Merry Christmas from our little family to you! And yes, that is a second baby in our family photo, a baby that may be a surprise to you if you follow me only on my blog and are not an in-person acquaintance. That’s Theodore Jonas Kinsinger, the reason for my long silence here. He was born November 7, at 4 lbs 3 oz, 16 in long, and almost 8 weeks early. Teddy will be seven weeks old tomorrow, but I tend to forget that and remember instead that he was 39 weeks gestation this past Sunday and we are almost…ALMOST…to his projected due date on December 31st.

He is doing well and growing nicely, thank you for asking.

Sometime soon I will tell a more complete story of his birth and share pictures, but for now, I want to share the Christmas article I wrote for Anabaptist World, in which I tell part of the story and–from the perspective of a mother who’s just given birth to a son–reflect on what Mary must have felt those long years ago.

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Following a grueling trek across the country, by donkey or by foot, Mary gave birth.

Following a grueling trek across the country by airplane and by car, I also gave birth. Theodore arrived almost eight weeks prior to his due date and—though the circumstances surrounding my labor were different than Mary’s—our son’s birth was in its own way unexpected, traumatic, and miraculous.

We had just returned from an early November visit to my parents five states away. At breakfast time the following morning, I started timing regular contractions. By the time we gathered a few things together, dropped our toddler daughter off with a sitter, and arrived at the hospital’s OB department, I was doubled over in strong labor.

Teddy had decided not to wait for his scheduled arrival date. He was coming and coming now.

Through IV, doctors gave me magnesium to slow the contractions and steroids to strengthen his lungs. The steroids needed six hours to be fully effective—and my labor would never delay that long—but maybe the magnesium would buy us a couple of hours, the doctor said. 

Many people prayed, and by the grace of a gift-giving God, Teddy waited not two just hours, but seven to make his appearance.

From birth he needed only minimal assistance with breathing and was weaned from his c-pap completely several days later.  In the next two weeks, he passed through miles of development, moving from an incubator to a crib and learning to coordinate sucking and swallowing. Just before he hit 35 weeks gestation, Teddy’s doctors released him to come home.

Now he is here with us, and I am amazed to see this tiny person, who should still be floating in amniotic fluid in the safety of my womb, doing all the things a baby must do to live in the great world.

I had thought he would be a Christmas baby. I had looked forward to waiting through the quiet days of Advent for him to arrive, thinking—as Mary must have thought—contemplative thoughts about nurturing and motherhood.

God never gave me that chance.

Like all the best gifts he has given me, he gave Teddy in an unexpected way at an unexpected time and, for good measure, double wrapped the package with a season of stretching and growth. For two and a half weeks, Ivan and I scrambled and stretched to meet the needs of our two babies—a two-year-old and a newborn—in two different places an hour apart. There were hours spent rushing between hospital and home, interrupted nights in a busy hospital, the agony of our little family separated, our daughter missing her mom.

But along with his hard gifts, God gave grace.

And I wonder…those quiet days of Mary’s waiting were maybe a myth in my head. Mary’s pregnancy and delivery also were nothing like what she must have expected and hoped for.

Pregnancy carried her through tremendous stress, through ostracism from loved ones. The circumstances of her son’s birth were less than ideal. Did she have an experienced midwife to coach her, or did she push out her baby with only her husband—who had never seen a birth in his life—to help her? Whatever the case, she must have concentrated—like me—on nothing but her baby, straining every muscle to deliver him safely into the world. And like me—after he came out red and squalling, after she felt his chest warm against hers—she must have loved him.

Did she realize she would love him deeply, love him always, respect him as a man-to-be—not because he was Messiah, but because he was her son?

To hold God, to hold a human baby…what does it matter? To a mother, both are miraculous.

To see the tiny mouth open, expectant, like a bird. To feel the first sharp nibbles on a breast and to know that this tiny baby somehow knows that you are his mother and knows where and how to get his milk. We both experienced this miracle, Mary in her first century stable, I on the seventh floor of a twenty-first century hospital.

