Life – Page 2 – Betty's Thoughts

A Legacy I Am Grateful For

This was written in January 2017 and now feels very incomplete. Events of recent years means there is much to wrestle with, and educate myself on. And while this is still a legacy I am grateful for, I am more aware than before of how complex the issues are and I need this to be a starting point for further growth.

As parents, we leave legacies for our children. We may be intentional, or even strategic, about some of them. Others may be unintentional – good habits passed along casually or perhaps the painful effects of family dysfunction. But we pass them along.

My parents passed along an important one. Seeing the movie Hidden Figures a couple of weeks ago got me thinking about it. But as I said in the introduction to this revisiting of a 6.5 year old post, it cannot be the place I end.

My parents were high school sweethearts, raised in an area of the Virginia Appalachian Mountains not known for progressive attitudes toward race relations. Raised in families that generally defaulted to the cultural norm of the area.

After college (Mom) and a stint in the Navy in order to get GI Bill benefits (Dad), they married and settled in Atlanta for Dad to finish his undergrad and then do his Master’s at Georgia Tech. This was the early to mid-50s. And they loved Atlanta – but upon graduation did not job hunt in Georgia. The reason? They planned to have kids and did not want to raise a family in a segregated state. It was a deliberate and reasoned decision. But there were many who thought they were making a big deal out of nothing.

A year or two earlier, Dad had caused a “faculty discussion” at Georgia Tech when, doing an assignment to write a paper on a controversial subject, he had predicted that schools would be integrated within 10 years. Brown vs. Board of Education established that within a year of his paper.

As a 4 year old in 1960, we drove through Georgia on the way to a family vacation and in addition to my first visit to Georgia Tech, I was shown water fountains that still had their “Whites Only” signs. And I was taught what was wrong about that. Another trip, a few years later and around the time of his successful run for Governor of Georgia, we parked on the street of Lester Maddux’s restaurant and Mom and Dad talked about this man, who kept pick ax handles in a container by the door of his restaurant to be used as weapons and who refused to serve those protected by the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

Here and there throughout the years, the message was clearly communicated. Teachable opportunities were looked for. And I grew up without the overt prejudice so prevalent in some circles, particularly for those coming from the same roots my parents did.

It’s a legacy I am immensely grateful for.

As I moved into adulthood I asked my parents several times what caused them to break away from their culture, and even some of their relatives, that way. Why did they make a shift that many others didn’t make? And they couldn’t pinpoint a reason. But their ability – and their decision – to do that profoundly affected my life.

In the early 1990s, I was living in the suburban Atlanta area. We were taking our kids (ages 3 and 6) to Babyland General Hospital (where Cabbage Patch dolls are “born”). It was a Saturday excursion during the fall, a nice drive and a fun family day. As we came to the town square in Cleveland, GA we saw a full-fledged Klan march. White robes. Pointed hats. Covered faces. I was stunned – not that it still existed. I knew that it did. But that it was gathered, full force, mid day, in a town an hour from where I lived.

I’m not sure I made as much of the teachable moment as my parents would have. My memory is that I was too stunned – and unprepared – to handle the conversation with a 3 and 6 year old well. But I do know I’ve told them the story as they’ve grown up in the hopes that they will know and will understand. This is not okay.

Hidden Figures challenged me on many levels. It reminded me of a legacy I am grateful for. But it makes me want to think well about the issues we face today. The areas we encounter that are still “not okay”.

Those who know me, know that I know how to do “sad” much more easily than I know how to do “angry”. But I feel my sadness shifting a bit – maybe not all the way to appropriate anger, but at least toward a sense that sadness is not enough. I don’t know what that will look like for me – but I know I’m supposed to press in and figure it out.

Update: This is a challenge to me, one that I have not pursued as wholeheartedly as I think I should. I hope that revisiting this post will help move me in that direction.

The Deep, Rich Beauty of Church “Done Right”

There are so many stories, and so many wounded people, from church “done wrong”. But what I wrote here in December 2016 is my hope for everyone who seeks a church.

I’ve been lucky (or blessed, or both). I’ve been part of a church that while it isn’t perfect, is as close as I can imagine. They have “done church right” in so many ways that my life is different as a result.

And I’m “home” for a quick visit. [Remember, this was December 2016]

This time, for a couple of nights, instead of staying with friends I am staying at the retreat center on the church property. The counselors I saw during the hardest years of my life used to have their offices here. The office where I sobbed and hurt and wrestled and healed is now the bedroom I slept in – and the space was filled with the spiritual presence that permeated those sessions. The memories are not of pain, but of healing and richness and gratitude for this community that embraced me when I arrived, later brought me through the tough times and then sent me out when God called me away. This view, from a bedroom chair as I sip a cup of coffee, speaks peace into deep places for me.

I’m still knit together with this place and these people. I moved to Georgia in 2011 to work for Adventures in Missions but this is my “home church,” my “sending church.”

In 1994, I arrived in Connecticut and discovered that regional differences do exist. New England is not the South! And I came to love the depth I found here. It fit me well. I found my Children’s Ministry “voice” here and even now, when I visit, I see young adults that I knew “back when they were kids”. And many of the deep conversations I had with some of them come flooding back. This night, on this particular visit, I spent New Year’s Eve with my small group – and we always laugh a lot but also find a way to have the “how are you REALLY doing?” conversations. Even updating this in 2023, my visits are still characterized by meals and catch up times with the couple who walked me through counseling, spiritual direction and inner healing. Before I leave I’ll have time and conversations with other friends – the lifelong friends where distance may change how we do life together but doesn’t keep us from doing it.

I’ve been well loved by this community. As my marriage was ending and I needed to get a huge house ready to go on the market, 35 people showed up one Saturday and put in over 150 hours of labor – repairing things, weeding gardens, pressure washing patios, packing up all the “stuff” you’re not supposed to have on display when the house is on the market. It was humbling to ask for the help but more humbling to receive the overwhelming outpouring of practical love in action. I can’t keep plants alive so someone borrowed plants, staged them in the house AND kept them alive until the house sold. I’ve shown up on doorsteps in tears and been welcomed in and held as I cried. As I found myself alone at a stage of my life when I had not expected to be alone, I’ve been celebrated on birthdays and remembered on holidays. A number of my supporters (I raise support in order to be on Adventures’ staff) are here. There are prayer warriors who pray for me and for my ministry.

It’s a church that fed me well, challenged me and equipped me. I was encouraged to build and lead a radically different spiritual formation program for children and was supported in that by the pastor and the elders. Learning spiritual disciplines such as listening prayer and true retreats deepened my walk with the Lord. Opportunities were available to grow in leadership knowledge and skills. Conversations with my pastor could be honest and I grew from the wisdom in those and was blessed by the compassion demonstrated in them. There’s a new pastor since I moved and I’m fed as I listen to the podcasts of his sermons and am grateful for his interest in getting to know me.

