Radical Christianity: The Proper Response to ISIS

This is where many of you become offended, raise your eyebrows, scratch your heads, hit the back button, and truly believe I’ve gone off the deep end. And that’s ok. I began writing this in early September, but at the time I felt like I wasn’t supposed to finish it. Then today, God impressed upon my spirit to get it out there.

At this point, to remain silent is to be disobedient. Please know that each word I write is drenched with prayer and sincerity. May they fall on receptive ears, eyes, and hearts. And if they don’t, that’s ok. My job is only to write.  

There is a discernible difference between righteous indignation and hate-fueled anger for the atrocities, persecution, and unspeakable acts committed by ISIS. It is right and good to be angered by the murder of innocent people. Harness the holy anger, that righteous indignation, and focus it on a proper response to terrorism. As Christians, we are given clear scriptural directives about how to respond to our enemies: with prayer and love. Not by amassing a cache of weapons, not meeting hatred with hatred, not vowing to kill and destroy. For those of us who have forgotten how Christ commands us to respond to those who hate us — who would like to blow us to bits, who seek our annihilation — let yourselves become steeped in the Word, not the world.

“But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…” Matthew 5:44

“Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.” Romans 12:19

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” Ephesians 6:12

As Christians, we do not get to pick and choose who receives God’s grace. He freely extends it to all…even the people we may not like. Especially those we are inclined to hate. God longs for the hearts of those fighting for ISIS, believe it or not. They, too, are created in his image. They, too, have eternity written on their hearts. If you truly feel burdened to bring the fight to ISIS, then let me introduce you to a recruiter friend of mine. He will happily sign you up to be involved in the business of fighting on behalf of the United States military — a truly noble profession.

However, if this does not interest you, then your responsibility is simple. Pray. Pray hard prayers. Pray for the members of ISIS. Pray for God to intervene in their actions, in their lives, and in their leadership. Pray for their plans to be thwarted, of course, but also pray for them to have dreams and visions of Jesus. Pray that many of them would have the same dreams and visions on the same night…and be compelled to talk to one another about them.

These things are already happening. Pray that they keep occurring. There is a website dedicated to praying for Isis — they offer daily guided prayers for Christians. Get a group praying together. If you don’t truly believe that God is far more effective at “fighting” than man, it’s time to spend more time in the scriptures. It’s time to expand your horizons and deepen your faith. Praying these prayers will absolutely do that.

True radical Christianity looks nothing like a hate group. It is an absolute love fest. It is a broken-hearted people seeking the face of God. Radical Christianity looks like a people on its knees. If you want to defeat the enemy, stop fighting of your own accord. Let God bring the fight to their hearts by fundamentally changing your heart through prayer. It’s easy to sit and do nothing. It’s easy to spout hate and complain. It is a hard thing to beseech the throne and ask God to show them his face. Which response brings God glory and furthers his kingdom?

Homemade Elderberry Syrup Recipe

It’s that time of year! Coughs and colds can derail your family if left unchecked — prevention is the best medicine. I try to keep a mason jar full of this magic juice in the fridge all throughout the fall and winter. It’s taken me a few different attempts to tweak the recipe to perfection; I started off with two different recipes I found online, then adjusted the ingredients to fit my family’s palate.

Ingredients
4 cups water
1 cup elderberries
2 cinnamon sticks
1 heaping teaspoon ginger
1/2 teaspoon cloves
1 cup raw honey (switch to grade B maple syrup if using with children under 12 months)

Instructions

  1. Pour water in medium saucepan, add elderberries, ginger, cinnamon, and cloves. Do NOT add the honey yet.
  2. Bring to a boil, then cover and reduce to a simmer for about 45 minutes to an hour (until the liquid has reduced by almost half). Remove from heat and let cool enough to be handled.
  3. Pour through a strainer into a glass jar or bowl. (I like to strain it twice.)
  4. Discard or upcycle the elderberries. In the summer months, I boil them again, strain the berries, then mix the juice with lemonade. (Asher loves elderberry lemonade!) Other times, I simply compost them in the garden.
  5. When the juice is warm (but not hot), add 1 cup of raw honey, and stir well. You don’t want to add raw honey to the hot liquid, because it decreases the health benefits of raw honey.
  6. Store in a mason jar in the fridge!