Mary’s gift, like mine, was double wrapped. She knew the miracle of holding her baby, of holding Messiah. Later she felt the piercing of a sword to her heart at what her child must endure. She would gladly have died for him, would have preferred it that way. Instead, he died for her. I think there is nothing in the world that could break a mother’s heart like that.

Maybe God’s best gifts are always unexpected, always miraculous, always traumatic. Even the gift of a son to his mother.

The post Christmas Babies and Double-Wrapped Gifts appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

This article was first published in Anabaptist World as a part of my regular column.

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When I moved to Oakland, Maryland, after my marriage, I immediately felt at home. The people were warm and inclusive, curious and friendly. I loved to see the Amish and Mennonites mix with each other and with the rest of the local community at a level of interaction and openness I hadn’t experienced among other conservative Anabaptists. Oakland, with its prosperous farms and productive country people, seemed haloed by an idyllic charm. I was proud to call it home.

I am still proud to call this community home. But recently, I learned something about a local Anabaptist—someone I respected and even admired—that deeply disappointed me. Now I grapple with a feeling of disillusionment.

I dealt with similar feelings of disillusionment when it came out that Christian Aid Ministries had badly mishandled sexual abuse against Haitian schoolboys, abuse that could have been prevented. CAM had represented to me everything that was best of conservative Anabaptists—generosity, practicality, integrity, a commitment to spreading the gospel.

My disappointment received a second taint more recently when a Mennonite who was supposedly smuggling Bibles to restricted countries was found to have cheated several Anabaptist ministries from millions of dollars smuggled into his own bank account.

And the late Ravi Zacharias, a Christian hero who blended logic and storytelling in a way that made Christianity both attractive and feasible to the demons of doubt that danced through my soul—this hero too was felled by a specter of sexual misconduct that reached back from his grave.

When stories such as these shock my vision like electric sparks, the world feels tarnished, unsecure. I wonder if all I’ve believed is a lie. The truths I’ve spoken of so glowingly—the redemption that is in Christ, the values of love and forgiveness held among conservative Anabaptists—if these people I trusted could commit sin of such magnitude, is there anyone to trust? Or is all that is in people and in the world failure and disillusionment and lies?

A verse rings in my mind. “The foundation of God standeth sure, having this seal, The Lord knoweth them that are his. And, Let every one that nameth the name of Christ depart from iniquity.” (2 Tim. 2:19 KJV)

We cannot see all things. The verse offers assurance that there is still a foundation of righteousness, and that God knows his people.

I look at my two-year-old daughter, her small pigtails bobbing beside her head, and wonder what I can give her in a world so tarnished. I can give her books, love, time, a country lifestyle, a childhood free of fear…but who am I kidding? I can’t really offer her freedom from fear. I can’t even protect her from evil, much as I would like to. The places I think of as safest have not always proved to be so.

When she grows older, she will find the same surprising end of star dreams that I have found, the same dirge to sparkling water and roses.

I think of what my own parents offered me. I can see their imperfections. I can see the imperfections and wrongs of the small church I grew up in—but still they bequeathed to me as best they knew how a bedrock of dependance on God. They offered me Jesus.

And it comes to my mind that in this world of uncertainty and disappointment, the best thing I can offer my daughter is Jesus. Not Mennonite-ism, or country life, or books, or church, or education…or any of the things I think of as good. I have seen failure in the values and people I counted on most deeply.

But Jesus.

Jesus opens a way to holiness. There is a sense where Jesus cannot fail because…how could he? He is beyond this life.

Do we then hold to a pipe dream?

If it is a pipe dream, it is a powerful one. A pipe dream that has changed people’s lives, brought healing and hope where desert once was. Albert Camus once said, “I would rather live my life as if there is a God and die to find out there isn’t, than live my life as if there isn’t and die to find out there is.”

