How a Law Enforcement Wife Faces Fear

It’s been a rough week for law enforcement. Five officers have been killed in the line of duty in this past week.

Maybe you’d think that a law enforcement wife gets used to the news of officers injured or killed (250 officers shot and 59 deaths this year alone), but you never do. At least, I never have. I avoid the news because my heart can’t handle the constant bleeding. I see the black band over my husband’s badge (I don’t think it’s been off more than one day at a time this year). That has to be enough for me.

This last week though, it hasn’t just been rough nationally. It’s been rough locally.

A couple Sundays back, we woke to news that the local black lives matter movement in our city had used social media to get an officer’s address. They looked through pictures of his family and the places they frequent. They did this in an attempt to protest in front of his house and, well, harass him and his family. (By the way, I have no idea if this was officially or even unofficially sanctioned by the chapter, but it happened nevertheless.) We were advised to remove our names and locations from all social media.

Later that day (in an unrelated incident), we got the news that a deputy was slain one county over. He was ambushed while alone and executed at point-blank range. Executed.

My heart doesn’t even know what to do with that kind of hatred. But I can tell you these stories cut my heart right open.

_______

A few days ago, Mike took an overtime shift. I couldn’t shake this overwhelming sense that I needed to pray for him. I pray for him every night he’s working, usually with my kids at bedtime. But on this night, I just knew I needed to pray. Like pray, pray. You know?

The next day after he’d slept the long night off, he told me about his shift. He was involved in a situation that could have gone at least ten different ways—none of which would have been good. But it didn’t turn out any of those ways. It was fine. He was fine.

In a moment where he had seconds to make life-altering decisions with limited information, he used sound judgment. He made the right call.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Thus far, every time I have felt that call to pray over Mike, the next day my husband has a story for me. One where he’s fine, but he faced some kind of situation that could have gone so wrong so fast.

Part of me rejoices. I mean, I know that God is actively watching over my family. It’s like God is saying to me: “See, Amanda? I am with Mike. I watch over your family. I know your comings and your goings, and I will be with you.”

But there’s this other part of me that feels vulnerable.

We use the phrase “hits close to home” when tragedy strikes close. Maybe it misses our home, but it hits our faith anyways. It’s this moment where we are looking pain and loss right in the face and realizing our faith doesn’t keep us from hardships, it preserves us through them.

Can I be honest? My gut-reaction is that I straight-up want to pluck myself right out of God’s hands in an attempt to save all I hold dear. It’s okay, God. Thanks for trying. But I got it from here. {As if. Oi.}

Really, those “close to home” events challenge us to mature our faith. It calls us into the realization that God’s goodness doesn’t equal comfort and safety and homes filled with stuff. But His goodness is still good. And we can trust Him.

Fear’s aim is to sweep away the nearness of God with the nearness of death. It can get us to ignore the very present Emmanuel—God with us—for all the it-could-have-been-me’s happening around us.

Listen: it’s not about whether it could have been you or not, it’s that God is with you.

God is with us through abundance and happy times. And He is with us through storms and loss. {And he is with my husband and all the law enforcement officers holding the thin blue line.} 

These hits and near-hits are where our faith matures. These are the places we learn to trust.

_______

5 Ways to Grow Your Faith When You Are Afraid

Having walked through anxiety attacks, post-partum anxiety, and a season where tragedy kept striking, God has cultivated in me five ways to grow faith instead of fear.

1. Keep up your courage. Addy has been reading The Courage of Sarah Noble. It’s about this young girl who is faced with difficult circumstances and keeps reciting the words her mother gave her every time she feels afraid: Keep up your courage, Sarah Noble. I think there’s something to that phrase. Courage is facing your fears, even while afraid. And courage is something that must be kept up, regularly maintenanced. I love that Sarah recited it with her name in it. It’s important to remember who we are; moreover, WHOSE we are. You are a child of God. You are seen. You are held. You are dearly loved.

2. Small Victories. While in therapy for post-partum anxiety, my therapist advised me that when we encounter harm whether real or imagined, our natural response to try to avoid it in the future. But avoiding actually gives fear ground. It’s like we are agreeing with fear. The only real way to fight through fear is to face it. When the fear feels overwhelming and debilitating, we need to face it in small baby steps, celebrating each small victory. Can hardship strike? Yes. Can I control that? No. The only thing I can control is how I handle fear. I can be afraid and live brave at the same time. I can see my husband off to work. Maybe I kiss him a little longer, live like my goodbyes could be my last words to him, but I send him off nevertheless. I pray. I work at getting decent sleep. Small victories.

