I believe when we choose to function in love, we choose to step out in courage and break walls of ignorance and indifference …

By Stephanie Motz Skinner | Twitter: @stephmotz

Sometimes, even the most ordinary task can lead to panic. I try to focus on the recipe in front of me and drown out the thoughts swirling around in my mind: “What if I fail?”

From the archives of my brain I pull a memory from the past that has imprinted Fear on my mind. The smell of burnt supper and the image of my husband’s brave face as the beads of sweat form on his brow and he labours through every bite.

I pour some milk into the mixture.

“Was that supposed to be half a cup? Uh-oh.” I messed up the measurements.

As I attempt to juggle tasks, turning from the frying pan to the cutting board, I continue to draw out these fears in my mind. I begin to believe that if I fail at making this meal, I’ve failed as a person, as a woman and as a wife … again.

“What is that smell?”

It’s all downhill from here.

Not only do my thoughts get the best of me, I become an emotional mess, and it starts to show in the way I respond to other people, and the way I hold the knife in my hands.

The thought that my efforts will only disappoint plants itself in my brain, and I begin to feel at first inadequate, then irritated and finally angry. By the time I’m done trying to salvage what I hoped would be an edible meal, I collapse into tears.

“Forget it. You’ll never be good enough,” I tell myself. I’m left feeling hopeless and my evening is ruined.

Thoughts Have Power

Hi, my name is Stephanie and I’m often afraid.

Fear and thoughts of ridicule and rejection, have paralysed me many times in my life. They have kept me from taking risks, reaching out, sharing my heart and even building relationships.

But, I’m learning that God has given us the gift of controlling our thoughts and choosing to function in love, so our lives are not ruled by fear.

In her book The Gift in You, Dr Caroline Leaf explains that our thoughts have emotions attached to them and that all emotions are derived from two root emotions: fear and love. Dr Leaf’s studies have led her to conclude that, because these two emotions cannot function at the same time, at any given moment we are functioning in either fear or in love. And it is our thoughts and emotions that determine our attitude.

“Fear is not a natural part of how we were created … We were created for love and all that goes with it, but we have learned to fear,” says Dr. Leaf.

However, God has equipped us to deal with fear, because we were created with the ability to choose between fear and love. Dr. Leaf explains that this choice happens in the frontal lobe of our brain. She says the frontal lobe allows us to stand outside ourselves and observe our own thinking, helping us make decisions about our thoughts and evaluate information. I imagine this as the part of the brain where I talk to myself.

Making Better Choices

Through my work as a photographer and a writer, I have learned to ask questions in order to understand people and social issues better. I’m finding that it’s also a great way to learn more about myself, so I can make better choices. When I ask myself questions like, “Why are you reacting to making a mistake in this way?” “What are you afraid of?” or “What is stopping you?” the answers lead me to an awareness that can help me choose to operate in love. Obviously, I don’t always make that choice, but I’ve found that asking questions always creates bridges of understanding, whether I’m trying to understand a story, another person, myself, my circumstances or social problems.

As I analyse and understand information, people and circumstances, I can then choose how I am going to react to them. And by controlling my thoughts, I determine my attitude.

I’ve seen how this works in my own life, and the more I practice, the more I find myself analysing situations and choosing to function in love. It’s not easy, because even when I try and perform a simple task, like making a good meal, if I’m not careful, I can let my fears overwhelm, even control me.

I’ve also seen what transformation happens when people learn to realign their thinking. The women at Living Hope in Uganda, have experienced some of the most horrible traumas–abuse, rejection, betrayal. Experiences in their life taught them that they were unwanted, unworthy and incapable. Through discipleship and trauma rehabilitation, they learn to process their traumas and confront their past. They forgive and let go of the toxic elements in their lives. They learn to see themselves and understand their value through God’s lens. Where they once saw brokenness and fear, they begin to see beauty and love. As they realign their thoughts and begin to function in love, their lives, health and relationships improve.

When I hear their stories and try to imagine what it’s like to have travelled their journeys, I sometimes wonder if I could have found the courage to choose to heal in the same way they did.

But they are examples to me that God has given us the key to a great life–one full of purpose–and it all begins with the ability to choose. I believe that when we choose to function in love, we choose to step out in courage, break walls of ignorance and indifference, as well as burst bubbles of isolation. When we choose Love, we become better people and we make our world a better place.

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About Stephanie:

I believe in the power of storytelling. I’m a photographer and writer for Fakeleft. Together with my husband, we love sharing stories of courage, of strength in the face of adversity, of triumph and hope. I truly believe that by partnering with others who want to bring change and justice to our world, we can actually make a difference.  I’m learning to walk in my nascent faith, but it’s not always easy. It’s an interesting journey.