This Christian hope seems at first glance flimsy, but the closer you walk to it, the more you bang your head, your hands against its rough-hewn walls, the sturdier it seems.

The Christian hope is a hope visualized though not yet seen. A hope that rings louder in our hearts—though the world may stench around us—when we gain private glimpses of God.

Wrong will be rectified. Redemption will come. Lift up your heads; it comes near.

***

Feature photo by MacKenzie Zimmerman.

The post Disillusionment or Hope? appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

In my life and relationships, I’ve struggled with knowing how to set good boundaries. It took me a long time even to realize I NEEDED boundaries. That’s why the following guest post by Sarah Martin resonated with me. Sarah writes a newsletter called Life Stuff where she explores topics of depth and beauty. The following post is Part 2 of her Boundary Benefit series. If you’re interested in reading Part 1, or in subscribing to her newsletter, shoot Sarah an email at livelovewriteit[at]gmail.com. I am one of Sarah’s recent subscribers and am very glad I signed up!

Sarah says some of the following thoughts come from the book Good Boundaries and Goodbyes by Lysa Terkeurst.

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Why are boundaries a good thing? 

It helped me to think about it this way: When I establish a relationship with someone, I am granting them access to my heart. But access requires responsibility. And if someone is not mature or respectful enough to be responsible and trustworthy with the access I give them to my heart, then they are not worthy of that access.

God operates in this way as well. His love is unconditional, but when sin entered the garden of Eden (because Adam and Eve crossed a boundary), access to God became restricted. In Isaiah 59:1,2 God says, “Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear. But your iniquities have separated you from your God: your sins have hidden his face from you…” (NIV)

Here’s another quote from Good Boundaries and Goodbyes:

“If people are constantly annoying us, frustrating us, exhausting us, or running all over us, chances are we either don’t have the right kind of people in our life or we don’t have the right kind of boundaries… Good boundaries bring relief to the grief of letting other people’s opinions, issues, desires, and agendas run our life.”

 So setting healthy boundaries is a kind thing to do, both for myself and for the other party. The other party might not understand the boundary at first—maybe not ever—but I know that if I don’t set it, I will come to resent them and the way they invade and take over my life. Although I can’t control their reactions when I set a boundary, my emotional health is something I can take control of by doing so.

But if we are here to serve and to love, isn’t it selfish to decide that we’ve had enough?

I’m not talking about totally cutting people out of our lives. Please don’t take this as permission to flee responsibility. But I am saying that there is a danger that we may be helping others for fulfillment, instead of serving from a place of fulfillment.

It helps me to think of it this way: If I overwhelm my schedule and over-commit myself emotionally, I lose the ability to love others well.

It might feel easier to go along with the other person’s expectations in order to keep peace, rather than dealing with the fallout of addressing the issues. And that may work for a while. But resentments will simmer and eat away at you until eventually, there will be an emotional explosion you’ll regret. When the anger and frustration gets the best of us, we are no longer living like Jesus would have us to.

We need to understand the areas where we can find this balance.

·       For example, you might decide that with a certain person, you will only talk face to face instead of messaging in order to remain emotionally balanced and in control of your own reactions.

·       With that person who repeatedly asks for help, instead of always catering to it all, you might give them one or two specific areas where you can help.

 ·       You might be able to have an honest conversation with that person who holds you responsible for their happiness, and kindly point out that you need to step back in the relationship.

Setting a boundary will not look the same for each person, nor be the same in each situation. The key is to prayerfully let your action be one of Spirit guidance and not of selfishness. 

Edward and I learned valuable lessons in spite of the hard situations we dealt with. But I see in looking back that had we established some good boundaries earlier, we could have avoided some of the despair, helplessness, and burnout.

What’s the difference between a healthy boundary and a selfish one? A Christian counselor named Jim Cress says:

“A good boundary is focused on what I do. Its motivation is self-control—I am responsible for my actions; I manage my behavior, and I take ownership for my actions. I focus on the things in my life that I can control.