3. Give yourself grace. Perfect love casts out fear. So don’t go berating yourself for how you shouldn’t be afraid. Full on embrace the love of God. The LORD is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. Psalm 145:8

4. Recite Scripture. The way to expel fear is to recite the truth of God’s love for you {and believe it}. In those moments of panic, take your brain power away from the worry and use it to remember what God says. Because you can't both worry and try to remember scripture at the same time, you cripple fear (and squash a panic attack. amen.) My go-to’s are Psalm 23, 139 and the Lord’s Prayer. I made this list two years back when I first found out I was pregnant after 4 miscarriages in a row. I placed it on my bathroom mirror and referenced it often in those first months. (It's not fancy, but it has a bunch of fear-busting scriptures all on one sheet if you want something to print and hang up in your house today.)

5. Pray. I think this one scripture sums up this whole point: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6-7

Have you ever had a "hits too close to home" incident? Share with me in the comments? And maybe, consider sharing this with the law enforcement wives you know with a note that you are praying for them and their families?

By Grace, 

Amanda Conquers

Sharing in this beautiful community of storytellers:

38 Ways to Build a Marriage

Last week, my husband and I celebrated eleven years of marriage.

It simultaneously feels like yesterday and a whole lifetime ago that two barely-adults promised their unknown futures to one another. In that span, it's felt like I've learned both a lifetime worth of lessons and still have so much to learn.

I am not perfect. And neither is my marriage. But we have been so richly blessed by the wisdom others have sown into our marriage. We've listened to the advice of those who have gone before us and have been able to avoid many pitfalls. So. I am going to share the pieces of wisdom I can gather from 11 years at this married thing. I haven't arrived yet. But maybe I can help those trekking behind me.

Before You Wed (On Expectations):

1. You aren't marrying yourself. No, really. Your spouse is not a male version of you. He doesn’t think like you, respond to difficulty like you, or likely put shoes in the right spot like you.

2. Pre-marital counseling might just be the very best thing you do for your marriage. (I am sure there are many great options out there, but here's one workbook I can recommend: Preparing for Marriage)

3. Identify as many expectations as you and your future husband have before you get married. All the things: from whether Lucky Charms is a legitimate breakfast choice to where you spend holidays to who scrubs the toilet to how you raise your kids.

4. Neither one of you will meet the other’s expectations of what being married is like. How you handle this will determine what your newly-wedded beginning will be like.

5. And on that note: expectations can kill relationships.

On Communication:

6. It’s not that you shouldn’t have expectations; it’s that you should get in the practice of clearly communicating them and readily adjusting them.

7. Find out his love language. Learn to speak it.

8. Find out your love language. Learn to help him speak it.

9. Listen for all the ways he communicates his love for you. Love isn’t always expressed in thoughtful declarations, flowers or expensive gifts. Sometimes it’s spoken in long work hours, emptied trash cans, and in Target lines holding a box of tampons.

10. Don't ask or expect him to read your mind. It might seem infinitely easier than learning to express your own mind and desires (that maybe you don't even know yourself), but it's just not a reasonable request. He can't do it.

11. You will grow in different ways, at different times. You will rarely be on the same page.

12. Communication might be less about "getting on the same page" and more about "reading the page" the other one is on.

On Sex:

13. Savor your days as newlyweds. Savor the new love, your younger bodies, the clumsy love-making, and the empty spaces of your home. Don’t be in such a rush to the next phase that you miss the opportunity of this one.

14. Make love often. Unless there is some kind of legitimate medical reason to abstain, set a bare minimum while you are young and everything is new, and do not ever let yourselves go longer than that minimum. I have no idea if this, ahem, gets adjusted in old age, but I know (KNOW) the busy years with small children and headaches and a million things to do is NOT that time. This is the number one way you stay on the offensive against Satan who seeks to divide you.

15. I’m saying it again because it’s important: Love-making is for procreation. It’s for pleasure. And it’s also where you fight FOR your marriage.  

16. Your marriage bed is sacred and the one place God has set apart as holy to be wholly naked. Protect one another by keeping it sacred (and not telling your friends all the things.)

17. Sacred space is important for every relationship. The giant redwood tree can be slowly killed by tourists who trample the roots when they get up close to the tree. So it is with marriage. Have inside jokes that no one is in on. Keep your favorite part of your lover’s body as a secret for the two of you. And for the love, don’t share every moment on social media. Keep some memories just for yourselves. 

18. Spend less time critiquing your body, and more time attempting to see it as your husband sees it. If he tells you that you are sexy, believe him.

On Conflict:

19. Compromise is rarely equal. It doesn't often look like a melding of two opinions. It's learning when to fight, when to let go, and how to trust even when you don't agree.

20. Know this: God's faithfulness to your family doesn't depend on you having your way--even if you are certain you are right. 