Dosage
Our standard dose is 1 teaspoon for the kids, and 1 tablespoon for adults. Many recommend taking it every other day, or on weekdays but not on weekends. If the cold or flu strikes, take the normal dose every two to three hours until symptoms disappear. Or, if you’re like my husband, just drink shots from the jar.

Living a Life of Sabbath Margin

I recently finished up a group study of Priscilla Shirer’s Breathe, and it has been an absolute game-changer. Over the past ten-to-twelve weeks, God has really been speaking to my heart — teaching me to rightly order my affections for him — and Breathe flowed perfectly with what God had already been showing me. A leisurely stroll through our neighborhood with Asher allowed me to reflect on God’s presence in every aspect of life.

 
Since finishing the study a few weeks ago, my priorities have changed, my lifestyle has shifted, and I’m absolutely in love with simplicity. Creating margin in every aspect of my life has allowed me to flourish as a wife and mother. Of course there are still crazy, chaotic days…but I know where to go for solace and peace. 

Living a lifestyle that lends itself to celebrating the Sabbath creates clarity and presence of mind. The Sabbath isn’t simply about The Seventh Day…it’s much more than that. Incorporating elements of the Sabbath into every single day have allowed me to focus on the things that matter most, and not get caught up in crazy-makers, background noise, and mama-drama from outside sources. I’m creating space in my house — goodbye old baby clothes, books that I’m not reading, and toys that accumulate dust. I’ve started limited my time on social media — focusing mostly on family and long-time friends, instead of several happening mommy groups. Leaving one particular moms’ group was difficult; I enjoyed dialoguing with my favorite mommy friends throughout the day…but I lacked boundaries and over-indulged on a regular basis. We got rid of cable — and its accompanying monthly bill. The less there is to distract me, the more my heart is focused on truth, goodness, and beauty — and my soul is anchored in God’s Word.

The Ugly Truth of Beautiful Grace

“The root of all sin is self-sufficiency — independence from the rule of God. When we fail to wait prayerfully for God’s guidance and strength, we are saying with our actions, if not with our words, that we do not need him.” -Charles E. Hummel

This blog has been about ten years in the making. The words that follow have rested on the tip of my tongue, on the tips of my fingers, and on the edge of my heart for about five years now. My story is not unique in that it displays God’s grace, forgiveness, and redemption…but it is unique to me. The decisions and choices that I made between the years of 2004 and 2008 set the stage for my life from 2009 until today. I’ve lost count of how many times I sat down in front of my keyboard to type out the events that led me on an unbelievable and unexpected prodigal journey into the arms of Jesus, and the heart of God. 

And then, after reading Hummel’s quote in The Tyranny of the Urgent, it all came tumbling out. God said to my heart, “Now. Tell them. For my glory.” And that is exactly what I intend to do…

In 2005 I married a godly, salt-of-the-earth guy who I’d dated all throughout high school — he was the only boyfriend I’d ever had, and we were involved in church activities just about every time the doors were unlocked. I was living as a good preacher’s daughter should. In 2006, I graduated with my English degree and began teaching high school, we bought a house in our hometown, led worship on Sundays, and were sponsors in the youth group. In 2007, I started teaching at a brand new campus — I was responsible for two different preps (sophomores and seniors, if memory serves) on an A/B day schedule, and I was cosponsoring an after-school extracurricular activity. I usually got to work around 6:45am to get everything ready for the 7:25am class. By the end of most days, I had mounds of grading to accomplish, copies to make, and lessons to plan, so I’d stay at work until 6:30pm. By the time I got home, I was exhausted. After a few months into the school year, I was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted from the long days. I didn’t know it until years later, but I was flirting with depression due to lack of sleep and being overworked. (I say this not to blame my bad choices, blatant mistakes, and deliberate sin on depression, but to make the link that once someone is depressed, they generally don’t care about long-term consequences of poor decisions…which is why there is often a string of really dumb decisions that don’t make much sense to outsiders.)