A bad boundary is focused on what the other person does. It wants to punish or control the person who has hurt me. I want them to be different; I have to change their behavior; I’m owning the actions they choose. I’m hyper-focused on them and always negotiating and trying to motivate them to get them to do what I think they should. The relationship becomes no longer satisfying but rather a drain on my constantly frazzled emotions.”

So, let’s say you’ve put up the good boundary. You’ve kindly explained to the other person the areas where your relationship needs to change. You’ve tactfully said “no” to the demands that are draining your energy and emotional health.

Remember that you still need to heal. “Things are better” does not mean “things are healed.” Healing from a manipulative or abusive relationship takes time—maybe lots of time. It’s normal to recoil from close interaction or to feel hesitant about initiating conversations and activities with the person who has hurt you. That’s okay. Be kind to yourself as you recover.

But it’s good to have at least one other objective person that you can talk to and debrief with. Be honest with someone safe about your feelings. Ask them to assess your reactions and speak into your battered emotions. Reality can get distorted when we’re hurting. Sometimes we need someone else to tell us whether we’re still reacting or looking at situations in light of past negative history. Obviously, this will be a mature person who won’t just tell you what you want to hear.

But do give yourself space. No, this is not always a selfish concept borrowed from secular counselors. It’s a necessary thing. Think about a broken limb that is protected by a cast. Think of Jesus going away alone to pray and recharge before once more facing the crowds.

For example: One day, someone who had recently battered my emotional equilibrium wanted to use my washing machine to finish a load of laundry when hers had given out. (I tell this story with the individual’s permission.) My first reaction would have been, “No! Don’t come into my space.” But I didn’t feel right about a flat ‘no.’ So I said she could come.

However, I knew about what time she would be coming. I didn’t feel able to face her. It was afternoon, so I had to put my baby to bed for his nap. I used this as an excuse to stay upstairs until she left. But up in that bedroom, I fought an inward battle. Should I go down? Was I just hiding, trying to avoid the inevitable time to begin the healing that deep down, I longed for? Was this silly?

Later, when I thought it was safe, I sneaked downstairs, feeling a little sheepish—and found a bag of carrots on the table. I needed carrots. I took this as an affirmation from God that I had done the right thing. And that maybe the other person wanted to move toward reconciliation as well, and understood my actions.

So small, but I believe God uses little things like this to affirm us and keep us from getting discouraged.

Boundaries are not only a good thing, they are a God thing. “He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?” (KJV) That’s boundaries.

I still have much to learn about loving people well by setting good boundaries. I realize, too, that this concept can’t be explored exhaustively in two thousand words. I’d love to hear from you if you have questions or input. And if you need to put some boundaries in place, I pray you will have the strength to do it.

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Sarah describes herself as an ordinary wife and mom with an extraordinary God. She loves photography, old buildings, books, and light in all its forms. Sarah celebrates life by writing about moments of grace, lessons she’s learning from her seven children, and family escapades among the lakes, rocks, and trees of Bancroft, Ontario. Subscribe to her newsletter by emailing her at livelovewriteit[at]gmail.com.

***Feature photo at the top credited to Lois Friesen.

The post The Boundary Benefit appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

For me, the easiest way to give an update is to share photos. Below are a few of my favorites from summer 2023.

First, here’s Ivan and Annalise and me atop Backbone Mountain overlooking Pleasant Valley. In real life, you can pick out our farm in the valley below, but I doubt it’s identifiable in the photo. This photo was taken in July, and another thing that’s not easily identifiable in the photo is the fact that I was four months pregnant. In next year’s family picture, there will be four of us.

This summer I spent a lot of time driving back and forth to a chiropractor about an hour from our house, trying to fix a recurring back problem. (Still working on that.) Annalise often came with me, and we’d stop at a playground for twenty minutes or so, an-easy-to-offer pleasure that in her mind made the trip well worth it. In fact, usually when I ask her what she wants to tell God thank you for, she says, “Swings and slides.” Here she is crawling through a tunnel at one of the parks, her eyes like stars.

