Me . . . and Mother Teresa?

I remember hearing a note of smug satisfaction in the voice of the secular radio reporter who was doing a piece on Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light, the book that features some of Mother Teresa’s private letters to her spiritual advisors. In her letters, we see that for many years Mother Teresa experienced times of intense spiritual darkness. Though she prayed fervently, served mightily, and meditated intensely on Scripture, this darkness persisted. She longed to experience the joy and delight of her first intense encounters with God, but instead she often felt spiritual loneliness and a sense of God’s absence. The radio commentator implied that these honest expressions of intense struggle in some way proved that Christian spirituality was in fact empty and unsatisfying.

As I listened to the piece, at first I felt somewhat shocked and discouraged. Mother Teresa so obviously loved Jesus and dedicated her entire life to serving him, I thought. If she felt that way, then . . . is the radio commentator right?

But in time I’ve found great comfort in Mother Teresa’s period of darkness because in some ways it legitimizes the times of spiritual dryness and struggle that have peppered my own walk with Christ off and on throughout the years. Like Mother Teresa, many other devoted Jesus-followers throughout history have journeyed through painful periods of soul darkness, from John of the Cross to C. S. Lewis. In fact, for many mature believers, periods of doubt and dryness have served as inevitable byways along the pathway of spiritual maturity.

So if periods of spiritual discouragement or times of doubt are a common experience, why do we so often avoid talking about them? Is it because we see discouragement as a sign of weak faith? Do we fear that doubt is somehow contagious? Do we keep our own lips sealed when we’re struggling because we fear damaging our Christian image? How can we better help each other journey through spiritual darkness into a place of even greater intimacy with Christ?

What about you? Have you faced doubts and dark times recently in your walk with Jesus? If you’ve made it through a time of doubt, what got you through? What did you learn from the experience?

Sandwiched In

The term “sandwich generation” is used to describe middle-aged adults (primarily 45- to 54-year-olds) who have elderly parents and dependent children. Based on this, I’m living a triple-decker club life. With a toddler grandson, a middle-schooler, and three college-age adults living under one roof with us, plus my 70-something mother in a nursing home 15 miles away, and my in-laws across the street, my husband and I are firmly pressed in on all sides.

According to an AARP report, we’re not alone. Forty-four percent of people our age have at least one living parent and one child under age 21. Approximately 7 percent live in a household containing three generations—oneself, one’s parents or in-laws, and one’s children. Parents my age are often paying for college expenses. At the same time, they may be footing the bill for significant medical expenses, running errands, and transporting aging parents to frequent doctor visits. Longer life spans (77.8 years is the average life expectancy) and couples waiting later to start their families has created a care-giving scenario that few families are prepared to manage.

I know. I’m one of those families.

Somewhere between my third and fourth son, my mother went from being my caregiver—the woman I called when I needed moral support and advice for raising our kids—to me being hers. After a series of unfortunate events, my mom’s life took a nose dive and she was no longer able to care for herself. My dad long gone, my siblings and I were left to pick up the pieces of her new Medicaid life while simultaneously picking up pieces of board games and Lego sets. I quickly realized that at the same time I had been reading books on parenting, I should have been giving equal time to aging-parenting books.

In her article, “What Shall We Do With Mother,” (part of a download on Kyria called, “The Sandwich Generation”) author Virginia Stem Owens shares how she and her parents had prepared for their inevitable death but, like most of us, had failed to prepare for their decline.

Preparing for the “long goodbye” as Stem Owens calls it, has been on my mind a lot these days. If my maternal grandmother’s lifespan is any predictor, we could be “mothering” my mom for two more decades.

After having lost my father when he was only 46, I hope we’re fortunate enough to see my mom live to be at least twice his age. What I’m becoming keenly aware of, though, is that with each passing year, she becomes less able to do what she could do the year before. A fall she took two weeks ago could mark the start of a downward health spiral, or the beginning of intense, chronic pain that robs her of whatever quality of life she was enjoying up to this point.

In between visits to her nursing home, we babysit our grandson, go to our 11-year-old’s football games, and help fill out financial aid forms with our college kids. We will likely live in the grip of competing seasons of life for many more years.