21. The first time you get so hurt you aren’t sure how to forgive, that is when you make the call for counseling. 

22. You can’t take back your words. Not everything needs to be talked out right away. Sometimes it is better to give yourself (or your spouse) a few hours or a full day to let the emotions cool and think through exactly why you are so upset before you have the conversation.

23. Should you ever feel wronged by your husband, your family is not who you talk to about it.

On In-laws, family, and friendships:

24. Kids don’t make you a family, you are a family from the moment you vow yourselves to each other.

25. Understanding that you are a family from the moment you wed helps you understand that your marriage is the crux of your family life. It has been there before there were kids, and it will be there after the kids are gone. And it will be there whether the Lord blesses you with children or not. Investing in your marriage is investing in your family. Choosing your marriage is choosing your family. 

26. Should conflict or offense arise with your in-laws, allow your husband to be the one to resolve it. If conflicts arise between your husband and his in-laws, you be the one to resolve it.

27. Make a point to evenly divide family holidays between your in-laws and parents to the best of your ability. Don’t be afraid to set aside time for your own family traditions (even before kids). 

28. Establish some kind of regular routine with your in-laws. (Maybe it’s dinner once a month, a weekly phone call...)

29. “Couple friends” are much more rare than it might seem, and maybe even a bit over-rated. Nevertheless, don’t stop investing in friendships.

On Everyday Life:

30. Laugh. A lot. And don't take yourselves too seriously. Laugh through the romantic fails, the burned dinners, and the times you are left clueless at how to parent your child's most recent tantrum. Lighten your loads and the all the trying-so-hard to be a good wife/husband/parent with laughter.

31. Rejoice in the lifetime you have to “figure it out.” Take the pressure off one another having to be great from the beginning.

32. His inability to put his shoes (or dirty laundry or dirty dishes...) where they go is not an accurate measure of his love and respect for you.

33. Part of a God-glorifying relationship looks like trusting God to do the work in your spouse’s heart...in God's own good timing.

34. Make a habit of praying with each other.

35. Make a habit of praying for him. And don't undermine this humble little point. Pray for him daily.

36. No two people break the same. No two people grieve the same. When and if you face some kind of hardship or major change, give one another the gift of room to be affected differently.

37. More than he needs you to be right, he needs to know you have his back whether he succeeds or fails. 

38. Maybe you know that on your wedding day you're taking a giant leap of faith--promising to face the rest of your uncertain futures together. But marriage isn't one leap of faith you make that first day, it's a daily leap of faith--a daily re-falling in love. You have to join hands and jump into so many uncertain futures--job losses, set backs, adventures, becoming parents, moves, promotions, parenting two year olds and teenagers, illnesses, retirement, and all the ways life can change a person.

Which number resonates with you the most? Do you have anything to add to my list? Let me know in the comments!

***These are all little pieces of wisdom I have gleaned in 11 years from my imperfect, but most-often healthy marriage. These are not meant for counseling. If you are in an abusive relationship or facing a difficult storm in your marriage, please consider seeking help from a certified counselor.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Not Another Election Post {Or When and How to Make a Stand}

My pastor preached a message a few months back that I keep recalling through this messy election season. He was preaching from the Beatitudes. Specifically on the meek.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” Matthew 5:5

If I am honest, meek is not something I have ever striven to be. It just sounds like, well, a bummer. (Is this just me?)

In many Bible translations, the word meek is used interchangeably with humble and gentle. Track with me for a minute, because I think if we can understand gentleness and humility, we can understand what it means to be meek. {And why we might want to grow in this area}.

Gentleness implies a healthy self-awareness. It’s knowing our own strengths and weaknesses and mindfully stewarding them around others. Gentleness doesn’t mean we are without cracks and sharp edges; it means that we know how to keep our edges out of the skin of others.

Humility implies a healthy self-forgetfulness. It’s not thinking of ourselves too often, and when we do think of ourselves, it’s in the light of the greatness of God. It’s not just an awareness of our smallness and God’s greatness, it’s also rightly putting ourselves in the grand scheme of God’s love and plan for all.

Between God’s love and our brokenness, here’s what the gentle-humble meek know: “If left to ourselves, we would break far more than we would repair.”***

Deep down, in spite of all the ways we try to cover up our propensity to break things, we know we do.

We know how clumsy we can be with our words and our actions—how often our foot finds its way into our mouth. We’ve seen our frustration bubble up and out in loud, angry words at the ones we love most. We’ve sat practically stuttering when our friend carries her heavy burden of unimaginable loss—remaining silent when we wanted to say something or thinking what we did say sounded hollow. We’ve watched our compliments get carried forward on the backside or our hand in spite of all our best intentions. We’ve cringed over the posts that we offered up too hastily that offended deeply.

For all our best intentions—our desires to be a good mom, wife, friend, and disciple-maker—we are capable of so much breaking.