Picnics have created several more fun moments this summer, whether on a Sunday afternoon or in the field while Ivan was haying.

This impromptu tea party made Annalise so happy! Little girls don’t care if the cupboards are cluttered and Gatorade serves as tea. Tea parties are always the best.

Annalise and I took a trip to visit my parents and siblings this summer. And would you believe it, caught Grandpa Ted and Grandma Rose taking selfies on the bridge.

If you’ve read Anything But Simple, you might remember that Dad planted over a thousand apple trees going into “retirement.” Well, those trees produced bountifully this year, and my parents were kept busy picking for weeks. Just a couple of days ago, Mom said on the family chat that they’d finally picked the last apple of the season. For those of you who live near Sheldon, Wisconsin, they still have plenty left for sale!

Here’s a picture of Annalise with a dear Wisconsin friend. What I love about this picture–besides the fact that it features two of my favorite people–is the contrast between their hair and skin.

And below is one of my brothers with his little son. It makes me proud and happy to see him be a daddy, and rock it. This is the brother I wrote about in my very first post, many moons ago. I remember how scared and nervous and terrified I was to think of people actually reading that post. I was overjoyed when friends and acquaintances made positive comments about it.

Blogging has done a lot for me. It got me used to writing for an audience.

We enjoyed a Kinsinger family reunion this summer. Ultimate frisbee below.

We hiked with friends during the early changing of the leaves. They’ve far matured in their autumn colors by now.

And we’re only ten weeks from baby’s due date. Amazing! I am still chugging along full steam ahead–albeit with lots of puffing and groaning and naps now and then–trying to get creative writing curriculum at a good resting spot before baby arrives. I’ve pulled out some wee clothes–they’re so very tiny, aren’t they?–but have yet to get them into drawers or the baby room ready.

I think I’m glad God gives us nine months to prepare. I seem to need every week of mine–but no way would I want it to be longer.

In case any of you missed it, another momentous even occurred recently when Rosanna in the Middle–a children’s book based on my mom’s childhood–came out. You can read more details in last week’s blog post.

And that’s it for this update! Next week I’d like to share a guest post from a writer whose newsletter I recently subscribed to. She writes about boundaries, a subject near to my heart because I’ve had such a struggle with knowing what good boundaries are and how to set them.

Until then, Luci

The post Favorite Photos from My Summer appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.

“Hello, everyone,” she said, slipping in the door and tossing her purse on the cupboard.

“Where have you been?” they asked her. “You’re later than you said you would be.”

“Well, I’ve been writing and revising and picking and pickling and baking and blanching and listening and living and being a mom and being pregnant…all very necessary items of business, I assure you.”

They shrug. “Okay, I guess. We were busy anyway. Any news?”

“Well…actually…” she casually pulls a thing from behind her back. “This just came out. Wanna look?”

And so we introduce (drum roll please) ROSANNA in the Middle!

This story is based on my mom’s childhood, as The Arrowhead was based on an incident from my dad’s childhood. In case any of you don’t know about the first children’s book I wrote, here both of them are together. I love having a sort of a set–one about my dad and one about my mom.

A sweet lady named Laura picked up an early copy of Rosanna in the Middle at Christian Light’s bookstore, and here’s what she had to say about it:

 I was quickly skimming through until I reached those last two pages, and I just want to say – the ending of that book is absolutely brilliant. Every so often I read a book that I wish I had written, and now that’s one of them. Such a beautiful way to tie everything together and leave a child with the vision of also being a part of that line of Christians. . . Thank you.

You can see further samples from Rosanna in the Middle on CLP’s website, and order your own copy.

I’ll be back next week with an update from my life. :)

The post Introducing Rosanna in the Middle appeared first on Lucinda J Kinsinger.