This is my story of life in this community. I know others may have come and gone and not experienced it. As I said, we’re not perfect. But I’ve watched this body walk faithfully with so many – through illness, unemployment, good times and hard times. It’s a community that celebrates well, grieves well with each other, and cares well.

Being here reminds me to take a deep breath and to remember that there’s a deep, rich beauty when church is “done right”.

Thank you to the The Barn and to the community here. You have changed my life in deep and profound ways.

Known as The Barn, the official church name is Covenant Presbyterian Church; Simsbury, CT, cpcbarn.org

A Manifesto for Parents – What I Believe About Letting Go

This was written by me in November 2016 with heavy input and editing by Seth Barnes, founder of Adventures in Missions. I did not do this perfectly with my own son and daughter, but I do believe there is truth in it.

What does it mean to “let go” of our children, particularly as they transition to adulthood? What does the parental role look like in this new stage? What do we do with the mixture of emotions? What if we just enjoy being with them and we miss them? What about the fear? The “what ifs?” How is a nurturing, supportive parent different from a “helicopter parent?” When do we extend grace and when do we let them suffer consequences of their decisions?

What does this stage mean for our kids? What do they need from us that is different than what they needed when they were younger? How do we help them develop resilience and other life skills? What if that means solving fewer problems for them instead of solving more problems? What if that means letting them suffer or fail?

What does this new stage mean for us? What does God want to do in us at this stage of our lives? What fills the hole that’s left as our kids move on to more independent lives? When parenting needs to look like cheering from the sidelines instead of directing from center field?

With strong editorial help from Seth Barnes, I’ve written a position statement, a Manifesto for Parents that we will be using in Parent Ministry. The World Race parents I work with have a journey thrust on them whether they like it or not. I see great responses but I also see harsh and fearful responses. The Manifesto is several pages long and attempts to address the types of questions mentioned above. [You can find the document form through the link. But if you’d like to comment, it’s posted in its entirety after these introductory comments.]

While a lot of this comes out of my work with World Race parents, I think it’s for any parent. Those who do wrestle with what letting go looks like. Those who are afraid. Those who are excited. Those who have done it well and can add input to this. Those with younger children who want to be intentional about raising their sons and daughters to be independent adults. Those who don’t struggle with fear but do struggle with how to articulate an answer for the friends and relatives who ask “How can you let them do _______?”

A Manifesto for Parents

As parents, we raise our children the best we know how. We want them to thrive, to have opportunities we may not have had and to embrace the faith and values we hold dear.

This process is not always smooth. For many families, raising children and helping them transition to adulthood is hard. Our children may struggle to find their way or we may struggle to let go.

Too many of us, however well-intentioned, have allowed our own fears to weigh down our children, and our own desires to hold our children back.

Instead of being equipped spiritually, emotionally and in basic life skills, sons and daughters find themselves struggling to leave the nest and fly. They have had their activities and goals chosen for them. Obstacles are smoothed over in the name of being helpful. Too many lack drive and decision-making skills. Their sense of entitlement keeps them from working through setbacks. “Leaving” is challenged by current parenting trends.

Believing parents raise their children in the church but balk at their desire to go into the world to bring light into darkness and freedom to captives.

Has this generation been “parented to death”? Never learned how to take risks? Will they never reach their full potential because their parents never let go?

What Should We As Parents Believe?

We believe it is possible to raise children who find their God-given identity and thrive.

We know:

Our goal as parents is to raise our children well, wanting them to become emotionally and spiritually healthy adults.
When we make mistakes, we can embrace the grace available to us and live in the truth that God is a God who redeems.
Each family is unique and God’s plan for it is uniquely suited to it.
The encouragement to “let go” does not dismiss the parental role in appropriately vetting situations or voicing concerns.
Letting go is difficult but necessary and is often harder and more unsettling for moms, who typically feel a bigger role shift than dads.

We need perspective:

What is God doing in my son or daughter?
What does appropriate letting go look like at this stage?
What does God want to do in me during this season?

Where We Are Headed – and the Challenges

The reality is, we’re trying to raise adults, not children. Yes, there is a childhood – and it’s an important time of nurture and protection. But our end goal is adulthood.

Scripture is clear as parents we should provide limits, establish discipline, teach the tenets of the faith and nurture our children. We should help them learn faith, self-control, wisdom and discernment – moving them gradually into adulthood at appropriate ages.

Updated guidelines given to child psychologists show adolescence (the stage between childhood and adulthood) now extends into the mid-twenties and beyond. Skills that a generation ago were learned as part of growing up are no longer emphasized. HR directors see parents intervening in the job interview process. And the traditional church is seeing a mass exodus, particularly of young people.

We have inadvertently parented in a way that contributes to this.

Lack of rites of passage – Rites of passage, which define and celebrate the movement from childhood to adulthood, have essentially disappeared in our society. As a consequence, we have children self-initiating into adulthood. Teen pregnancies and gun violence among youth fall into the category of extreme and unhealthy self-initiation. A wide range of experiences, previously reserved for adulthood, now creep down into young ages. Four year olds getting manicures. The abundance of TV channels and internet options that bring “adult news” within easy reach of children. The line between childhood and adulthood is blurring without the guidance and rites of passage needed to move in healthy ways from one to the other.

Distorted view of what parental love looks like – Today, parenting can appear to be more of a rescuer role, bailing out our children rather than letting them fail and learn from their mistakes. The training role scripture assigns to parents is often lacking. Many of the complaints about ungrateful kids with a sense of entitlement come from the patterns we have set when we remove all obstacles, eliminate consequences, rescue them from hard situations and give them more than they need.

Widespread “failure to launch” – Economic conditions and other factors have led to more kids, of all ages, returning home to live. This is not necessarily bad. But it can delay the normal maturing process, especially when living at home carries very few responsibilities. Scripturally, “leaving and cleaving” applies to marriage, but “leaving” applies to all of us. Abraham left, Moses left, the disciples left their families and their professions. Leaving is part of growing up.

The pressure to succeed academically and it’s impact – The pressure to succeed academically has risen in the last generation. A Nation at Risk (1983) argued American kids weren’t competing well against kids in other nations. This led to more homework, federal policies designed to address the gap and a focus on activities which increase the chance of getting into a “good” college. The 2010 film “Race to Nowhere” documented the pressure. Universities are observing freshmen who, having gotten into an elite university, don’t know how to set a new goal for themselves. Depression levels and dropout rates are rising.

In part because of this pressure, fewer children are contributing to the household. Life skills are not being learned. Some are basic – managing money, cleaning the bathroom, proper social etiquette in diverse situations. Others are more intangible – resilience, wisdom, discernment.

Helicopter parenting – Helicopter parenting can be defined as: (1) doing for our child what they can do for themselves; (2) doing for our child what they can almost do for themselves; or (3) doing for our child something that feeds our own ego or need.

Helicopter parents feel the need to be part of everything – from questioning professors about a college grade, to chastising HR directors when their child doesn’t get a job. On a daily basis, helicopter parents take on tasks that should be done by our sons and daughters, hoping to ease the pressure or just to “help out”. There’s an appropriate helping and blessing role for parents but, in general, it is currently out of balance. As a culture, our children are not learning life skills, self-monitored time management, or how to advocate for themselves in healthy ways.