During this time period, I tried my best to help a good friend through a break-up, which meant we hung out in downtown Fort Worth an awful lot. I had never partied, drank, or “went out” until I was 24 years old. At first, we just hung out together — two girls laughing the night away — then it snowballed into a lifestyle that left me spending more quality time with a girlfriend than my own husband. I was naïve and ignorant, and paid no attention to the fact I was making terrible decisions. This left me open to major temptation, and my spiritual life had withered into nothing more than a song-and-dance routine I performed on Sunday mornings. Let me paint this ugly picture: I would go out on Saturday night, stay out until 2:00am, and sing praise and worship songs on stage with a microphone…nursing a hangover. It disgusts me to type that out and see it in black and white. But it is so necessary. I can look back on my former life through the lens of grace and God’s forgiveness, and I can now see it for what it was: Sin. Ugly, selfish sin.

I grieved those who loved me the most, and I betrayed those who trusted me. This “just having fun, no harm done” mentality led me down a path that no one — not even me — saw coming. That’s how sin works. That’s how The Enemy so efficiently steals, kills, and destroys.

Backtrack a few years to 2004: I met a guy on a military training tour in England — he was a friend of a friend, and we all spent time together over several days after we were off duty. Had I been involved in prayer and scripture on a daily basis, I would have been able to see this man for what he was — temptation. After returning home from the 2004 training exercise, we emailed back and forth for a few months…something I never should have done. In early 2005 I decided to stop emailing him — I was now married and knew enough to realize it was an inappropriate relationship.

Fast forward to 2007 — flirting with depression, almost zero quality time with my spouse, and even less than zero time spent in prayer. Out of the blue, we reconnect via MySpace, and the emailing begins again. He’s in England, I’m in Texas…I knowingly lie to myself, saying it’s harmless because there is literally an ocean separating us. Distance doesn’t matter where sin is involved. My heart was deceitful, and I was involved in an emotional affair. Keep in mind, at this point I was staying out late on the weekends, working twelve hour days, and treating my husband with no respect. I was in a tailspin of sin, going down in flames quicker than anyone noticed. By the time someone from church confronted me about my lifestyle, my heart had become hardened. I no longer cared that the façade was crumbling and people were starting to see me for who I was…and who I was not. I didn’t care that I was committing the sin of adultery, because I was still lying to myself, repeating the mantra that it’s all just a harmless friendship. A lie straight from the pit of hell.

I hated my life. I wanted to escape. I couldn’t believe this was the person I’d become. I felt too far gone to come back…so I ran. I ran fast and I ran far. Incredulously, I applied for teaching jobs in England, never expecting to get an offer. Turns out, if you seek out sin, it is easily found. In early 2008, I was called for an interview on my way to work one morning, and offered a position within a week. I accepted the position without ever consulting my husband. I resigned a good teaching job half-way through the school year, waited for my work visa, packed my bags, and left. I destroyed my marriage, and broke my family’s heart. I entered my own Lo Debar, and I settled in for the long haul. When I arrived in England, he was there to pick me up from the airport.

As I well deserved, this man quickly began cheating on me and became downright mean. I was the recipient of his anger, and I knew I deserved everything he could dish out. No doubt, my parents were praying for their prodigal daughter in the midst of this terrible time. I knew I had disappointed them, and that knowledge alone left enough of a crack in my heart to eventually lead me back to my Heavenly Father. After a particularly rough week, I confessed to my parents via email how deep my sin had become, and I knew I was on the precipice of the point of no return. There, in my self-made-misery, I began to seek the face of God. He allowed me to hit rock bottom and feel the weight of my choices, so that he could be glorified…the same way he allowed Lazarus to die so that he could be resurrected, for God’s glory. All of my sinful choices were rooted in the ultimate sin of self-sufficiency and my desire to be independent from the rule of God.

After two months in England, I resigned my teaching position, packed my bags, and headed home. My parents were there to meet me at the airport. I returned home to face divorce, broken relationships among friends, and shame. But, I still wasn’t done sinning. I proceeded to indulge in drive-by-dating, thus further injuring my bruised and battered heart. I knew I was in desperate need of God, but I was still running. This time I just happened to be on U.S. soil. I refused to just be still and know…instead, I racked up a series of broken relationships before meeting the man God had reserved for me. God used my pain and brokenness from my sinful choices to solidify my need for his grace.

In The Tyranny of the Urgent, Hummel goes on to say, “The opposite of such independence is prayer in which we acknowledge our need of God’s guidance and empowerment. In this respect we have seen the example set by Jesus in the Gospels. He lived and served in complete dependence on his Father. Contrary to popular views, such dependence does not limit or repress human personality. We are never so fully personal — free to become our true selves — as when we are living in complete dependence on God.”