We often think of meekness as looking rather like weakness. But here’s the thing: our weaknesses draw us to God’s side. It’s meekness when we choose to stay there.

The meek are keenly aware of their need for God.

I’ve been thinking on this through the current election season. You guys, the church has been downright nasty. The cutting remarks. The touting opinions like facts. The declaring shame on all who would vote differently. The way everyone seems to have something to say, but no one is really listening. 

I have seen division and ranting and debating and excusing away terrible behavior and proclamations of who beyond a shadow of a doubt would be the lesser of two evils… all in the name of Christianity and restoring God to our nation? We've spoken death to one another in the name of being pro-life?

And I just wonder if we, the ones professing Christ, need to get back to our basics, to the sermon Jesus preached when He laid out the foundation of His kingdom? And, guys? How can we claim to be a part of God’s kingdom, if we aren’t living like a citizen of it?

 Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are the gentle. Blessed are the humble. Blessed are those who realize the surpassing greatness and sovereignty of God. Blessed are those who pray first and last and always. Blessed are those who know how capable they are of breaking others. Blessed are those who walk and talk slowly. Blessed are those who listen. Blessed are those who live recognizing their need to have God WITH them every single step, with every single word.

Because it’s the slowed-down ones, the looking-for-God ones, the relying-on-God ones, the gentle and the humble ones, on whom He has bestowed the earth.

I mean, think on this: We are worried about the state of our world and the state of this country. But God doesn't promise it to the reckless and impassioned ranters. God promises it to the meek.

The meek carry the world on their prayers. The meek change the atmosphere of a world in tumult. And God gives the world as an inheritance to the meek.

Do you want to see God in this country? Do you want to see God in your everyday life?

Slow down. Pray without ceasing. Re-estimate the greatness of God. Realize we are broken people and our wholeness is found when we lean on God. This isn't necessarily a call to be quiet. It's a call to live and speak by the Spirit.

“For you were called to freedom, brethren; only do not turn your freedom into an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole Law is fulfilled in one word, in the statement, ‘YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF.’ But if you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another…

"If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit.” Galatians 5:13-15, 25

What do you think? {I’d love to hear your thoughts on this, and my hope is that this would be a safe place to practically talk through this.} What has been your own process for filtering your strongly-held beliefs, opinions and thoughts through social media during this election? 

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

***I am quoting my pastor from his sermon. You can listen to the whole sermon HERE. (And it covers poor in spirit and those who mourn also, and it’s really good. Scroll down the menu to Beatitudes Part 1)

Where We Find Peace After Loss

Addy was lying in her bed waiting for me to pray over her. She was looking at the wall like she could see right through it. I knew there was a storm brewing in that eight-year-old brain of hers. She was about to broach one of the tough topics of faith.

“Mom, I feel like God doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t answer my prayers.”

Tears were welling up in her eyes. Bless her heart, she came deeply sensitive, just like her mama.

“I just miss Gramps real bad, and God didn’t bring him back to the earth like I asked Him to.”

Though taken back, my first instinct was to tell her how death is hard, but how when we put our hope in Jesus, death isn’t the end.

But that isn’t what she wanted to hear.

I know, Mom. That’s not what I’m talking about.

I asked God to bring Gramps back, but He didn’t.

She was really wanting to know why God doesn’t answer our prayers, why bad things happen, why God lets us go on living with gaping voids across our broken hearts.  

And really, the truth is, I still grapple with those questions. Even though I can recite Bible verses and state Biblical theology on why bad things happen, understanding loss is a bit like hugging a sumo wrestler. I just can’t get my arms all the way around it.

I sat on Addy’s bed and paused. I knew this was one of the big moments of motherhood—one I didn’t feel prepared enough or wise enough for. I took a deep breath and uttered a silent prayer: Lord, you have to be here. Please give me the words I don’t have.

While praying, I knew it was time to tell Addy my story. I had avoided this conversation. Partially because I wasn’t sure my girl was ready to hear it. But also because I wasn’t sure I was ready to share it—I certainly hadn’t felt ready to live it.

Addy knew I had miscarriages—one happened after the family pregnancy announcement—but I’d always been vague about the exact number. Four before Sam, one before you. But I just knew in my mother-heart, she needed to hear my story that night. And it was okay to tell her now of the pain and the struggle to trust God. It was okay to tell her how sometimes I still ache for the five I will never know here on earth.

She began to cry. We both did.

It felt like sharing unresolved faith. But I realized, isn’t all faith unresolved this side of heaven? Don’t we now only see in part, know in part? And isn’t faith believing in what we haven’t yet seen, and don’t yet fully understand? Isn’t faith holding tightly to the hope we have in the power of the cross to transform us and the hope we have of one day reaching Home?