Hovering parents are different than nurturing parents. Being asked for advice by our kids is different than taking charge of a situation before they have a chance to navigate it. Finding the mix between imposing rules, extending grace and allowing freedom is hard.

What is Lacking?

Resilience – Resilience is the ability to learn from mistakes, to rebound quickly and to try again. This is no longer learned in a culture where children do not have the freedom to fail. Getting a B on an exam leads to suicide. Problems are solved for them. They are protected from conflict. But resilience is highly correlated with healthy executive functioning and the ability to have a “successful” adult life. Our tendency to jump in – while motivated by love – denies our sons and daughters the opportunities to learn to do it for themselves. Our parenting must provide opportunities for our children to learn resilience.

Training in Wisdom (and Consequences) – When decisions, big and small, are primarily made by parents – at an age when our sons and daughters should be learning to do that – young people enter adulthood untrained in wisdom. Let’s model the decision-making process. Then trust them with decisions of their own. They will learn wisdom and the consequences of unwise decisions.

It is scary. An unwise decision as a toddler might result in a skinned knee. As a child it might be regret over wasted allowance money. But as a teenager it could be an unplanned pregnancy or loss of life in a drunk driving accident. Watching as a parent can be gut wrenching.

Discernment – Joyce Meyer says, “Some people think they have discernment when actually they are just suspicious.” Too many of us have the latter but need the former. Our children need to develop the ability to gather information and evaluate options, to judge one choice against another and to factor in faith – all while thinking through consequences. And as parents, we need God’s help in knowing when our children need the opportunity to take risks.

The Changing Parental Role

In the early years, we parent primarily from a positional authority: “I’m in charge because I’m the parent.” It’s helpful, it’s right and it’s good (when properly administered). Babies and toddlers need a protected and more structured environment.

By the time a child reaches their teens, on the threshold of adulthood, if the relationship has not moved to parenting by influence, then there is likely to be trouble. If a relationship of trust has not been built, if they are still “forced” to obey, if they don’t choose on their own to seek counsel – then the ability to effectively parent is limited.

No longer can a parent easily say “You’ll do as I say because I’m your parent.” Physically, they cannot be made to comply. Legally, they have new rights. Colleges won’t share student grades with anyone (including tuition-paying parents) without the student’s permission. HIPPA laws prohibit sharing medical info after age 18 without permission. And so on.

Parents don’t abdicate all positional authority. If we are supporting our son or daughter financially, paying for college, or if they are living at home, compliance with certain rules is part of the deal. Requiring some form of rent or certain chores can help children move toward responsible adulthood.

Wisdom and courage are important here. Some requirements, if enforced, may also create estrangement, at least temporarily. They may choose to leave and move into unwise or unhealthy situations. This is where many parents find it hard to do the tough things that ultimately lead to adulthood. It is excruciating to watch them leave that way and many of us cave in and rescue instead. Knowing when to extend assistance or grace and when to let them fail is no easy task.

This shift from positional authority to influence doesn’t happen overnight. It is not without heartache, but it is essential. The end result is you are becoming brothers and sisters in Christ in new ways. Enjoy this new stage!

Baby Birds Are Supposed to Leave the Nest

Parents are supposed to provide a nest and we know children who do not receive this safe nurturing place in early childhood suffer tremendously. But baby birds are supposed to leave the nest.

The nest-leaving process can be scary for the one needing to leave and for the parent who has protected him or her from the cruel world. It’s hard. But it needs to happen. They are too big for the nest. Something inside them has been telling them this for a while. They sense they were made for something bigger.

Parents may feel protective. A mother’s life has often been structured around caring for her children. There is nothing she can do to stop her natural instinct. The “what if” questions about life outside the nest arise. It’s a normal feeling that needs an override switch.

So how do we do it? How do we let them leave the nest? The world can be cruel. Err too much on the one hand and our naive child may feel thrown to the wolves. Err on the other side and our kids are delayed in growing up.

Recognize this is normal – All parents whose children grow up go through this process. It’s not easy, but it is the natural order of things.

Grieve it – Loss requires grief. It’s hard to let go, and when we do, our emotions may well lag. Give yourself permission to feel the pain of the loss.

Maintain an appropriate distance – This is not about us. This is about giving our child the opportunity to grow up, develop their own decision-making skills and feel the pain of failure. They need space to be able to figure out who they are.

The Goal of Parenting

Eugene Peterson sees something relevant in the Biblical story of Samuel and Eli (1 Samuel 3:1-10). Samuel had been serving in Eli’s house and one night is awakened by someone calling his name. He runs to Eli asking “What do you want?” Eli, who hadn’t called for Samuel, sends him back to bed. This is repeated a few times until Eli realizes what is going on and instructs Samuel to answer this way the next time it happens: “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.” Samuel responds that way and the Lord begins to speak more things to him.

Peterson sees a model of what our goal as parents should be: To transfer the primary voice in our child’s life from our own voice to the Lord’s voice. We can’t do that without letting go.

Most of us say “My children really belong to the Lord, not to me.” But there are times the Lord asks “Do you really mean that? Are you willing to act on that?”

I once put my mid-teen-age son on an airplane for a mission trip when I had a strong sense I would never see him again. This wasn’t wisdom and a need for appropriate protection. This was fear. Despite my fears, I knew there was no appropriate reason to keep him from something he felt called and equipped to do, that had appropriate safety precautions in place. I said good-bye, thinking it was the last time I would see him. He did come home fine, but in the meantime, I learned an important thing. When put to the test, I really did believe my kids ultimately belonged to the Lord. And my own spiritual life changed as a result of acting on that.

John Piper, a pastor and author, says something along these lines: “Parents, if you are sitting here and your deepest desire is for your children to grow up, get married, live close enough for you to see your grandchildren regularly, and have a house with a white picket fence and good insurance plan – then you might be in the wrong church. We intend to go after your child’s heart and our highest hope is for them to give their heart fully to God and His call. And we expect for some of them this call will take them around the world, into needy and risky places, with no medical care and limited chances for you to see your grandchildren. So decide now. Is this the right church for you?”

Everything in us may know the answer needs to be “Yes” – but the cost is right there in front of us too. This could be a costly “Yes”. How you model this – your “yes”, your letting go, your transition to new seasons – will help your children know how to do it in their own lives.

Fear and Safety

Letting go is often hindered by fear. Something could happen. What do we do with our fear? How should we look at safety? Placing a high priority on safety is not wrong. In fact, it’s wise.

But what if safety becomes an idol?

How do we know if it is an idol? It is an idol if our “yes” to the Lord is held hostage to our requirement for safety. If safety has to be first – no matter what, no exceptions.