Having been utterly laid bare before God, I know I am nothing more than a sinner in dire need of his grace. Having been the recipient of his unharnessed, matchless grace, I am nothing more than a vessel through which that same grace flows to others. To whom much is given, much is required. I have been clothed with much grace, love, and forgiveness. I have experienced God’s faithfulness in a way I never thought possible. In the seven years since my return from Lo Debar, my mission in life has been to extend God’s grace, love, forgiveness, and faithfulness to others. After everything I’ve received, how could I not?

May you be clothed with grace and mercy. May your heart forever be open to God’s voice. May you walk in the power of his love and forgiveness. May you run into his open arms, and never leave.

In a Field of Flowers…

I originally wrote this back in 2009, and wanted to add it to my blog for posterity’s sake. It’s good to see where I was, and even better to see where God has brought me. His grace is so very sufficient.

I once loved a man who broke my heart. When I was gluing the pieces back together, he was “thoughtful” enough to call and check on me every couple of weeks, even offering advice on my new dating relationship. He knew me well enough to hear the frustration in my voice that betrayed my words. He accurately interpreted “Things are fine” to mean “I’m pretty sure I’m in a place I shouldn’t be, I just don’t know if and/or how I should get out.” He stopped me cold in the middle of a sentence, “Robin, I know you. You should not be dealing with this, and we both know it.” He went on to paint a metaphor of how things “should be” for my life. He remembered our goofy ‘If I were a crayon’ conversation, and offered this advice:

Imagine you’re in a field of beautiful flowers, and you’re looking for the one that was created just for you. You stop and admire each intricate bloom, finding several worth picking – but you can’t. You’re looking for the rare-colored cerulean blue (my crayon color of choice) flower. Don’t you dare stop until you find it; don’t settle for anything less.

I must admit, it sounded beautiful. However, I was at a point in life where I was tired of flower shopping – I’d been pricked by too many thorns. I had found a rather intriguing bud, not yet a bloom, and felt drawn to water and care for this particular one. I quickly learned I was not a natural horticulturist, so I delved into reading and research in the way of prayer and scriptures.

My back began to hurt from leaning over and watching the bud. My knees became sore and my hands dirty from kneeling in the soil to care for the soon-to-be-blossom. This wasn’t the ideal cerulean blue flower I was “supposed” to find, yet I couldn’t take my eyes away.

After long periods of watching, waiting, watering, wondering, and worrying, I realized there was nothing I could do to make this flower bloom. There were times I wanted to give up, to walk further on into the field, to find a different blossom. Every time I decided to get up and move on, something kept me from doing so. Finally, I threw up my hands in frustration and knew there was nothing more I could do for the fledgling bud, so I went to the Master Horticulturist.

I asked God to water my flower, to provide the exact amount of sunlight, and to let it bloom in His time, not mine. I remained on my knees, but my gaze was not fixated on the flower – I focused on the Master Gardener. God not only watered His bloom, He did the same, and much more, for me. He uprooted me and planted me in fertile soil.

As the seasons changed, so did the flower. The bud began to bloom and blossom. I was blessed to watch the transformation of a beautiful creation.

In the end, I guess I did find my cerulean blue flower; I just couldn’t see the color of the petals until it bloomed.

If you say so…

I wrote this back in October 2009, and stumbled across it today. These words serve as a reminder of God’s goodness, grace, and provision. He always has been faithful, and he always will be…

After an exhausting night of work, Peter had nothing to show for his efforts. All night long, he threw his nets into the ocean, each time expecting, hoping to pull up a full net of fish. Grueling efforts drained his energy and depleted his hope.

While I can’t identify with all-night fishing exertion, I absolutely understand Peter’s feelings of despair, hopelessness, and frustration.

I spent months casting my net into an ocean – hoping, praying, and begging for it to be filled – and each time the net returned empty, I grew more and more discouraged.

I wanted to give up completely and sail my ship to more fruitful waters.
Better yet, I wanted to abandon ship.
I began to feel like a failure.
I lost hope.