I am currently living in Uganda, but my heart is everywhere. I’m a proud Latina from Choluteca, Honduras. I wish I had a Latino accent. My favourite meal is dessert and my favourite sport is tanning. I blog at fakeleft.com and tweet at @stephmotz.

“I wanted to forget that I’d ever felt that momentary joy preceding the horrifying loss of my one and only pregnancy.”

By Tara Rodden Robinson |Twitter: @tararodden 

When I went to church this past Sunday, I grew a little tense. It was Mother’s Day and I usually avoid any public observances that include motherhood. It’s not that I have a bad relationship with my mom—in fact, quite the opposite. It’s that Mother’s Day reminds me of an inescapable fact: I am not a mom.

Just the other day, I got treated to big dose of all the mom-ness that I am not privy to. I had been invited to a mid-week happy hour–a drinks with the girls evening. I arrived at the bar early so I could sit and sip my wine in peace for a while, just to enjoy the sensation of having nothing to do and nowhere to go.

When my friend arrived, another woman rose from a table across the room to intercept her. I knew this was going to happen—my friend had told me that she’d invited others to join us—and I knew that probably all these other women were going to be complete strangers to me. No big deal: I’m good at meeting new people. What I didn’t know was that all the women at the table had kids in the same Montessori school. Yep, it was a Mommy’s Night Out.

To be honest, my non-mommyness didn’t phase me. At least not at first. The conversation didn’t revolve entirely around kids. We talked about other topics, like one woman’s impending divorce and her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s complete meltdown. And when they learned that I am a productivity coach, the group became positively enraptured, asking me all sorts of questions about time management and such. But then the dreaded moment arrived.

“How old are your kids?”

I paused. Swallowed.

“I don’t have any kids,” I replied.

Cue the crickets.

“Oh!” she said, finally.

I didn’t realize how truly awkward that moment was until a few days later when I received—no lie—a handwritten letter of apology from the person who’d invited me.

Damn.

Looking Back

It’s not that I never wanted children. I was just very ambivalent for a long time. Plus I was waiting for the right time: the time when we had a stable income and health insurance. When we finally got around to trying, I was 38 years old. It took me three years to get pregnant. And in my eighth week, I miscarried.

It felt as if my heart had been ripped from my body. I spent weeks doubled over with grief. And when I wasn’t howling in pain, I was in my office, working as usual, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. I didn’t (and still don’t) understand the shame that came with the sadness. Why should I be ashamed of myself? I hadn’t done anything wrong. And yet for the longest time, I wanted to forget that I’d ever felt that momentary joy preceding the horrifying loss of my one and only pregnancy.

My aunt, one of my mom’s younger sisters, tried to comfort me. The little book she sent told me, “never doubt that you are a mother.” Of course, I know this is bull****. Mommies have actual children. For me, no child equalled not a mommy.

Do I sound bitter? I don’t mean to. There are many things about my life that I love. I have a lot of happiness, joy, abundance. There is only this one thing that is missing.

In Hindsight

I wish I could go back and talk to my still-ovulating younger self.

I’d tell her that there is never a right time to have a baby. I’d kick her butt and tell her to stop second-guessing her heart’s desire. And I would tell her to throw out her birth control pills and get herself pregnant.

When I look at my younger friends, the ones wrestling with the same ambivalence about being a mom, juggling the same timing issues and looking for that just-right moment, I want to take them by their shoulders and shake them until their teeth rattle. I want to yell, “When you’re fifty and menopausal and highly accomplished, the only thing that will matter to you is your family. Please, for goodness sake, have one!” If they didn’t call the cops first, would they get the message?

I wonder how my cocky twenty-something self would have reacted to such a visit.

I hope with all my heart I would have listened to me.

______________________________

Dear SheLoves readers, take a few moments to consider these questions:

• If I got a visit from my twenty years older self, what would she most want me to know?
• The heart’s desire I am second-guessing right now is …

______________________________

About Tara:

Tara Rodden Robinson is an author, coach, and educator. Known as The Productivity Maven, she blogs at tararobinson and tweets @tararodden. She lives in Corvallis, Oregon, with her husband and their two dogs. She is working on mastering complex yoga poses and searching for the perfect gluten-free bread recipe. When she’s not writing, coaching, or teaching, she’s out in the wilderness hiking and watching birds.

“I desperately needed a mother, but found myself living in a very small town in my aunt’s driveway, sharing a camper trailer with my father.”