As followers of Jesus, idolatry in any form needs to be recognized and confronted. As Sarah Young points out, ”God detests idolatry, even in the form of parental love.” Anything that supplants the Lord as number one in our lives is an idol. If we felt the Lord calling us to an unsafe place, would we go? If He calls our children, will we encourage them to go? The answer to that is crucial.

The early church, when faced with strong persecution did not ask for safety but prayed “Lord, look upon their threats and grant to your servants to continue to speak your word with all boldness ….” (Acts 3:29)

What does it take to do this?

Understand safety and comfort are not the same thing. A lack of nice houses, air conditioning, good food, regular electricity, or indoor toilets – or even the presence of things like lice and bed bugs – is not primarily a safety issue. It’s primarily a comfort issue.

Don’t operate in fear, calling it “wisdom”. Wisdom is important, but be brutally honest about whether we are really trying to avoid fear by using “wisdom” as a cover. (For example – “I don’t think it is wise for you to …” when we really mean “I am afraid for you to …”)

Live incarnationally. If we follow the model of Jesus, we will touch those we are called to love and live among. Whether or not it is comfortable. Whether or not it is safe.

As believers, we acknowledge both a spiritual realm and a physical realm. Erwin McManus tells the story of his son, who had been scared by demon stories at a Christian summer camp. His son asks “Will you pray God will keep me safe?” Erwin’s response? “I can’t pray God will always keep you safe, but I will pray God makes you so dangerous when you enter a room, the demons flee.”

Are we willing to get there? To the point where we are more concerned about being powerful in the spiritual realm than safe or comfortable in the physical realm? Can we model it for our kids? Or maybe, can we learn it from them?

Next Steps

As hard as it is to let our children go, for most of us this may be the answer to the prayers we prayed throughout their lives. “Please let them grow up to love You Lord, and desire to follow You.” And then they say they want to go overseas on missions, to third world countries without the amenities we rely on, and without regular communication – and the answer to those prayers suddenly looks and feels scary.

Bless them. They are growing into adulthood, but they still yearn for your approval and blessing. Tell them how you feel about them, why you love being their parent, what godly characteristics you see in them.

Be grateful for your son and daughter’s desire to follow the Lord. Many of those who are parenting “prodigals” would trade places with you in an instant. The pain of saying goodbye to a child leaving to follow the Lord can pale in comparison to the pain of having children who have rejected Him. Or who live a life filled with unhealthy choices.

Seek perspective without negating your own pain and struggle. The pain of letting go is real and intense. Military parents face a letting go typically harder than what the rest of us do. Not only do they say goodbye, they say goodbye to sons and daughters being deliberately placed in harm’s way. Parents who have lost children in a variety of ways grieve deeply and wish their children were still here. The call of Jesus is not the only thing that asks us to let go.

Hold your children with “open hands”. As Seth Barnes, founder and CEO of Adventures in Missions, often says, “If we wanted our kids to be safe, we should never have introduced them to Jesus, who is a revolutionary and dangerous world-changer.”

What About the Hole Left in Your Life?

Letting go can create loss. But this can be an amazing season in your own life. Acts 13:36 makes a reference to King David, saying David did not die until he “had served God’s purpose in his own generation”. Our purpose in our generation and in God’s Kingdom is not yet over.

Our journey is about more than just trusting Jesus. It’s about the courage to dream dreams. Dreams abandoned or put on hold long ago – out of fear, out of shyness, out of “circumstance” or “necessity”. Dreams of mattering and making a difference. Dreams of exploring and adventuring. It’s about the restlessness many of us feel as we enter this stage.

Do these observations ring true for you?

We hit a point of realizing time is short and we don’t want to waste it – We want what we do to matter. We want to leave a legacy based more on significance than worldly success. Complacency may try to tell us we have done enough and we’re entitled to slow down. Or we’re too tired, too old or too unqualified to tackle new challenges. But something in us knows this is not true.

We need to look for new sources of identity and new experiences of trust – Particularly those of us who felt our primary identity was as a parent. “Letting go” of adult children forces us to trust God in new ways. The faith built as we let go builds faith in other areas of our life as well.

Mistakes or failures may hurt or immobilize us and loss may be very real – It is not too late to grieve well, find healing and grace, and move beyond them. We lose parents or maybe even children, long term marriages end, businesses fail, some dreams die, medical issues may surface. In all of these, we have the choice to run to Jesus for healing or to blame Him.

Ready to dive in?

This is an ideal season to expect God to speak about transition, new stages, reviving forgotten dreams or birthing new ones. Along with this comes the need for courage and obedience – especially for risk averse types. Being empty-nesters brings a type of freedom once we adjust. Don’t waste this window if it exists. It will be gone at some point. Don’t look back with regret.

The world needs our generation to stay activated and engaged in ways far beyond our role as mom and dad. The Kingdom needs us. The next generation needs us. The people affected by injustice and oppression need us. We encounter hurting people every day. We have a lifetime of resources, experiences and wisdom to bring.

Conclusion

We love our kids. We want the best for them. Even our missteps are generally motivated by a desire for good and not harm. Their transition to adulthood can be hard for them and hard for us. A healthy process on both sides requires appropriate, and sometimes gut-wrenching, letting go. We don’t lose relationship, but it does change. The end result is worth it.

Our sons and daughters need us to press through. And we need it as well.

(For references use this link to see this in document, rather than blog, form. Some sections are adaptations of previously published blogs by Seth Barnes and Betty Means.)

Five Years

Originally written in July 2016 on my 5 year anniversary with Adventures in Missions. Revisiting this is a good reminder of my call to go there – and the importance of “call” in general. It’s also a reminder that the journey was still just beginning at that point.

July 15, 2016 was my 5 year anniversary at Adventures in Missions. I’ve been trying to decide if I have anything profound or important to say.

It’s a milestone. I’ve held volunteer positions longer than 5 years, but paid positions are a different matter – in part because of the 20 years I spent as a stay at home mom. The next longest one was just under 5 years. So I’m entering new territory. But there’s nothing particularly profound about that.

Has it been worth it? Leaving Connecticut, an amazing church, incredible friends? Taking an out of character leap of faith to move to Georgia and work for Adventures in Missions? That’s worth pondering.

It’s the wrong question in one sense, however. I felt a strong sense of call. And a restlessness that intensified rather than abated. In the end, I was acting in obedience to that. “Worth it” is secondary to “call”. I wrestled with it, I wisely waited until certain things were clear, I did not rush into this. And all of those things worked together in very good ways. Ultimately, my “yes” was to the Lord and not to my own desires. A sense of call is the solid foundation I return to time and time again.

But am I glad I did it? Absolutely – a definite YES. It’s been both unexpectedly good and very hard. But both of those things have produced growth and I’m grateful.

I have missed the community in Connecticut deeply – and that has not lessened as time has gone on. In some ways, the longing for it has grown more intense. But I have also learned that I am stronger and braver than I thought I was.