Yet, in the midst of my futile casting, I couldn’t ignore the unrelenting command:
“Now go out where it is deeper, and let down your nets.” (Luke 5:4)

Deep water is frightening – I had no idea what was lurking beneath the surface, I couldn’t see the ocean floor. The unfathomable dark waters concealed a myriad of mysteries. I had no desire to “go out where it [was] deeper,” yet I knew there was no other option.

Every instinct instructed me to flee.
No part of my rational mind concluded that entering deeper water was a good idea.

Yet, in the midst of my rationalizations, I couldn’t ignore the constant urgings:
“Wait passionately for God, don’t leave the path.” (Psalms 37:34)
“I would have lost heart, unless I had believed…wait on the Lord; Be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; Wait, I say, on the Lord!” (Psalms 27:11, 13-14)

It took every fiber of my being to fight the urge to return to shore.
I was certain that casting my net one more time would continue to make me look like a fool.
All of my efforts had been in vain; not only did I have no hope for pulling up a full net, I fully expected a completely empty net – a la Bubba Gump Shrimp, pre-hurricane.

My response was much like Simon Peter’s… But God, I’ve worked so hard and haven’t caught a thing! But if you say so, I’ll try again. (Luke 5:5)

In the midst of my despair, God gave me the strength to try again.
All I had to do was believe Him, and thank God I did – I’m still pulling up full nets.

Cutting Through the Noise

 
The past ten weeks have found me changed. Through a beautiful series of events, my heart has been captured anew by the God of All Things. A transformation has taken place; my priorities have shifted and realigned. I have been wrecked. Corrected. Corralled. Freed.

I found my life filled with many different voices — the voices of friends, of authors, of bloggers, of ministers — my ears and heart were abuzz with positive voices, but my spirit was restless. In His mercy, God cut through all of those voices and reminded me that there is only one voice that matters: His. Not the various bible studies I was involved in through church, not the well-meaning input from my various mommy friends, and not the preaching and teaching of esteemed pastors.

In my efforts to fill my life with good things, I spread myself too thin. Rarely did I find my heart at rest or my mind still. I was mentally exhausted, and I couldn’t blame all of that on my children.

Life can be filled with good things — things that make me smile, make me feel happy — but unless my heart is consumed by the best thing, everything else is meaningless. It becomes just a life filled with things…not a life full of the God of All Things. There is a huge difference. (Although, I’ve learned that the majority of Western Christian Culture doesn’t delineate between the two.) 

There are many things I could be doing, but what must I be doing? I must be about my Father’s business. Intimacy with my Abba should be my priority. How can I say I truly love Him if I am not consumed with prayer? With reading scripture? Weekly bible studies, praying a few times a week, and attending church on Sundays simply doesn’t cut it…and I’ve allowed myself to rest on the laurels of “busy motherhood” for far too long. I allowed a season of life to become an excuse.

I’ve been diligently working to cut away the “good things” that aren’t the best things. My vines and branches have been greatly trimmed to allow my roots to grow deeper. The fruit I bear and the character I display in my words and actions far outweigh any ideas of giftedness, good works, or good efforts.

I’m relying on Mark 12:30-31 to cut through the noise. I reordered my world to focus on loving the Lord my God with all my heart, all my soul, all my mind, and all my strength…and loving my neighbor as myself. I am far from perfect, but my efforts are sincere. When my alarm goes off for morning prayer, it takes everything in my body not to hit snooze. Some days, I still do. Every day is a work in progress. Aside from turning off my alarm, my goal is not to use my phone until I’ve read the Word. Are there days I fail? You bet. But every day I’m getting better. My heart has become a place of peace. My mind is calm. My God is faithful.

As a Christian, my actions demonstrate whether I know and love Him, or whether I know and love myself. Are my daily efforts leading me deeper into an intimate relationship with the Lord? If not, then my daily efforts are a waste of time. I don’t say these things to pat myself on the back — I’ll be the first to tell you I fail daily. Multiple times a day. I say these things in case your heart is troubled, or your faith is weak. Be wrecked. Be corrected. Be corralled. Freedom is only found under Christ’s yoke — the only voice that matters is His.