During our conversation, words tumbled out before my brain could catch up: “Addy, I wouldn’t for all the world go back and change what happened because it would mean you and Sam wouldn’t be here. I don’t know why I lost those babies. But I do know God has been good, and those babies are safe in heaven.”

It seemed strange to hear those words formed by my own mouth. I remember how just two years ago I was so angry at God. I remember the struggle to trust Him. I remember wanting to take the whole lot of it and tie up my tubes so I could never ever lose again—maybe I desired another baby, but I desired control too.

And yet as those wouldn’t-change-a-thing words came out of my mouth, I knew I was speaking the truth.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

I reminded Addy how we prayed for Sam. Our whole family prayed for him and hoped for him and believed for him. Maybe the road of Sam’s arrival was marked with pain, but he came. And his presence has been all the sweeter for it.

It was in the aftermath of loss that I learned how to trust my Savior. I learned how to wrestle and how to hold on to hope like it was the rope that could save my life. I can say without the slightest twinge in my heart, for there is no lie in it: Jesus is my friend. I have walked with Him through storms. And we have made it through.

At the end of my conversation with Addy, I brought up a trip we had taken to the snow that past winter. I reminded Addy how I had told her to wear her thickest socks and to pack changes of socks. I told her a few times. Even though it was her first trip to the snow, she thought she knew better than me and ignored me. Ten minutes into snow play, her one pair of Hello Kitty socks were wet, her toes were frozen, and she knew that her mama had known better than she did. Addy thought her imagination and limited knowledge of snow could trump her mother’s actual experience with snow.

God is like that. He knows so much more than us. He knows our hearts, our deep-down deepest desires. He knows the future. He hears our prayers. And He answers. It’s just that He knows so much better than us.

He knows so much better than us for He holds an eternal perspective. Beyond my imaginings of eternity and all that I have ever read about it, God actually knows what it is actually like.

And in eternity, five souls—whose fleshly bodies my arms ache to hold, my eyes long to look upon—reside safe in the Father’s arms. There is hope and peace in that.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

PS If you are facing down a loss, particularly a miscarriage, dear heart, I am so sorry. I want you to know I pray for you and you are not alone. You can find my story HERE and maybe even find permission to grieve and the strength to hold onto hope.

PPS If you know someone who might need to read this, maybe I could humbly suggest sharing this with them?

Sharing in this beautiful community of story tellers.

When You Are Raising Both Big Kids and Little Kids

I’d forgotten what it’s like to have a toddler.

The generous ear-to-ear smiles. The fearless climbing. The insatiable curiosity.

I’d forgotten the surprise of discovering as a first-time mom that one human could need so much of my attention, so much of my time. I remember back to when Addy was a newborn and I felt like a zombie; I thought surely it was right here and now that mothering would be the most difficult and demand the most energy…  and then my baby started walking (and climbing and crashing and falling and stopping my heart right in my chest no less than ten times a day.)

I forgot the way life can feel so abundantly full, the gifts stacked right up: the bright blue eyes beneath long blonde lashes, the rough and tumble boy bouncing on his daddy’s back, the stopping in the middle of mom’s hurry to awe at open-close butterfly wings—the way the world gets bigger and smaller, faster and slower all at once when you get to re-see wonder through a toddler’s eyes.

I forgot the way life can feel so empty, the energy always lacking: the spills you couldn’t prevent, the messes that get made while you clean a different mess, the raw sinful defiance not yet tamed, the places you don’t go because you don’t see the point visiting a friend just to let her watch you chase a baby and shush his screams.

These are the days I once wrote of—the days of tied up feet, of walking slowly, of little done yet much accomplished in the unseen places of mine and my children’s selfish hearts.

There’s something so wonderful—so gracious—about being able to go back and do it all over again. I know what matters, and I know what doesn’t. I don’t need the random lady in the grocery store reminding me how fast it goes by (I think I’ve become that lady). I know. I have two elementary-aged kids. One who I think I might as well say it: I can’t carry anymore. I know that might sound silly, but I’m crying over it, because this part of me wishes my girl still needed me like that.

I am living this time around slower, less hurried. I know I am drained, but I am not anticipating the dawning of the next season where I will get more sleep. I know it will come. I want to live here now while I can.

There’s also something difficult about having kids spanned across different seasons of motherhood. I guess because Jed came right as Addy exited diapers, the different demands of mothering the two of them have always seemed to blend together. But Sam is different.

So now I have kids in sports. Kids with friends. Kids who can pretty well pour their own cereal on Saturday mornings. Kids who can take their own baths, do chores, and play independently. It’s a different season of motherhood.   

Only now I also have a toddler. So the demands of motherhood have changed with my other two, and yet I am pulled back. I am straddling two very different seasons of motherhood.