I have had the opportunity to build a new program (for parents), lead trips and see the world. In many ways, it is more than I ever imagined it could be. But I have also felt misunderstood and the sense that I don’t quite fit in never goes away. I am an introvert in an extraverted environment. I am quiet and I observe well, but the norm here is to dive headlong into things with greater speed. I get from A to B by seeing the obstacles and knowing how to navigate or solve them; but what feels like forward movement to me feels like I’m raining on their parade to others. It’s not about better or worse. It’s about different styles and different giftings. But there have been seasons of weariness in addition to seasons of great delight.

And in all these things I’ve never lost sight of the big picture. I’m called here – to be part of bringing Kingdom by bringing my skills to Adventures in Missions. I’ve grown through the challenges. My view of the world is bigger. I’ve loved the experiences. I love what I’ve learned about God and what I’ve learned about myself.

It’s also been part of God redeeming a season of my life far beyond anything I could have hoped for. With great confidence I can say that this leap of faith, this moving to Georgia, has been good.

Finally, for those of you who have supported me, prayed for me and encouraged me – THANK YOU. My needs go far beyond the financial support I need to raise. Without your love and your prayers and your words of encouragement, I wouldn’t have been able to continue to say “yes”. I treasure the many, many ways you have blessed me.

I believe the “yes” continues – and I can’t wait to see what’s ahead.

Sorting Out Shyness, Fear and Introversion

Current Update – My significantly less fearful life feels normal these days. Most people are surprised to find out how shy I was. There’s a freedom in how I operate now that didn’t become a reality until my 40s, 50s, and 60s. It’s part of what I love about the journey that has unfolded for me.

Intro when first posted in March 2015: This is the first part of a discussion. some background info for what is ahead. Coming soon in other posts – thoughts on being a strong (dangerous?) woman and thoughts on being an introverted leader.

I’m an introvert. I’m also shy in many situations (although not as painfully shy as I was for the first 25-30 years of my life). And the big work God has done in my life in the last 15+ years (yes – in my 40s and 50s and now my 60s) is deal with the fear that had permeated most of my life.

My childhood, my teen years, my twenties and into my thirties are full of memories of shyness. Even now I can remember how it felt. And it was painful. I usually felt like the shy little girl who never grew up and never fit in.

I was in my thirties before anyone significantly challenged my assumption that shyness and introversion were the same thing. I’m not sure whether I thought I was an introvert because I was shy. Or that I was shy because I was an introvert. It didn’t really matter because I believed they were inextricably linked.

I was unaware that I also believed another lie embedded in that. The lie said: “You’re always going to be this shy. You’ll never be able to change. There are a lot of things not available to you because you’re introverted and shy.” Introversion and shyness felt so closely tied to “how I am made” that I could not picture being any other way.

Here’s how shy I was – I ended up sobbing in a college professor’s office because 30% of my grade was going to be class participation and I just couldn’t do it. (And my identity at that point was pretty much wrapped up in being a straight A student.) I wouldn’t suggest a restaurant or a movie when going on a date because I was afraid my date would think it (and therefore I) was stupid. I wouldn’t speak up in class, in a group or to a boss unless specifically addressed and drawn out. Spiritually, as more and more friends were experiencing the “charismatic renewal”, I was terrified – the idea of speaking in tongues was horrifying to me as an intensely shy person.

And the weight of that was crushing. I avoided things that nudged my heart – activities at school, chances to grow, things I wanted to do – and I blamed it on my shyness.

More importantly, I didn’t allow myself to dream big dreams. I couldn’t picture ever having a significant ministry. I tentatively mentioned to my mom once that I might want to be a missionary and her fearful response that I couldn’t do that because it was too dangerous just shut me down. As a teenager, I didn’t have what it took to press through that.

But eventually I began to look at the pieces I hadn’t looked at before. The relationship between shyness and fear. The ways that shyness and introversion are NOT connected. I’d always known I was fearful – but I hadn’t fully factored it into the mix. And I’d never seriously dealt with the reality that I could do something about the fear.

Scripture tells us to “Fear not”. Why would we be given a command unless it was possible to follow it? Is it really possible that when you strip away theological analysis, it’s as simple as ‘not fearing’? Did that mean being a fearful person could be changed? What would it look like to confront fear and move past it? Where would the courage come from? Does a shy person have to go through a different process than a non-shy person?

It didn’t happen overnight, and in fact it happened most significantly during the stage of my life where I had the most reason to be “legitimately” fearful. I had amazing counselors who firmly and gently held out hope to me. My fear began to break apart. I discovered I had a “voice” that I desperately wanted to use – and which deserved to be heard. I took baby steps of courage and lived through them, discovering that they brought freedom instead of death.

I began to entertain the possibility that I mattered, a sense that had been missing while I was imprisoned in shyness and fear.

I’m still an introvert – although on Myers Briggs I test closer to the center of the continuum than I used to. Once my shyness began to break apart, it did change how I answered the questions on the assessment. I’m still shy in some settings – and while I want to work on that where it is fear-based, I’m also learning to be content that I’m not the exuberant, bubbly, dive right in type of person. Not all quietness and reservation is unhealthy or fear-based shyness.

I tend to initially be an observer, especially in groups that I am newly a part of. I take my time. I don’t wrest control away from anyone else. It helps when I have an expected role – both in my own mind and in the perception of the people I’m with. That opens doors for me to be fully engaged.

I can operate outside of these parameters when I need to. And I’m still growing. But the sorting out I did related to shyness, fear and introversion laid the foundation for much of what has unfolded in this season of my life.

To be continued …

[New P.S. If you are an introvert, have introverted kids or just want to understand what introverts bring to the table and how best to support them I highly recommend Susan Cain’s book “Quiet”.]

Thoughts About Sin Done To Us

Written in April 2014. But it’s still something I cling to – that there is healing for the sin done to us.

The cross … the symbol of one of the central tenets of the Christian faith. A particularly visible image during the Easter season. The reminder that Jesus died – and then rose again.

The reminder that Jesus did that for us. For me. For the forgiveness of my sin. To make it possible for me to be in an intimate relationship with God.

That’s Basic Christianity 101.

This is not going to be a theological dissertation. I wouldn’t even know where this fits in various theological constructs. It’s merely the musings of something that pops into my mind from time to time.

Does the cross just take care of my sin? Or does it also take care of the sin done to me?

I’m not talking about the salvation of the person who violates another person and sins against them. I’m not talking about somehow excusing or minimizing the evil that is present when one person sins in horribly destructive ways against another.

What I’m talking about is this: Can we run to the cross – can we rely on the power of what was done on the cross – with those sins, the ones done to us, just as we can run to the cross with our own sin?

My experience – and my heart – tells me we can.

One of my “cling to” verses, discovered in the midst of pain, is 1 John 4:16a – “And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.” Rely – that’s the word that originally leapt off the page at me.

I understand there are circumstances where the evidence seems stacked against a loving and reliable God. There are situations where I really don’t know what to say because anything I think to say feels less than what the person needs, it feels insensitive to the depth of pain and abuse. I don’t pretend that my experience should somehow make it easy for anyone to get past their own pain, their own distrust of God. But for me, I always come back to the fact that I can know and rely on God’s love for me. And somehow, the cross becomes the place I know that, the tangible sign of the depth of God’s love.

