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.

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.

My sister planted a tree when she was a child—the tree you see pictured in the feature photo above. Now it is an adult tree, grown tall and slender as a young woman—as my sister herself—but still with many layers of wood to add to wood, many green leaves to shoot forth as it matures. For now, though, the tree is perfect in its season.

And that’s what I told my sister when she called yesterday, worrying she wasn’t enough, as all of us do at some time or another—not mature enough, not spiritual enough, not close to God enough, not filled-with-the-Spirit enough like that sister over there.

“You are perfect in your season,” I told my sister. “Not perfect as in finished, with no growth left. But perfect as in what you should be in this season now. Growth comes from God and is not something you can achieve. You can only open to receive it…that’s how growth comes.”

That was my encouragement to her, and that is my encouragement to you, blog readers. The growth of a spirit and the work of the Holy Spirit in a life is gentle, like rain in its season. But for all its gentleness, there is nothing so sure, steady, and relentless as growth in fertile soil. Our job is to open and wait. And it is God who gives the increase.

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Lately some words from an article I once wrote have been running through my mind: We serve a God who is a master of fixing.

I wrote the article for the CLP Sunday school papers at the ripe wise age of 23 and am a little embarrassed to read it now. It seems so very idealistic and MOMENTOUS, you know? “I see people hurt by the mistakes of their parents and passing the same hurts along to their children. I see people ignorant, selfish, and blind…” as if I at 23 had observed and understood the sins of the world.

Still, I like the underlying concept of this article. My heart still feels half doubtful, half amazed when I think about a God who fixes things and makes them better than they were. And since we have been traveling this past week, and I didn’t have time to write fresh, I will share this writing from the past with you. Funny thing is…you know those words that have been running through my mind? We serve a God who is a master of fixing...I can’t find them in the article at all.

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I hate making mistakes. Unfortunately, I make them all the time. Like the time I sewed the sleeve of the dress I was making to the neck opening. Frustrating. The time I sang a wrong note in church. Embarrassing. The time I drove the wrong way down a one-way street. Dangerous. The time I got angry and told off my sister. Hurtful.

I wish I never made mistakes. Some mistakes are merely embarrassing or inconvenient and easy to laugh at later. But some mistakes hurt others and myself. Some mistakes are sin.

We live in a messed-up world. All around me, I see people living lives that are twisted and unhappy. Divorces, unkind words, abortions, lies. I see people hurt by the mistakes of their parents and passing the same hurts along to their children. I see people ignorant, selfish, and blind to the results their choices will bring. I see people who look back and wish they could do it again.

Yet Romans 8:28 tells us, “We know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” All things? Surely not.

Surely not all things, Father. Do you know what you’re talking about? Can’t you see what’s happening in this world? How can you work good from my mistakes?

Yet I choose to believe You, Father. You took Adam and Eve’s sinful, epoch-changing mistake and crafted for Your own honor the beautiful plan of salvation. I believe You can also take my mistakes, my wrong choices, my sins and transform them for my good and Your glory.

During the Great Depression, Ruth Wakefield ran a roadside inn beside a busy toll road in Massachusetts. Ruth served meals to her guests and became known for her desserts. One day, she was mixing a batch of chocolate butter drop cookies and realized she was out of cocoa. She cut a chocolate bar into small pieces and mixed the pieces into her dough, hoping the chocolate would melt and blend with the batter to create chocolate cookies.

When she took the cookies from the oven, Ruth thought at first they were a flop. Her guests thought differently. Today, seven billion chocolate chip cookies are eaten worldwide every year, and half the cookies baked in American homes are chocolate chip.

 Can God take my flops and transform them into something good? I believe He can if I allow Him to.

 How can I deal with my mistakes in a way that allows God to bring good from them?

1. I will be honest. I will admit my wrong. I will not try to cover it up or blame others. I will say I am sorry. 

2. I will try to learn from my mistakes. The greatest lesson I can learn from any mistake is humility. I am not perfect. I want to acknowledge that and learn to depend on God. I want to learn to ask others for help. I am proud and independent; I hate to admit my weaknesses. God can use my mistakes to teach me to be open, to teach me to be humble, to teach me not to be critical of others.

3. I will choose to praise God. I will praise God in spite of my failure, because of His power. I will praise Him for His grace and compassion. I will choose to praise Him always in all things because He is holy, and praise is my sacrifice to Him.

4. I will rest in God. I am weak, but He is strong. I am poor, but He is mighty. I may not be able to fix my mistakes, but I serve a God who can. I serve a God who is all-powerful; who breathes life into dead things; who uses the poor, the weak, the despised in the world rather than things that are mighty. He said, “My strength is made perfect in weakness.”

I have come to the conclusion that God doesn’t see mistakes the way we see them. To Him, failure is an opportunity to show His strength. Mistakes are tools He uses to bring us closer to Him and to transform a sinful nature to a Christ-like one.

Through our mistakes, God stretches us, teaches us, changes our hearts. When we allow Him to, God transforms our mistakes into holy things.

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Photo by Joyful on Unsplash

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For the last two Mondays, Ivan and I have attended a DVD series on parenting being shown at a little local country church. The series is called “Shepherding a Child’s Heart” by Ted Tripp, and I have been blessed and inspired.

What stands out to me from this Monday’s session is this: our children, like all of us, are created to worship. If they do not worship God, they will worship something else, subtle idols of the heart such as pride and performance, power, money, material things, lust and pleasure, fear of man, or people’s approval. (These indicators also point to idols in our own heart.)

Our job as parents is to teach our children about God, a Being worthy to be worshipped. We cannot expect them to be dazzled by Him unless we ourselves live in worship. The first step in turning our children’s hearts toward God is to be ourselves first dazzled.

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