I have a new superhero.
There are plenty of examples of wicked stepmothers. Stepmother heroes are much more difficult to find, but I think I just stumbled across one.
Better yet, my new stepmom hero lived during the time of the restoration, the time I have been learning about, and using as a model.
When Nehemiah was cupbearer to the king, Artaxerxes was the king. His father was Xerxes, the King Xerxes who made Esther queen. That makes Esther Artaxerxes' father's wife -- his stepmother!
Listen the this quote from Halley's Bible Handbook, p235.
"Esther most probably was still alive, and an influential personage in the palace, when both Ezra and Nehemiah went to Jerusalem. Our guess is that we have Esther to thank for Artaxerxes' kindly feeling toward the Jews and his interest in having Jerusalem rebuilt."
Picture this, the mild mannered queen stepmother glides quietly along the passages of the women's palace. Few know that sweeping red cape she wears is not merely the royal garb of a queen, it marks her as SUPER STEPMOM! In her role as Super-Queen-Stepmother she changes the course of history, again.
We don't have proof that Esther was the behind the scenes force that moved the powerful hand of the king, but she very well might have been. Nehemiah chapter 2 makes a point of mentioning that the queen was sitting beside the king when Nehemiah asked for leave to go the Judah. Could it be that the older queen Esther was tutoring her young successor in the art of moving the hand of a king? If so, the young queen learned her lesson well. Maybe she took a lesson from Esther, when she diverted the king's attention away from the weighty political issues associated with helping a troublesome ancient enemy rebuild the wall around their city. It was simple. All she had to do was whisper in the king's ear, "ask Nehemiah how long he will be gone". Maybe.
Maybe Esther didn't say a word. Maybe her Jewish identity combined with her winsome personality were enough to give the King a positive feeling toward the Jews and want to help them, reversing the edicts of earlier Persian monarchs. Probably Esther never even realized the full extent of the impact she had. Wouldn't it be great to sit down for tea with queen Esther in Heaven and ask her to tell the whole story, now that she knows it, complete with the details women crave?
No matter how she did it, I love the idea that Esther's influence extended well beyond the events in the book of Esther, into her stepson's life, and cleared the way for the rebuilding of the wall in Jerusalem.
It is too soon to know what influence we will have. We may never know how our modeling impacts the generations that follow us and influences the choices they make. Our job is to be the simple people God calls us to be in the life he gives us to live.
Showing posts with label Stepmother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stepmother. Show all posts
Monday, February 21, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Futility
–adjective
l
1. incapable of producing any result; ineffective; useless; not successful (definition from dictionary.com)
Futility was one of the evils that rushed into human lives as soon as man sinned in the Garden of Eden. Every human feels ineffective, useless or not successful sometimes. Work feels futile. Trying to restore a relationship feels futile. Parenting rebellious kids feels futile.
Sometimes I think the role of stepmother is a synonym for futile.
Step-moth-er
-noun
1. a person who is ineffective, useless, not successful
As a stepmother I care deeply about my stepkids. I want to be able to nurture them. They are fiercely loyal to their mother, though. In some ways this is good. But, many of my efforts to draw close to them are rejected. Out of loyalty to her, they have erected defensive walls between themselves and me. It is hard to give a tender hug through a thick cement wall.
So, my role is to cook/ clean/ drive/ entertain/ dispense money on demand/ and stay out of their way. They don't believe that correcting them or telling them what to do, is part of the stepmom job description.
From their limited perspective, I came to this party uninvited.
The Bible tells the story of another woman who came to a party uninvited. She was a prostitute. She took a valuable vial of perfume and poured it over Jesus' head. The rest of the guests, especially Jesus' closest associates were horrified. "What a waste!" They scolded. But Jesus silenced them. "She has done a beautiful thing." He went on to explain, "She did what she could when she could..." (Mark 14:3-9 The Message)
Referring to this passage, Joy Sawyer, in her book The Art of the Soul says, "...the real question is not what we're doing, but the art of how we're doing it. Do we do 'what we can, when we can'? In other words, are we pouring out the most costly essence of our souls on the person of Christ? If so, he will live in and through our lives. We share the joy of knowing the story of our 'wasted lives' will definitely not be wasted."
The enemy of our souls would love to convince us that the hours we spend loving Christ by pouring ourselves out are wasted. The enemy wants us to stamp "futility" in big red letters all over our efforts, give up, and walk away. But that would be a mistake. Jesus sees the ways we pour ourselves out. He thinks they are tremendously valuable.