Maybe this isn’t a new idea to you. But when I first thought of it this way, that the cross could take care of sin done against us, against me, it was somehow more tangible than a vague pat answer about letting God into the pain or turning the pain over to Him.

I am a huge beneficiary of great counseling and inner healing. I absolutely want to always be part of a community that has a theology of healing and that encourages the use of gifted counselors and healers. I have counselors that I credit with giving me back the ability to function after the pain of what happened in my life felt as if it would crush me.

Ultimately though, my ability to move through pain and into healing seems to rest not just on great insights and technique, or gifted counselors who help me see things I wouldn’t face otherwise. When I look for the “solid ground” on which to stand, from which to heal, it goes back to being able to know and rely on God’s love – to the cross.

If the cross is about ripping open the veil between us and God, bringing us into deep and nourishing and life-giving relationship with Him – then it has to take care of anything that stands in the way of that. So it must take care of our sin. And it does.

But for some people, in some circumstances, sin done against them can distort a view of God’s goodness, or God’s desire to be close, or our ability to rely on Him, or even the perception of whether He is real and present and caring. There are stories where you wonder how anyone can survive such sustained or repeated abuse at such a horrendous level. The “easy” Christian answers don’t work. They feel trivial and inappropriate.

And the story doesn’t have to be big or dramatic for that to be true. There are lesser known stories as well, the ones that happen day in and day out to people we know and love. And the damage is the same. It is not their sin, but it gets in the way of the relationship God offers and desires.

If the cross removes barriers between us and God, in some way it has to take care of these sins done against us as well. It has to be big enough and powerful enough for this.

I don’t know how everyone gets there. I don’t know a magic formula that makes it easy to remove that kind of barrier. I’m not a gifted counselor. I know there has to be a willingness to let God into the healing – but I probably won’t know how to get you there.

In spite of that, whether I can explain how it works or not, whether I know how to help you get there or not, I still believe the cross is the answer. I believe the cross takes care of it.

A Sermon to Myself About Busyness and Spiritual Dryness

Originally published March 2014. The pace of the job has slowed down considerably in recent years, and I’ve recognized areas where it was right and healthy to build some new margins into my life, but I feel the need to stay vigilant.

I love what I do. This job fits me better than any other I’ve ever had. And I’m good at what I do. Good in the deep down “right fit” kind of way. I’m in a season of life where there are few non-job demands on my time. There’s no one at home waiting for me. No one gets “hurt” if my work week creeps up to 70 or 80 hours a week or if I do emails at 3:30 a.m. Aside from some attention to physical well-being it seems okay to work at this pace.

Especially because I love what I do. Especially because staying busy eases the loneliness.

I spent Saturday on a silent Lenten retreat. For most of the day there was no talking, no TV/music in the background, no electronics, no phone or email or Facebook. Just me, my Bible, my journal and the Lord. It’s a practice that used to be part of the regular rhythm of my life and I realized some of what I’ve lost as it has disappeared from my routine. As I’ve decided I’m too busy to take that time.

In the quiet and the rest, I realized that my overly busy schedule has brought me to a point of spiritual dryness. I no longer slip quickly and easily into my heavenly Father’s lap. I no longer feel the freshness of the Lord bringing scripture alive on a daily basis. My prayer life is more mechanical. There have been far too many “catch you later when I have more time” conversations with the Lord.

It’s not that I haven’t been growing. I have. And it’s not that I feel like I’m in a spiritual desert. I’m not. But there’s a dullness where there should be a brilliance.

I recently spent a few days in Rome and had a chance to see the Sistine Chapel on a “before hours” tour. No crowds, a few small tours totaling about 50 people in the chapel before opening hours. And when we walked in my guide gasped and said “I’ve been doing these tours for 14 years and I’ve never seen the lights on.” Apparently they normally don’t turn on the brightest lights. But there was the Director of the Vatican with a small group of priests and the lights were on. The colors were brilliant. A great experience was made even better. Later in the tour, after opening hours, we circled back through the chapel on our way out. It was crowded, packed with people. And the lights were off. The Sistine Chapel is going to be amazing no matter what. But the crowding and the lack of lights created a dullness that hadn’t been there in the early morning.

A dullness that I might not have noticed if I hadn’t seen it uncrowded and with the lights on a couple of hours before.

That’s what my spiritual life feels like right now.

And there are implications to being there.

It dilutes my focus in the job that I am called to and that I love. It could ultimately impact whether I lead the way I know I’m capable of leading. I have a tendency to want to please everyone rather than operate out of the confidence and wisdom available to me from the Lord. Old insecurities move closer and are ready to pounce if I give them space to do so. Using busyness to keep them at bay is only a short term solution.

There is always going to be a tension between busyness and rest.

It’s right to bring our best to a task, to work hard, to respect the urgency and need represented in our jobs. It’s right to be pushed to be accountable for our work hours and even our work performance. It’s right to grow and expand our professional capacity. It’s even right to go above and beyond the call of duty when serving an organization. Those are appropriate expectations.

But there’s an unhealthy side to busyness as well – and for me it is fear based and fed by unwise decisions. It’s being afraid to set healthy boundaries because the praise of men matters too much. It makes fearful assumptions about what I “need to do” because it feels as if my own efforts – by themselves – determine my value and my future. It sets “busyness” up as the highest value, and our “bragging rights” become how busy we are.

Our effort does matter in how we live and work and interact. We have to be able to say that without being accused of a works-based righteousness. And “the Lord told me …” or “I’m learning to not find my worth in my performance” should never be an excuse for sloppy work or laziness. There are going to be necessary busy seasons. But scripture is also full of instructions to rebalance and re-set. There’s the Sabbath. There’s the Year of Jubilee.

When I neglect the non-job things that nourish me at a deep level, I make an unwise decision. When I take the easy route after a long, hard day – when I mindlessly flip on the TV as my default option for “background noise” – I make a choice to accept the appearance of rest instead of the reality of deep, nourishing and true rest.

Despite my busyness, when I’m brutally honest, I do have time to choose true rest. It may be an act of trust to do that. It may take self-discipline to exercise or write or bake rather than zone out in front of the TV. But those will be wise decisions in my life if I make them.

And I hope that waking up early this morning, that taking the time to write, begins a new season for me. That doing these things ultimately make me a better worker and a better leader. That I begin to move out of spiritual dryness. That I think well about busyness.

Because I miss the spiritual “brilliance” in my life.

Waiting … and Advent

One of the issues with moving old material to a new site is that it doesn’t always sync to the appropriate season. This was written during Advent in December 2013.

Typically, we don’t like to wait. Delayed gratification is less and less common. Technology and other advances have removed the “necessity” of waiting for many things. Impulse purchases are a click away online, and for a few extra dollars it can be to you by tomorrow. Communication that a generation or so ago required the days or weeks involved in writing and sending a letter is now essentially instantaneous, a beep on your phone. I’m grateful for technology that connects us to each other – especially as families and friend networks spread out to more and more places around the world. That’s a good thing. But in the midst of all these advances, waiting falls by the wayside.