I feel stretched in two directions. One where I should be able to do more: taxi kids and tackle house projects and write during the moments of their growing independence. But I am chasing a toddler and forever cleaning the trail of crushed goldfish behind him.

In this stretch, I am finding that I have to re-surrender my life and my dreams. I am remembering that my no’s are even more valuable that my yes’s. My biggest and best and sometimes hardest yes is to love behind the curtain of our home—the unseen, un-thanked places of sweeping cheerios, singing silly songs, and cutting up nuggets for littles hands and few teeth.

I am learning to keep my eyes on what God has given me and not what God has given to, say, my friends who have kids the same age as my oldest. We are all different. We all have different capacities and different calls to live out. Some of us are done with the toddler stage… and some of us, well, aren’t.

A friend of mine shared a verse a few weeks back in a different version so that the verse so stood out and sorta broke my heart in the best way. “Know the importance of the season you’re in, and a wise son you will be. But what a waste when an incompetent son sleeps through his day of opportunity” Proverbs 10:5 (Passion Translation).

It is here right now that I have the opportunity to carry Sam, sing him songs, dice his food into tiny pieces, gently guard his safety, and enjoy his almost full dependence on me (along with those glimmers of defiant independence). It is here right now that I can have conversations with my older kids, answer their deep questions, hold their hands and cuddle up in their beds. I can watch them play and find their interests and imagine big. And though the needs from me seem great and spread wide, this is the one season I am living in. This is my day of opportunity. And by the grace of God, let me not waste it.

I want to live here and now, ever leaning on my Savior.

A Prayer: Lord God, I lift up all the tired mamas, the spread-thin mamas, the feeling-not-enough mamas. I thank You that You don't ask us to be strong, but rather grant us to fully rely on Your strength. Lord, would You bring rest and and encouragement to us? Would You give us the wisdom to recognize the season we are living in? Would You spur us onward, to seize this day of opportunity, to love those entrusted to us well? Would You help us to surrender our lives and dreams to You? We want to relentlessly follow after You and to point You out to our children. Lord, may we be the mamas who diligently raise up a generation that would praise Your name. We long to glorify You. And we desperately need You. You are our only Hope. {Amen.}

I'd love to hear from you! What are the ages of your kids? What are the "opportunities" you have been given in this season of motherhood? Let me know in the comments. 

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Super excited to be able to join in this beautiful community of storytellers after a long break.

7 Ways to Be Encouraged If You Are a Newbie Homeschooler

Recently, it seems I am meeting more and more people who are making a switch to homeschooling.  I recognize that dear-in-headlights look on their face and that what-am-I-getting-myself-into tremor in their voices.

I didn’t plan on being a homeschooler. But it is where God has led my family and has kept us thus far. I had in my head that I would just homeschool through second grade and send my kids on to public school, but here I am with my oldest starting third grade and my middle child starting kindergarten. And in spite of rocky beginnings, I enjoy homeschooling and have become passionate about it.

Anyways, since my brain is on homeschooling and I seem to have many friends just starting on this journey, I thought I would offer up the wisdom I have gained thus far in homeschooling. I hope it encourages you if you are just starting out. (Note: this isn’t my regular blog content. I have no plans on being a homeschooling blogger. But I am a writer who homeschools, and it's encouraging, so it sorta fits. Right? ;) Also, guys, I have a few posts written. {!!} I know! I am so excited to be writing again.)

1. No, you didn’t come with enough patience for it.

Signing up to homeschool is like signing up to always feel like you are coming up short: short on patience, short on time, short on energy. It’s almost like by homeschooling, you are choosing to be keenly aware of your need for Jesus’ grace every.single.day. But the thing is, we always DO need Jesus’ grace, and if you can see all the ways you are falling short as the places where you get to lean on your Savior, you and your kids will grow. I don’t know a single homeschooling mom that feels like she has enough patience to be a homeschooler, but I can promise you, by the end of the school year, you will assuredly have grown in patience.

2. Write a Homeschooling Manifesto. 

Regardless if you are the mom who is super excited or completely terrified to start homeschooling, at some point in the journey it will get difficult. There will be attitudes, there might be tears, and the days will feel simultaneously long and not long enough. Your house will get messy. You might even kick into survival mode, lose all the passion you started with, and find yourself ridiculously jealous of every single mom across America who can drop her kids off for a few hours. When you get to that place, it helps to remember why you started in the first place. Why are you homeschooling? Why does homeschooling seem like the best option for you and your child? I made a list of all my reasons before I started some four years ago. I still pull my list out about 2-3 times a year when I find myself extra weary. My reasons have inspired me to rethink our days and shove off some of the have-to’s in favor of the get-to’s. I am having Addy write her own reasons she likes homeschooling this year so I have her reasons to inspire me as well. 