My Deep Love for Maycomb, Scout, and Harper Lee

In all my years of teaching high school English, my favorite part of each school year was introducing my students to Scout, Jem, Dill, and most of all, Atticus Finch. I read and taught To Kill a Mockingbird approximately six times a day, six weeks at a time, for four years in a row (the other few years I wasn’t teaching freshmen, so it wasn’t in my curriculum). Needless to say, I have developed a deep love for Maycomb.

Mockingbird is told from Scout’s perspective, ages six to nine. We learn about Atticus and Maycomb’s ways through her eyes, knee-high-to-a-grasshopper. We are regaled with fanciful childhood tales of  adventure, alongside Jem and Dill. Harper Lee sweeps you up in the Deep South’s pre-WWII way of life. Up to a certain point, the scariest thing Scout had encountered was Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose…and just when you’re good and settled in this magical, southern atmosphere, Lee opens your eyes to something ugly. Racism. Of the Deep South variety. She does the exact same thing in Watchman. Except this time, we’ve had fifty-five years to get good and settled in Scout’s childhood.

Go Set a Watchman takes place twenty years later (albeit written first), and is told in third-person. We are no longer seeing Maycomb only through Scout’s eyes. It is very much a parallel text, but it stands alone. While written sixty years ago, reading it through the lens of our current racial climate lends it more credence.

Twenty years of life experience gives us all a new perspective on our own parents; Scout is no different. We go from a rose-colored view of Atticus (who I like to refer to as Literary Jesus), to a man. That’s it. Simply a man. His white, flowing robes of righteousness are removed to reveal a very real human — not the deity we all want him to be. He is a man with faults, idiosyncrasies, and hidden pain behind his eyes. 

Mary Badham, the actress who played Scout in 1962, sums it up quite accurately:
“The difference between Mockingbird and Watchman gets down to this: The first book was an idealized view of a father, Atticus Finch, from a child’s viewpoint; the new book is about seeing your parents as an adult. He’s making compromises that you had to make in order to survive in the South…. What you have to do is put your mindset in that time period, and you have to understand what we lived through. When you read the book, you’ll get it… The root of all evil is ignorance. Education is the key to freedom.” (Find her quotes here and here.)

Perhaps Atticus Finch never changed. Scout did. Miss Jean Louise Finch grew up, and it’s jarring for readers to go from the innocent perspective of six-year-old Scout to twenty-six-year-old Jean Louise.

Go Set a Watchman, like To Kill a Mockingbird, is beautiful and timely and poignant and impactful. But it is all of those things (and more) in its own right. Lee’s a truth-teller through and through…even when the truth makes us uncomfortable. Perhaps that’s when the truth matters most. Turns out, Atticus is still right: “You never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them.”

Your Second Baby: Tips to Ease the Transition

The joys of growing your family are often tempered with well-meaning (albeit unsolicited) advice. One phrase I routinely heard throughout my second pregnancy sounded something like this: “The transition from one to two children was tough! You better start getting ready now!” Mothers of three or more often told me that adding the third or fourth baby was easier than the initial transition from one to two.

Yikes!

While I mentally braced myself to have our little world completely rocked, I started planning to make the transition as easy as possible — not just for my husband and myself, but for our two-year-old son. Now that I’m thirteen months removed from our major family transition, I wanted to look back and inventory our most helpful preparations. Please know that I did not and do not have it all together. Making plans helps me combat stress and anxiety, so I put these things in place for my own mental health…not because I am Supermom.

For those who like timeframes, these things are best accomplished beginning in your second trimester (or whenever you feel up to it). Depending on the situation, adoptive mommies may not have several months to prepare — just do what you can when you can, every little bit helps! Some of these things I figured out before Baby #2 arrived, and others came together in the months soon after his birth.

1. Organize!
I took my pantry from crazy-town to a regimented, compartmentalized system. I decided on a rotational meal system, and created space in my pantry for each meal. In an effort to keep it simple, I chose about seven meals. A few of my tried and true favorites were Chipotle-style rice and bean bowls, loaded baked potatoes, chicken and veggies, crockpot roast and veggies, and pizza. We’re a gluten-free and (mostly) dairy-free family, and I have a host of food allergies, so I knew that no one would be jumping at the chance to bring us dinner. (I don’t blame them — my extensive list of food allergies still freaks me out.) I chose easy-to-prepare meals so that my husband (or any other visiting family member) could help without feeling overwhelmed. The idea of eating the same things over and over again may sound boring, but didn’t bother us one bit. Stocking your freezer is also helpful…but our freezer is particularly small, so I couldn’t hoard.