Being part of the sandwich generation isn’t a demographic I aspired to, but it’s where I find myself: “hard pressed on every side, but not crushed, perplexed, but not in despair” (2 Corinthians 4:8).

Calling All Mommies

Every Easter my in-laws make the trip from Michigan to Chicago to spend Holy Week with us. They enjoy spending time with us and our church as we journey from the palms to the cross to the empty tomb. And they especially revel in the chance to snuggle our little toddler for a whole weekend while my husband and I serve. Their sacrifice means I am free to give my worship leading gifts to the church.

When I had my daughter last winter, I briefly considered taking a “Holy Week break.” I didn’t think this was necessary—for me or for her. She would be with her grandparents for a few hours each day. Not the worst thing for a kid.

I think my compulsion to step back was primarily guilt-driven: I saw a lot of moms giving up most of their own needs and gifts for the sake of their kids. A noble calling. But what if God didn’t wire me that way?

Parenthood requires deep sacrifices—some of which our children will never even realize. Those sacrifices are still fresh for me as a new mom. I make them in small ways every day: not getting that nap I so desperately want because she won’t sleep, forsaking that second glass of wine while I’m breastfeeding, declining a party invitation because we can’t find a babysitter. I can deal with these.

But the big ones hurt, if I’m being honest. Waiting on grad school. Watching someone else fulfill something I’ve always longed to do. Even “selfish” ones like watching my body expand and shrink—but not as much as I’d hoped.

Are these hits worth it for this beautiful little life full of possibility? I’m eternally convinced. And does it ache to let dreams go, even if for a season? Usually. But what about those gifts that are so integral to our sense of self? Do we strip ourselves of these in exchange for the new garments of motherhood? What if we feel naked without them?

Author of Gifted to Lead, Nancy Beach says “God didn’t make a mistake” when he designed women—when he designed you—with unique gifts to give to the church and the world. And those don’t just disappear when we become mothers. I’m still trying to figure out what the balance looks like, but I’ve watched gifted women interweave these two callings into a beautiful offering to the Lord.

What about you other moms out there, new and seasoned? Is it a struggle for you too? How do you balance your “mommy gifts” with your ministry gifts? Which gifts have you had to let go? Which ones are vital to your personhood and ministry?

Cut the Bleep Out

How to censor what we watch, read, and listen to is a continual debate among believers. I’ve been revisiting how I censor entertainment after listening to a friend’s conviction on the subject.

My friend almost lost his marriage and family from a sexual addiction. Now on the road to recovery, he and his wife have cut out anything remotely sexual from their entertainment. Close friends screen their movies for hints of sex, scantily clothed women, and dirty language.

They don’t watch much TV. How could they? Is there a drama or comedy on TV that doesn’t have sexual themes? While their convictions stemmed from avoiding temptation, the practice has proved to be extremely revealing and healthy in their journey to become more like Christ. In turn, their practices have led me to consider my own.

I’m not sure I could cut as much as my friends have. I really enjoy being generally informed in pop-culture references and current entertainment—even if that means letting a few things slide past my filter. Sometimes, my pride sways me to watch, read, and listen to whatever I want. But despite my pride and social desires, I’m attracted to the idea of flushing out the dirt on my journey toward holiness.

A friend challenged me once, “Seriously, if you walked into a room where a couple was having sex, would you pull up a chair and grab some popcorn?” Struck and appalled, I thought, No! I would never do that! But I had been doing that. Although now I try to rent movies without sex scenes or I fast forward through those parts, it’s difficult to always apply that conviction.

I’m currently reading a novel about broken people and their broken relationships. The narrative has included some graphic language about their obviously broken sexual lives too—and it bugs me. Several times I’ve thought, Is this worth it? Out of curiosity and the love of storytelling, I’ve continued reading, eager to see what happens to the characters. I know redemption is coming—the title of the book basically gives that away—but how do I know when to say, “Enough”?

I understand that sexual content isn’t the only subject we should be leery of exposing ourselves to. There are many other reasons to censor our entertainment. I’m still working on what’s going to be best for my spiritual life. My specific convictions aside, I’ve found this practice spiritually beneficial. Though it will look different for many of us, consider revisiting how you censor entertainment—what it does to your mind, your heart, how it defines your life, and how it affects your journey toward holiness.