3. Find people

Join a co-op. Create a monthly homeschooling moms’ dessert night. Participate in learning-center or charter-school enrichment classes. Find support from fellow homeschoolers. There is absolutely no need to join a homeschooling island where everyone who doesn’t homeschool is banned from your life. (Don’t do that.) But it is really good for both you and your kids to find the people whose lives look similar so that you can learn from one another, know you aren’t alone, take field trips and do projects together, and make the most out of homeschooling.   

4. Homeschooling will not look like traditional school.

You can’t make homeschooling look like traditional school, because it’s not. What works in a classroom won’t always work in your home. Your child will end up with different memories of school than kids in traditional school—not bad different; just different. In homeschooling, the lines between education and home blur and your home will become a learning environment even outside structured learning time. You won’t be both mom and teacher—juggling between the two roles. It’s that now mom means teacher also (and I would argue mom has meant teacher all along). You don’t need to stress about the lack of a “classroom” or how you would really rather not have educational posters in your dining room or how you have no clue how to stretch out your school time to six hours or if you should stand in front of a white board and teach. (And by the way, all of those things are possible, but certainly not necessary.)

5. Pick a curriculum that gets you and your kids excited about homeschool.

Um. Have you looked into curriculum yet? There are SOOOO many options. And it’s completely overwhelming that first year. It’s a great idea to check out the vendor tables at a homeschooling conference or ask a seasoned homeschooler if you can visit her house and see what she uses. But really, since you are the teacher and your child is the student, choose for the both of you. Pick the one that jumps out at you and looks like fun.

And one more bonus tip: If at all possible, try to get a full-grade package curriculum for your first year (meaning it has all the subjects all included). You certainly don’t have to, it’s just that the first year is overwhelming, and the number of curriculum options is daunting. Every year, you will feel more confident and will likely start to branch out into what fits you and your child best. But do yourself a favor that first year, keep it simple. (If you need a place to start: Sonlight, Bookshark, My Father’s World, and Bob Jones University Press. These all have full-grade packages that I or my closest friends have used and loved.)  

6. You aren’t deciding your whole life. You are deciding one year at a time.

When I first thought of homeschooling, I wanted to look way off down into the future, like I was deciding my whole life from when my oldest started kindergarten till my youngest graduated high school. And it was daunting. Can I gently submit this: it’s not only hard to look out that far ahead, it’s also presumptuous of us to pretend to know what God wants us to do ten years from now. Most schools and curricula work on a school-calendar- year span… treat this decision as a year decision and come back to it every year in the spring. You aren’t deciding your child’s whole life. You are deciding this year.

7. Here is what you say to everyone who asks you, “What about socialization?”

“You’re right. Somehow between the co-op classes, the enrichment classes, AWANA club on Wednesday nights, Sunday school, our community group, soccer team, karate, playing with neighbors, and spending time with family and friends, I forgot to take socialization into consideration.” Okay. Maybe don’t say that. I’m being snarky. But you get the idea. You will hear this. A lot. You might even feel worried about it yourself. Let this encourage you. You don’t have to live or homeschool on an island. Simply stay connected.

I’d love to hear from you! Is this your first year? Let me know so I can remember you in prayer. Or are you a seasoned homeschooler with anything to add to my list?

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

How to Host a Stranger

Her name was Mariam. And everything she had in this world fit into my minivan. Two little girls—three years old and eighteen months. Four suitcases—only two with working handles and none with working wheels. A few bags of diapers, lots of basmati rice, and a stroller.

Maybe it was because I had brought my Sam and my mom with me, but she must have felt safe enough to get in the van. After all, we were all just mothers and children in there. She even let me put the girls into donated car seats—they had never in their life been in a car seat. And let’s not talk about whether or not they had ridden in cars, mmm-kay?

As we drove, I listened to Mariam try to calm the screaming one—three, thick black hair and wide bangs, and so much life. She gave candies to keep the peace—apparently Afghan moms aren’t above bribing either.

The eighteen month old had curls that lifted away from her head right above her ears and big almond eyes, a dark-haired baby doll if I ever saw one. She made loud noises as she tried to wiggle free of the seatbelt harnesses. My Sam returned her grunts and yells with his own mimicked sounds.  I laughed at the seeming communication. We all start out speaking the same language of hunger and need. 

When the car hit the mountain pass, I thought of how crazy this must be for her. I was transporting her entire life to somewhere she had never been. She had no choice but to trust me. She didn’t fully understand where we were going or what was going on—how her spot at the shelter needed to be filled by another broken mother, how her case was being transferred to another non-profit, how the funds got delayed so she had nowhere ready for her, how people had scrambled to make a temporary place for her, how she had to spend the day in my home before going to another home that evening. 