"With all this going for us, my dear, dear friends, stand your ground. And don't hold back. Throw yourselves into the work of the Master, confident that nothing you do for him is a waste of time or effort." (I Corinthians 15:58 The Message)
Friday, November 19, 2010
Tales of the Restoration Part IX: Opportunity Knocks in Disguise
I have noticed something about praying for restoration. The breakthrough happens in the strangest ways, at the most unexpected times. God is a master storyteller. His stories are always full of surprise twists. He almost never writes the story the way I would.
I have been studying the restoration that is recounted in the biblical story of Nehemiah and finding startling parallels to the restoration project going on in me and in my family.
Nehemiah had been praying for God's intervention for months. In private, he prayed and wept. In public he hid his anguish, put on a happy face, and did his job. It was a government job; serving the most powerful man in the world, the king of Persia.
I have had seasons in my life when I have trudged through my days with a happy face masking my broken heart. It happened when my parents divorced. It happened again when my first husband told me that he didn't want to be married anymore, and again when I found out why he didn't want to be married anymore. There were times like that as I slogged through years defined by being a divorced single mom. More recently there have been days like that as I have bruised my shins running up against the realities of building a blended family from the pieces of two broken homes.
The only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning on such days is duty. I get up. I do my job. I try to hide the fact that my heart is in excruciating pain. I go home. I hide in the bathroom while I cry and pray. Eventually the day ends. Finally, gratefully, I sleep for a few hours. I get up, get slammed by the sorrow, and do it all again. Sometimes I do this for months.
Nehemiah was a good faker, but not quite as good as he thought he needed to be. He had hidden his distress for four months. Unfortunately, one day, his boss, a very powerful man, in fact the most powerful man in the world at that time, noticed that he did not look good. The king perceived that the problem was emotional and not physical. Nehemiah's immediate reaction was fear. He hadn't meant for things to go this way. He hadn't meant for his distress to interfere with his work. Kings, and this one was no exception, weren't generally known for their patience and understanding with depressed servants. Nehemiah swallowed hard, and shaking in his boots, he told the truth. This was a very dicey thing since the king ruled the empire, that conquered the empire, that was responsible for the destruction of Jerusalem in the first place.
The best things sometimes happen that way. They enter your life disguised as disasters. The very thing you have been trying with all of your might to avoid, happens, and you just have to go with it.
A few months ago I was struggling with the role of stepmother. I have spent my entire adult life working with kids. I love kids, and almost without exception kids love me. I say, almost without exception.
The notable exception happened after I disrupted already messy little lives by marrying these particular kids' father. A few months ago my stepkids had been sending me not-so-subtle messages that they didn't really want me in their lives, and I was hurting. One morning, the hurt spilled out. It overflowed in a rush. I couldn't stop it in time. My anger and hurt erupted with force all over the place. No expert giving advice about building bonds between stepmom and stepkids ever recommends this approach. I thought I had ruined any chance I was ever going to have of being accepted by these guys.
Nehemiah spilled his guts to the king. Surprisingly the king did not do as Nehemiah expected and summon the executioner. Instead the king asked how he could help, and the opportunity Nehemiah had been praying for appeared out of the blue.
My explosion prompted a discussion with the kids. We talked for hours. It was the turning point I had been praying for.
Sometimes when opportunity knocks, he does it in disguise.
I have been studying the restoration that is recounted in the biblical story of Nehemiah and finding startling parallels to the restoration project going on in me and in my family.
Nehemiah had been praying for God's intervention for months. In private, he prayed and wept. In public he hid his anguish, put on a happy face, and did his job. It was a government job; serving the most powerful man in the world, the king of Persia.
I have had seasons in my life when I have trudged through my days with a happy face masking my broken heart. It happened when my parents divorced. It happened again when my first husband told me that he didn't want to be married anymore, and again when I found out why he didn't want to be married anymore. There were times like that as I slogged through years defined by being a divorced single mom. More recently there have been days like that as I have bruised my shins running up against the realities of building a blended family from the pieces of two broken homes.
The only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning on such days is duty. I get up. I do my job. I try to hide the fact that my heart is in excruciating pain. I go home. I hide in the bathroom while I cry and pray. Eventually the day ends. Finally, gratefully, I sleep for a few hours. I get up, get slammed by the sorrow, and do it all again. Sometimes I do this for months.