Painters tape and labels helped keep things tidy and made it easy for my husband to put groceries away. I put my toddler’s healthy snacks on a lower level so he could forage as needed. I spent countless hours in the rocking chair nursing baby brother, so this kept him from waiting (and waiting and waiting) until little brother was finished.

2. Implement a routine!
Scheduling with a toddler and newborn can be a double-edged sword, so I prefer predictable routines over strict schedules. I wanted my older son to have an established routine so he would have some semblance of normalcy in the midst of change. It was important for him to have ownership of his routine, so we came up with a chart to keep us all on track. It didn’t take long before he was reminding Mommy and Daddy that his teeth needed brushing and he needed to clean up his toys.

Creating an environment that allowed his autonomy to flourish helped quell outbursts and meltdowns. We still had (and have) our fair share of epic fits, but they aren’t nearly as bad when he follows a predictable routine.

3. Guilt-free entertainment!
I am not one to use technology as a babysitter, but the first few postpartum months often looked like survival mode. It’s nice to have educational shows that teach while they engage — after sleepless nights and growth-spurt-nurse-a-thons, popping in a DVD can be an absolute lifesaver. Now, at three years old, my son knows all of his letters, numbers up to thirty, ridiculous amounts of sign language, a handful of Latin phrases, and has fistfuls of knowledge that rival seasoned kindergarteners. I don’t say this to pat myself on the back, but to show that purposeful “edu-tainment” is a better option than mindless cartoons.

This area proved to be a huge mental struggle for me. I felt so guilty about Asher sitting in front of the TV and iPad more than usual, but I was on my own within four days of Keane’s birth. The majority of the time, it was just me and the boys from 8:00am until 6:00pm, five days a week. (Thankfully, my in-laws were quick to take Asher to their house for a few hours each week.) During the early days of our transition, I lamented the TV issue to my trusted mommy group; a wise friend told me to give myself lots of grace and 100 days of guilt-free technology use. I chose to use technology as an ally from that point forward. My favorites are Signing Times, Preschool Prep, and Song School Latin.

A note about potty training: I’m of the mindset that it’s never too early to start teaching toddlers how to potty. Cultures around the world begin potty training much earlier than we do in America — and it all works out just fine. Grandmothers and great-grandmothers today will happily tell you that it was almost unheard of for a walking, talking toddler to be in diapers fulltime. I know not everyone can pull it off, but having one child in diapers is more manageable than two. I started potty training Asher when he was 20 months old — he was diaper-free by the time he was 25 months old. It takes effort, but it’s totally worth it!

4. Cut corners!
Whether your second bundle of joy is blessed with a full-fledged baby shower or just a sprinkling, don’t lose sleep over thank you cards. During your third trimester, design a ready-to-go thank you card (use a sonogram picture or a maternity photo), print a handful of them, and address the envelopes as needed.

I didn’t anticipate many gifts this go-around, so I didn’t do this beforehand. I did, however, print out generic thank you cards that showcased my adorable newborn. This proved to be a timesaver and a stress-reducer. Win-win! (You can also prepare birth announcements in advance — just go back and add photos to the saved announcement.)

5. Simplify!
I care about the environment, but I also care about my sanity. It was my sanity that led me to buy paper plates in bulk…I haven’t looked back! It’s nice to have the option to throw the dinner dishes in the trash instead of loading and unloading the dishwasher one more time.

Beyond disposable dishes, line up people to help with laundry and/or cleaning. Save up a few extra dollars to have someone come clean for the first couple of months. If you can afford it, get $10 to $20 cashback each time you get groceries during your last trimester. Stash away the cash to help pay for housekeeping. If you’re involved in a church, ask the youth minister if there are any teenagers who are looking to earn money for summer camps or mission trips — you may find yourself a reliable mother’s helper! If neither of those avenues is an option, check out the Fly Lady’s website for help managing household chores.

Bringing sweet Keane into our lives has been absolutely phenomenal, but the early transition period was not without its challenges. I had no control over my lack of sleep and utter exhaustion, but I could control the state of my pantry, a responsibility chart, and a handful of DVDs!