We don’t tend to wait well. Waiting is a nuisance (why haven’t they texted me back yet, why is this line so long). It’s a necessary evil on the way to the end result and we strive to eliminate as much of our waiting as possible.

But … what if that wasn’t the case? What if waiting has a richness only to be found in waiting? What if we miss something by constantly figuring out ways to get “there” faster?

We’re in the liturgical season of Advent right now. There was a time when the words “liturgical season” meant nothing to me. “Advent” was a tad more familiar but only because of the Advent wreath at church, pulled out every December with a different family each week lighting it and leading the congregation in a scripted corporate response.

And then … I ended up in an Episcopal church, one full of life and love for Jesus, full of openness to the Holy Spirit, where “liturgical” became something rich instead of boring, rote repetition. Something that joined me to the saints who have gone before me and the Church worldwide, that helped me see the bigness of God in both time and space. A style of connection and fellowship and spirituality and worship that fed a part of me I hadn’t even known was hungry. That exposed me to the mystery of God in previously unrealized ways. It’s been over 20 years since I was part of that church but the years spent there were rich ones for me and they left some important marks on my spiritual life.

The Rev. Gray Temple, a profound influence in my life, was adamant that Advent was for waiting and preparation and expectation – and that the celebration needed to wait for Christmas. Over and over he would say something along the lines of it not being good or right to celebrate too soon. So during Advent we sang Advent hymns, not Christmas carols. We sang “Come Thou Long Expected Jesus” and “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel“. We acknowledged that we were weary and waiting and yearning for His arrival. The “Christmas play” was not done until after the service officially closed on the 4th Sunday of Advent. It took me a while to “get it”, to appreciate the reasons behind that.

Before you wonder if I’m a Scrooge, trying to discourage Christmas cheer and December festivities – I’m not. I love most of them. And even in my more liturgical years, I was never a legalist about it. But our pre-Christmas lives are busy ones and they start earlier and earlier each year. Christmas decorations are in stores right after Halloween. Store opening times for Black Friday crept back to 5 a.m. a few years ago and then to midnight and now to Thanksgiving Day. Obligatory gift lists seem to grow longer.

Being surrounded by so many things that push us to stay busy during this season, how do we find time to reflect on, and to prepare for, the magnitude of the celebration of Christ’s coming?

God came to dwell among us! There’s wonder and mystery in that – and we’re in danger of missing it.

How do we grasp that? What do we do with the wonder of that? How do we truly celebrate what is worth celebrating? Can we really rush, rush, rush, up until Christmas Day, and truly be ready for His coming – at least in the ways that matter most?

Hundreds of details and too many obligations can end up minimizing the celebration of His birth – almost reducing it to one more thing on our “to do” list. What do we miss when we bypass the waiting, the growing anticipation, the building excitement or when all of those things are focused on our plans (even good ones like family being together) instead of on His birth, His entry into our lives? What happens when we celebrate too soon and in ways that rob the true celebration of its deepest and fullest joy?

How do we keep celebrations from creating a “tyranny of the urgent” which is far different than true, heart-level, preparation?

Not all waiting is the same. Some waiting is joyful anticipation with a clear end date – World Racers are about to return home after 11 months away, a small group of cherished friends has planned a vacation for next February, kids are going to be home for Christmas. Some waiting is more serious, imposed on us by circumstances – waiting for medical test results that can impact what our family is going to look like in the coming year. Some waiting is tied to hopes and dreams that we may not see fulfilled in our lifetime.

But Advent is about discovering the hope that is inherent in waiting. About acknowledging weariness and yearning. About learning that we are not alone as we wait, even if God seems silent. Is it possible that Advent can help us learn to wait well in other circumstances?

At this time of year, especially, I love the stories of Anna and Simeon. Much of what I learned about the richness of Advent, I learned from letting the few verses about their lives sink down deep in me. I see people who waited well. They had waited decades for their Messiah. Anna had devoted herself to worship and prayer, Simeon was full of the Holy Spirit and had been promised by God that he would live long enough to see the Messiah. Their pressing into God during their waiting time gave them spiritual eyes to see what no one else in the temple saw that day. They recognized who Jesus was – at a point when He was just a baby, looking like any other baby being presented. When other eyes did not see what they saw.

That’s what I want. I want to wait well, to anticipate well, to get more and more excited because I am waiting in the company of God for something worth celebrating, something that invites me into the mystery of God in glorious ways. I want to be still while I wait, remembering His past faithfulness and wondering what new thing He is doing now. I want to let Him know where I am scared and where I am excited.

I want to dream about the moment when the waiting is over but I don’t want to miss the gifts of the waiting time. I don’t want to miss His comfort, His companionship, and His excitement over the coming gift.

Reminders help me. So every Advent I set out Advent candles. Not the skinny ones I grew up with in church, lit on Sundays only. But big fat ones that can burn for days. They stay lit most of my waking hours at home and serve as a reminder when I walk through my house that there is something going on in the waiting time that I don’t want to miss.

And when the time came for their purification according to the Law of Moses, they [Mary and Joseph] brought him [Jesus] up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord …. Now there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Christ. And he came in the Spirit into the temple, and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him according to the custom of the Law, he took him up in his arms and blessed God and said, “Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel. …” And there was a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was advanced in years, having lived with her husband seven years from when she was a virgin, and then as a widow until she was eighty-four. She did not depart from the temple, worshiping with fasting and prayer night and day. And coming up at that very hour she began to give thanks to God and to speak of him to all who were waiting for the redemption of Jerusalem. (Luke 2:22, 25-32, 36-38; English Standard Version)

What Are Kingdom Dreams? (Or, Why Am I Afraid to Dream)

I’ve gotten better, since this was written in October 2013, about dreaming. But it still doesn’t come naturally to me.

Seth Barnes poked his head in my office this week [in 2013] and said, “What’s your Kingdom dream?”

“Kingdom dream” is a phrase we hear a lot at Adventures in Missions. For a while we had a department (now rolled into several other departments) called Kingdom Dreams. We launched the Dream project, helping WR alums with Kingdom dreams to connect with business people for mentoring and offering the chance to possibly receive some funding.

But when I’m put on the spot by Seth, I’m not sure how to answer. Why am I more comfortable talking about my journey than my dream? Why is the journey clearer for me than a destination?

There are things I’m passionate about and feel called to – parent ministry, for example. But is that in itself a Kingdom dream? It doesn’t feel specific enough. So I’ve been thinking – what do I want for parents? I want them to feel cared for and understood as they face both the excitement and the apprehension/fear of sending their World Racers off. I want them to delight in their role as the parent of adult children – able to make the parenting shift required at this stage. I want them be stretched and to grow in the Lord – and to be excited about what He has for them in this season. I want to encourage them to explore the restlessness that He might stir and to take their own steps of faith.