Nehemiah was a good faker, but not quite as good as he thought he needed to be. He had hidden his distress for four months. Unfortunately, one day, his boss, a very powerful man, in fact the most powerful man in the world at that time, noticed that he did not look good. The king perceived that the problem was emotional and not physical. Nehemiah's immediate reaction was fear. He hadn't meant for things to go this way. He hadn't meant for his distress to interfere with his work. Kings, and this one was no exception, weren't generally known for their patience and understanding with depressed servants. Nehemiah swallowed hard, and shaking in his boots, he told the truth. This was a very dicey thing since the king ruled the empire, that conquered the empire, that was responsible for the destruction of Jerusalem in the first place.
The best things sometimes happen that way. They enter your life disguised as disasters. The very thing you have been trying with all of your might to avoid, happens, and you just have to go with it.
A few months ago I was struggling with the role of stepmother. I have spent my entire adult life working with kids. I love kids, and almost without exception kids love me. I say, almost without exception.
The notable exception happened after I disrupted already messy little lives by marrying these particular kids' father. A few months ago my stepkids had been sending me not-so-subtle messages that they didn't really want me in their lives, and I was hurting. One morning, the hurt spilled out. It overflowed in a rush. I couldn't stop it in time. My anger and hurt erupted with force all over the place. No expert giving advice about building bonds between stepmom and stepkids ever recommends this approach. I thought I had ruined any chance I was ever going to have of being accepted by these guys.
Nehemiah spilled his guts to the king. Surprisingly the king did not do as Nehemiah expected and summon the executioner. Instead the king asked how he could help, and the opportunity Nehemiah had been praying for appeared out of the blue.
My explosion prompted a discussion with the kids. We talked for hours. It was the turning point I had been praying for.
Sometimes when opportunity knocks, he does it in disguise.
Friday, November 5, 2010
An Open Prayer on a Day of Discouragement
"'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong...I will most gladly spend and be spent for your souls. If I love you more am I to be loved less?" (2 Corinthians 12: 9-10, 15 ESV)
My husband and his wuzwife, (I like the sound of that better than ex-wife) each have responsibility for their kids half the time. Every few days the kids endure cataclysmic change. In the moment it takes to exit a vehicle and walk in the door of a house, the accepted standards of behavior, the priorities, the way people treat each other, the values, and the food all change drastically.
The kids' stress on transition days often manifests itself in rudeness, anger and defensiveness. Intellectually, I think I understand what is going on. Emotionally, I have not yet learned how to steel myself against the hurricane of turmoil and conflict that slams into my peaceful home each week. I get discouraged, deeply discouraged sometimes.
Below is the prayer I prayed on one difficult day when my discouragement collided with Paul's attitude and courage in 2 Corinthians 12.
I share it, hoping that walking with me will encourage someone else who gets the wind knocked out of them on occasion.
If there is someone reading this who also faces discouragement, opposition from within and without, this is my prayer for you too.
A disclaimer: When I talk to God, I pour out my feelings untempered and uncensored. I am pretty melodramatic. It is OK. God already knows the intensity of my emotions. He can take it. He also knows that he is not going to let me fall, and that just pouring everything out to Him makes me feel better.
My Prayer:
O God,
I feel like an outsider in my own family. My walls of my house are no barrier to the enemy that seeks to undo us. The boundaries are so porous that a cell phone call can penetrate them with flaming darts and wreak havoc. 'Hardship, persecution, and calamity' (2 Corinthians 12:9, ESV) march right through my safest place unfettered. How can I be content?
"I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me."
The power of Christ...the power of the resurrection. The power that holds all things together. Yet, even you submitted to suffering and persecution for a time.
Lord, I want to be like you. Though you suffered you never panicked. You wept, but you were not anxious. I know that if I had the perfect life, I would not cling so closely to you. These problems and my own inability to change things, create an opportunity.
I have the opportunity to "boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." Oh Jesus, for your sake, help me to be content with weaknesses (mine and my family member's), insults (from angry stepkids), hardships (undermining, and meddling from the outside), persecutions (unfair treatment), and calamities. I choose to believe that when I am weak, then I am strong.
This battle is not against any flesh and blood person. This battle is against the evil powers in this dark world (Ephesians 6:12). Evil is my enemy.
Oh, Lord, let the power of Christ rest upon me. Help me to continue to hope, to trust, to persevere. I pray that you will give me eyes to see your mighty hand moving. Help me see your fingerprints on this infuriating situation and this day.
Amen
My husband and his wuzwife, (I like the sound of that better than ex-wife) each have responsibility for their kids half the time. Every few days the kids endure cataclysmic change. In the moment it takes to exit a vehicle and walk in the door of a house, the accepted standards of behavior, the priorities, the way people treat each other, the values, and the food all change drastically.
