of Zachariah. “Are you serious?” I asked, closing my Bible and setting it next to my plate.  “Yeah, yeah, I’m serious, read more,” he said. “It’s catchy, don’t you think?”

“Catchy” is certainly one way to think of the Bible.

Two weeks into Advent Noah asked if we could continue the dinnertime Bible reading even after Christmas. Again, I asked if he was joking. Turns out, he wasn’t, and so that’s the plan. I’ve wanted to try The Message translation for a while now, so I picked up a copy at Barnes & Noble last weekend, and this week we started from the beginning, with the light and darkness, the heavens and earth.

For the past three years, whenever I read about many of my fellow bloggers and their families, I saw a Norman Rockwell picture of perfection – the family gathered around the dinner table, heads bowed, Scripture in hands. Then I’d look at my kids, falling off their chairs, silverware clattering to the floor, giggling through grace, mutinying against every attempt to bring God to the table, and I’d inevitably assume I was doing something wrong. “Why? Why is this so hard? Why can’t my kids be polite and Godly?” I wondered. “What am I doing wrong that they are such spiritual barbarians?”

The answer, of course, is nothing. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I simply needed to persevere until it clicked; to keep trying different options until one fit. And to wait. Patiently.

Maybe it’s simply that they are older now, a little better able to concentrate and understand. Or maybe I should have cut right to the chase, bypassing the devotional books and going straight to the Bible. Or perhaps this, too, will turn out to be a fad. Maybe three weeks from now they’ll mutiny again.

I’m not telling you this story so I can pat myself on the back, or so you’ll look at our family the way I looked at others. Instead, I want you to see what’s real, so that you’ll know that it’s all okay, in every less-than-pretty variation. I want you know that boys tumble from chairs, and silverware clatters to the floor, and someone burps during the prayer, and thanks is given more often for Super Mario Bros. than for the soup.

Grace isn’t always pretty, at least at our house. But through it all, God is present. Even, or perhaps especially, when we fall off our chairs.

 What about you? Do you read the Bible or evening devotions at dinnertime with your family? Do you ever feel like you’re raising spiritual barbarians?

With Ann Voskamp’s Walk with Him Wednesday series {because we are trying, again, to make a habit out of this…}

 

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