Her husband had created an impossibly high wall of American bureaucracy when he abandoned his refugee wife and children and took all their documents with him. Did he know when he walked away—daughter screaming for him to come back—that he had taken with him the legs they might stand weeping upon too?

We got to my house at noon. I opened my fridge door and stood there awkwardly wondering what I could prepare for lunch. I picked up the box of lunchmeat—ham. The other box—ham. The one thing I vaguely remembered about Moslems—they don’t eat pig. I found a can of chicken in the pantry and threw together a chicken salad sandwich. I was determined to be a decent hostess (I was also starving). Mariam gently asked if she could whip up some over-easy eggs instead. Perhaps, eggs were the one thing that looked familiar in my American kitchen.

Later that afternoon, we were sitting on the living room floor, Barney entertaining her girls. I probably misspoke when I asked if she had family here. I don’t know a thing about Afghan culture.

Her sentences came out broken and all the harsh American “’a’ as in a-a-apple” sounds were softened to the schwa—“Ә”—like the last “a” in Amanda.

“No. No fuh-mily. Husbund leave.” Tears pooled in her brown eyes. I now know that a husband gone, no matter who is right or wrong, is shame and estrangement.

“Husbund leave. Farah cry, ‘Stay, please stay!’ Farah, cry, cry, cry. Husbund leave me, Farah. Maliha, only baby; nine months, like you baby.” She pointed at Sam. A few tears escaped from where they’d pooled in her eyes.

“Husbund… papers.” She made a shredding gesture as she said this. “Husband no call. No call. Nine months. No green card. No medicul. No food.” Mariam was distraught. I saw in her a desperate mother, a desperate woman, weary from the battle of survival.  I saw the pain of abandonment. I saw the worry and the fears—and while I would never compare my struggles to hers, I recognized something in her—something I have in my own self.

I grabbed her hand into mine. I am not a very touchy person, but compassion can move beyond language barriers and a simple touch can speak louder than any words ever could.

“You are safe here. We will take care of you. It will be okay, Mariam. You are safe.” I squeezed her hand and looked her right in the eyes. I said the word one more time because it really is the deepest longing of our mother hearts for our children. It’s the deepest longing of our own hearts—for deep down in us is this place that forgets the age we actually are because it goes right on feeling forever young—forever small and childlike and in need of care.

“Safe.” 

You are safe here. We won’t abandon you, because He will never abandon you.

When I had tucked my kids into bed the night before, I told them that we were going to be missionaries. They were so excited. They asked what a missionary was. I told them a missionary was someone who shows people who don’t know it yet the greatness of God’s love for them.

So the next day, while Mariam napped with Maliha in our big comfy chair, Addy and Jed built a blanket fort for Farah. They ran and laughed and tried to coax Farah into the fort. In the midst of this, Jed grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear, “Am I doing it, Mom? Am I being a missionary?”

“Yes, baby. You are doing it just right.” Sometimes, sharing the love of Christ looks like ordinary acts sprinkled right through with the gold magic of God’s love. As mothers, our big job and high calling is sharing that love story with the little people being raised up under our roofs. It might look everyday ordinary until that one moment when your child looks up at you and asks the deep question, and you see the magic that’s been there all along.

Last week, I discovered that showing the love of Christ to strangers—my kids right there with me—is the same thing as showing the love of Christ to my kids.

When I dropped Mariam off at the host family’s house, she hugged me touching her cheek to my cheek and kissing. I smiled and said, “Friend.” She smiled back and said, “Sister.”

“Yes.” Clumsy and American and a fridge full of ham, but I welcomed her anyways and she called me sister.

The thing I have known about missions since I was twenty-one and interning at a missions base, it’s not just about how you could bring the gospel to someone, how their life needs changing. No, that’s the thing about the gospel. For whoever would carry that timeless gospel message will find herself changed as well.

“’For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.’ “Then the righteous will answer Him, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry, and feed You, or thirsty, and give You something to drink? ‘And when did we see You a stranger, and invite You in, or naked, and clothe You? ‘When did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ “The King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me’.” -Matthew 25:35-40

I’d love to hear your stories too, have you ever welcomed a stranger into your home?

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

**all names have been changed to protect those involved.**

P.S. Remember Mariam and her two girls in your prayers as they start all over again in a new city this weekend?

P.P.S. All I did to get involved was make a simple phone call a few months back to ask my local World Relief office what I could do to help with the refugee crisis. World Relief is a Christian non-profit that partners with the local church to establish incoming refugees here and show them the love of Christ. You can check to see if you have one close to you here--->WorldRelief.org/us-offices

This post is in no way endorsed by World Relief, though I did ask permission before publishing.


Sharing in this beautiful community of storytellers.