The kids' stress on transition days often manifests itself in rudeness, anger and defensiveness. Intellectually, I think I understand what is going on. Emotionally, I have not yet learned how to steel myself against the hurricane of turmoil and conflict that slams into my peaceful home each week. I get discouraged, deeply discouraged sometimes.
Below is the prayer I prayed on one difficult day when my discouragement collided with Paul's attitude and courage in 2 Corinthians 12.
I share it, hoping that walking with me will encourage someone else who gets the wind knocked out of them on occasion.
If there is someone reading this who also faces discouragement, opposition from within and without, this is my prayer for you too.
A disclaimer: When I talk to God, I pour out my feelings untempered and uncensored. I am pretty melodramatic. It is OK. God already knows the intensity of my emotions. He can take it. He also knows that he is not going to let me fall, and that just pouring everything out to Him makes me feel better.
My Prayer:
O God,
I feel like an outsider in my own family. My walls of my house are no barrier to the enemy that seeks to undo us. The boundaries are so porous that a cell phone call can penetrate them with flaming darts and wreak havoc. 'Hardship, persecution, and calamity' (2 Corinthians 12:9, ESV) march right through my safest place unfettered. How can I be content?
"I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me."
The power of Christ...the power of the resurrection. The power that holds all things together. Yet, even you submitted to suffering and persecution for a time.
Lord, I want to be like you. Though you suffered you never panicked. You wept, but you were not anxious. I know that if I had the perfect life, I would not cling so closely to you. These problems and my own inability to change things, create an opportunity.
I have the opportunity to "boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." Oh Jesus, for your sake, help me to be content with weaknesses (mine and my family member's), insults (from angry stepkids), hardships (undermining, and meddling from the outside), persecutions (unfair treatment), and calamities. I choose to believe that when I am weak, then I am strong.
This battle is not against any flesh and blood person. This battle is against the evil powers in this dark world (Ephesians 6:12). Evil is my enemy.
Oh, Lord, let the power of Christ rest upon me. Help me to continue to hope, to trust, to persevere. I pray that you will give me eyes to see your mighty hand moving. Help me see your fingerprints on this infuriating situation and this day.
Amen
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tales of the Restoration: Burned Gates (continued)
Nehemiah 1:3 The remnant there...is in great trouble and shame. The wall of Jerusalem is broken down, and its gates are destroyed by fire.
The Rubble
Years after their parents' divorce, my stepkids still have broken down walls and burned gates. Pain and confusion keeps their gates barred with rubble. Loyalty to their mother keeps them closed to me as their stepmom. Often they are also closed to even their dad.
I could definitely be wrong, but my guess is it has to do with their perception that loyalty to their mom means they must love her exclusively. If they open up to me, she will not be OK. In their minds, they have to take care of her. She seems vulnerable. This defense of her means that the rebuilding of healthy gates has not happened quickly in the relationship with me.
The View from the Other Side of the Gate
I am also in the other position, that of being the mother of kids who have a stepmom. When my wuzband (isn't that a great word for the-man-who-was-once-my-husband? I found it in Readers Digest.) first remarried, it was very hard for me to think of my precious children developing a relationship with their new stepmom. I felt threatened and fearful that she might replace me in their hearts. When I get angry at my stepkids' mom, I try to force myself to remember how difficult it once was for me to be in her position, to share my kids. Over the years, I learned that even a good stepmom-stepkid relationship is not the same as a mother-child relationship. There is room in my kids' hearts for both of us.
Knocking on the Gates
A few days ago, I visited the school where I taught for many years. A number of kids ran up and gave me suffocating bear hugs. Their gates were open to me.
I long for that same spontaneous affection and openness to me, from my stepkids. Even though we have been a family for over 2 years, it has not happened. While I wait and maintain hope for the gates to open a smidgen, my challenge is to keep my own gates well oiled and in working order. It isn't always easy.
The Rubble
Years after their parents' divorce, my stepkids still have broken down walls and burned gates. Pain and confusion keeps their gates barred with rubble. Loyalty to their mother keeps them closed to me as their stepmom. Often they are also closed to even their dad.
I could definitely be wrong, but my guess is it has to do with their perception that loyalty to their mom means they must love her exclusively. If they open up to me, she will not be OK. In their minds, they have to take care of her. She seems vulnerable. This defense of her means that the rebuilding of healthy gates has not happened quickly in the relationship with me.