Is it okay to say that’s my Kingdom dream at this moment?

But the question of my Kingdom dream still nags at me. What Seth meant as an offhand question has stirred something in me that is unresolved.

An assortment of thoughts and questions crowd my thoughts. Why can’t I definitively name a Kingdom dream – something that God entrusts to me (as opposed to something I just wish would happen)? Don’t misunderstand me. My life feels rich and full and I love what I get to do. But Seth’s question triggered something.

I know that I’m afraid to dream. I also know I’m supposed to wrestle with this a bit. The Lord is nudging me to confront my fear of dreaming. I can plan well. I can serve well. I can build great programs. But I have a fear of really dreaming.

I’m hesitant to ask the Lord for something that I’m not already pretty sure is likely to happen. It’s rooted in my desire to “get it right”, to not want to ask for the wrong thing. But it shuts down dreaming.

There’s another factor that shuts down dreaming. I don’t yet fully believe He would really use me in the way He uses others. I don’t feel “special enough”. There are deeply buried dreams that I’m afraid to talk about, even to Him. I don’t even ask if they are His Kingdom dreams for me because it feels presumptuous to even think He’d use me that way. It’s not humility. It’s fear, and lack of trust, and a performance based mentality that looks at my shortcomings instead of His empowerment.

So – do I have the courage to begin to dream in new ways? To be honest, I don’t know. But I hope so. I know this restless feeling. I know it’s from the Lord. And I know it’s time to ask Him to keep me unsettled until I finally learn that it is safe to trust Him with my deepest desires and dreams and to trust that out of that, He will entrust me with His Kingdom dream for me.

What Does God Want To Do In Your 50s?

THIS WAS 10 YEARS AGO – so I’ve now turned 67 (earlier this year). Look for an update coming later this year. Originally published 3/17/2013.

I turned 57 this week [Remember – this was 10 years ago]. Seven years before that, shortly after my 25-year marriage ended, I turned 50 in Thailand – at a missions conference. There were so many unexpected things about that. I hadn’t expected to be single at 50 – but I was. With the end of my marriage I assumed my dreams of traveling would have to end – but someone covered my airfare to the conference. I didn’t necessarily expect my dreams of ministry to grow or be possible in this new stage – but there I was with missionaries and missions-minded people from around the world.

I had the sense in Thailand that the Lord was whispering (or maybe shouting) at me: “See, I know the desires of your heart. This is the start of a new stage for you but I am very much in charge of it.” Around the same time, two sets of friends prophesied over me that “the second season of my life would be more fruitful than the first season”. There have been times when believing that has been hard, but my spirit sensed it was true when it was spoken and so I cling to it as a promise – a promise of restoration and joy and significance for the Kingdom.

There are a lot of people writing about the “second season of life” these days and I’ve read some of them. I’ve picked up a few things here and there. I felt my spirit stir when I heard a Christian leader in his 60s state that he and his friends had vowed to make their next 5 years the best ministry years they’d ever had. I want that to be true for me as well.

But my journey has been more intimate than books or talks. And it’s been about more than just trusting Jesus. It’s been about the courage to dream dreams. Dreams that I had been afraid to tell anyone in a long time. Dreams that were abandoned long ago – out of fear, out of shyness, out of “circumstance” or “necessity”. Dreams of mattering and making a difference. Dreams of exploring and adventuring. It’s not as if none of that had happened before my 50s (e.g., I’d always dreamed of being a mom), but there was still the restlessness of a few unlived dreams.

And my 50s were about being willing to be honest with the Lord about those dreams. Risk aversion comes more naturally to me than risk taking. There is a tendency in me to not ask the Lord for something until I’m sure He wants to give it to me. I know – it’s bad theology and embarrassing to admit. As a gentle Father, as someone who loves me and who cares about my dreams, He’s been encouraging me to bring those dreams to Him. Not necessarily as a request but as a sharing of my heart. I’m a mom. I know how much I love it when my kids put their fears – or even practicality – aside and just joyfully dream. In that moment, it doesn’t particularly matter whether that is “the dream” that will unfold for them. It’s about the joy of sharing possibilities and hearts. So I’m trying to do more of that with the Lord.

I wasn’t all the way through this decade when I originally wrote this, but I realized I had learned some things about what God might do in your 50s:

We hit a point of realizing time is short and we don’t want to waste it. We want what we do to matter. We have less patience for some of the “okay things” of the past. They just don’t satisfy us as much as they used to.
Complacency can be a very real enemy, telling us that we’re doing good enough, have done enough, have been through enough. That we’re entitled to slow down. That we’re too tired or too old to tackle new challenges. That it’s not our job to do it. That we can’t really make a difference anyway.
It’s an ideal season of life to expect God to speak about transition, new stages, reviving forgotten dreams or birthing new ones. Along with that comes the need for a new season of courage and obedience – especially for us risk averse types. Being empty-nesters brings a type of freedom. Ask the Lord what He wants you to do with that.
We may be in very different places regarding our own health or family situations. Caring for elderly parents may be very much a part of this decade. But for many of us, our 50s are a season where we are still healthy, where our kids no longer need the same kind of care, and where our parents do not need us full time either. Don’t waste this window if it exists. It will be gone at some point. Don’t look back with regret.
We may need to look for new sources of identity – particularly those of us who felt our primary identity was as a parent.
“Letting go” of adult children forces us to trust God in new ways. The relationship changes but it’s a good thing. The faith that is built through letting go of your children builds faith in other areas of your life as well. It’s a transferable “life skill”.
Loss may be more real – we lose parents or maybe even children, long term marriages end, businesses fail, some dreams die, medical issues may surface. In all of these, we have the choice to run to Jesus or to blame Him. It’s in these tough days that we discover whether or not Jesus is enough. Head knowledge and the things we have said all our lives are tested and move more deeply into the heart.
Mistakes or failures may still hurt or immobilize us. But it’s not too late to grieve them well, find healing and grace, and move beyond them.
What we care about, and what nourishes us, may change. For me, I’m less a reader of theology than I used to be.
Friends are crucial. Continue to invest in friendships and community.
Things become less personal, less about me. I’ve become more pragmatic and more peaceful about the hard stuff – the hard conversations, the appropriate confrontations, the lines that need to be drawn, the questions where I’m afraid of what the answer will be. I used to agonize over those things. Getting healthier – emotionally and spiritually – makes them easier.
The world needs you. The Kingdom needs you. The people affected by injustice and oppression need you. We have a lifetime of resources – perhaps financial but also experience, connections and wisdom and it’s time to use those for the Kingdom, even if you feel you’ve never done that before. “Secular” jobs are full of Kingdom opportunities. Be intentional about having a Kingdom mindset.
It’s never too late.
God is faithful.

How about you? For those of you who are experiencing (or have experienced) this decade of your 50s, what has God done? Where is He stirring you? What is the Holy Spirit nudging in you? What is it time to deal with? Or do?