The View from the Other Side of the Gate
I am also in the other position, that of being the mother of kids who have a stepmom. When my wuzband (isn't that a great word for the-man-who-was-once-my-husband? I found it in Readers Digest.) first remarried, it was very hard for me to think of my precious children developing a relationship with their new stepmom. I felt threatened and fearful that she might replace me in their hearts. When I get angry at my stepkids' mom, I try to force myself to remember how difficult it once was for me to be in her position, to share my kids. Over the years, I learned that even a good stepmom-stepkid relationship is not the same as a mother-child relationship. There is room in my kids' hearts for both of us.
Knocking on the Gates
A few days ago, I visited the school where I taught for many years. A number of kids ran up and gave me suffocating bear hugs. Their gates were open to me.
I long for that same spontaneous affection and openness to me, from my stepkids. Even though we have been a family for over 2 years, it has not happened. While I wait and maintain hope for the gates to open a smidgen, my challenge is to keep my own gates well oiled and in working order. It isn't always easy.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Step-mothering: A Walk in the Twilight Zone
Stepmothering is a kind of twilight zone between two worlds.
I have many of the responsibilities of a mother, but almost none of the authority. I love my stepkids, but even that is a twilight zone, because they feel a powerful loyalty to their mother. Affection toward me, or even gratitude for the things I do, seems like a threat to her.
The process of gluing together a new family out of the shards of two broken families is tediously slow, and your fingers get cut on the sharp edges.
Yesterday, at my stepson's request, I took some homemade Chai to school for a project. I was thrilled to be asked. It felt like a gesture of acceptance from him. It was the first time I have dared to step foot in the school without the legitimatizing presence of their father beside me.
From the moment I called the reception desk to try to find out what time class began, it was clear that I was an outsider. My husband takes responsibility for school related parenting obligations for his kids. I take care of those things for my daughter. So, when the receptionist asked the name of the homeroom teacher. I panicked. My mind went completely blank. I could not remember the teacher's name! I felt stupid, worse that stupid. I felt like I was trespassing by even thinking of walking into the building.
The receptionist must have thought that I was worse than stupid too because from the moment I admitted that I didn't know the name of the teacher, she treated me with great suspicion. I am pretty sure that she thought I was a stepmother after the tradition of Snow White's step-mother, likely to show up to class with a whole bag of poison apples. It seemed more like I was mounting a hostile invasion then like I was just dropping off a treat.
It all worked out ok. I gathered my courage to walk into the school and face the receptionist. I must not look as dangerous as I sound, because after she used the computer to confirm that I really was the stepmom, she let me take the treats to the classroom. Reportedly, the kids liked the Chai. Some even asked for the recipe so they could have it at home.
I agreed to do this because I wanted to do something nice for my step-son. I wanted to take another baby step toward finding my place in his life. It was a small thing, no different from the dozens of other ways my husband and I work toward gluing our new family together each day.
It was hard. It was risky. It was emotionally costly. And, it was worth it.
I have many of the responsibilities of a mother, but almost none of the authority. I love my stepkids, but even that is a twilight zone, because they feel a powerful loyalty to their mother. Affection toward me, or even gratitude for the things I do, seems like a threat to her.
The process of gluing together a new family out of the shards of two broken families is tediously slow, and your fingers get cut on the sharp edges.
Yesterday, at my stepson's request, I took some homemade Chai to school for a project. I was thrilled to be asked. It felt like a gesture of acceptance from him. It was the first time I have dared to step foot in the school without the legitimatizing presence of their father beside me.
From the moment I called the reception desk to try to find out what time class began, it was clear that I was an outsider. My husband takes responsibility for school related parenting obligations for his kids. I take care of those things for my daughter. So, when the receptionist asked the name of the homeroom teacher. I panicked. My mind went completely blank. I could not remember the teacher's name! I felt stupid, worse that stupid. I felt like I was trespassing by even thinking of walking into the building.
The receptionist must have thought that I was worse than stupid too because from the moment I admitted that I didn't know the name of the teacher, she treated me with great suspicion. I am pretty sure that she thought I was a stepmother after the tradition of Snow White's step-mother, likely to show up to class with a whole bag of poison apples. It seemed more like I was mounting a hostile invasion then like I was just dropping off a treat.
It all worked out ok. I gathered my courage to walk into the school and face the receptionist. I must not look as dangerous as I sound, because after she used the computer to confirm that I really was the stepmom, she let me take the treats to the classroom. Reportedly, the kids liked the Chai. Some even asked for the recipe so they could have it at home.
I agreed to do this because I wanted to do something nice for my step-son. I wanted to take another baby step toward finding my place in his life. It was a small thing, no different from the dozens of other ways my husband and I work toward gluing our new family together each day.
It was hard. It was risky. It was emotionally costly. And, it was worth it.
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