By Daniela Schwartz | Twitter: @dannyschwartz
Today I want to tell you about Connie. Every month I lead a group of faithful moms on a visit to our local seniors home. We bring our young children and babies and the seniors love our little visits.

From our very first visit, I connected with the lovely Connie. She reminded me of my grandmother who passed away at a very tender time in my life.

Tender Years

My parents had just separated. I had moved away from my mother to follow my twin sister who felt obligated to take care of our father. My father was falling into a deep pit of alcoholism and drug addiction. It was a very lonely time in my life. We had moved to live with my aunt and her family. My grandma was the only maternal person in my life.

I was 10 years old. My body was changing; I was changing.

I desperately needed a mother, but found myself living in a very small town in my aunt’s driveway, sharing a camper trailer with my father. Not the big kind, but the kind you put on the back of a pick-up truck. My grandma and my sister felt like all I had left in the world.

Every night I sat with her in the living room. She told stories, tried to teach me French and had the most beautiful, pure white hair. She had brown freckles everywhere which she told me were liver spots. And she smelled like Oil of Olay.

She made me toast and coffee for breakfast every morning and filled my maternal void. She loved me and I loved her.

One morning I was up, getting ready for school when I heard her call out in fear. I ran to her room, but was brushed aside by my aunt. I peered in from the door. Something was wrong. My Grandma was crying, saying she couldn’t walk. She had had a stroke in her sleep that night.

About a month later my Grandma passed away. She was the first person I loved who died.

I felt shattered and misplaced.

At that point, I’d experienced more than one person should have to go through in a lifetime. Following her death, one of the most difficult things I had to do, was open my heart again. I had guarded my heart for years and it’s been quite the journey with God who continuously presents me with opportunities to love.

I didn’t expect our seniors visits to be one of those opportunities.

When I first met her, Connie seemed too sharp-minded to be in the home. She read widely and I even brought her books from home to add to her library. But as time went on, I could see the disease attacking her mind, started to win.

Connie started to fill a soft space in my heart, a place that stilled echoed with the loss of my beloved grandma. It was a place I had abandoned as a heartbroken ten-year-old, unable to cope with the amount of loss life had doled out.

This past Christmas we had our second Christmas visit with our seniors. We dressed in our best and brought special gifts for the kids to hand out. I had it on my list to pick up a book as a special gift for Connie. At my last visit, when saying goodbye, she mentioned how it had been a rough year for her healthwise and I wanted to do something special for her. Although I did not get around to picking up that book, I thought I could just pop in after our visit one day and drop it off.

On my arrival, the Recreation Coordinator quickly pulled me to the side. She knew I’d be looking for Connie and told me the news: Connie had passed away.

I tried to absorb the shock. Over the next hour, I bit back the flood of tears. I concentrated on decorating cookies, singing carols and looking intently into the faces of the seniors I had come to know … Suddenly I wanted to stop time.

When we came to the end of our visit, I pushed through the exit doors and let go of all the tears I’d been holding in. I cried off and on for the rest of that day. The grief was unexpected, but important.

I had been so afraid to open my heart again; to love and expose myself to the possibility of deep loss. But Connie awakened a part of me that was dormant and hurting, making me aware that maybe the things I instinctively avoid, may hold a key to unlocking the biggest miracles.

I now understand it is better to have loved and lost.

Visiting these seniors also opened my eyes to the treasure our elders are. I think maybe because of the loss of my grandmother, I used to resent old age and what it represented, but today, when I see a senior struggling with a bag or a door, I jump to help, not because they are helpless, but because it’s my honor to serve these treasures in our society.

For that I have to thank Connie.

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About Daniela:
Daniela is stepping into the role of stay-at-home mom. She loves Jesus, her husband and kids and jumps feet first into opportunities to serve in her community. Daniela lives by this statement, “Preach the gospel always, use words when necessary.” She loves to live life big and laughs a lot. She blogs with her twin sister Trinity at Lime in the coconuts.

“We listen. We learn. We hear wisdom in the voice of the elders, and sometimes in the voices of children.”

By Christi Walter

I get to write about women who are being the change in their community and do ministry where their feet are.

For that reason, I recently sat down at a little coffee shop Walnut Grove with a former professor of mine who still inspires and challenges me. Ruth Anaya is Assistant Professor of Cross-Cultural & Leadership Communication & Development Studies at Trinity Western University and a current Ph.D candidate. Her days are abundantly full teaching and researching, while she’s also a wife and mother to two teenage boys. Still, she has another foot planted in a Kenyan village, worlds away from the Canadian suburbs.

Ruth is warm and sincere with fair skin, freckles and a smile that reaches her eyes. I won’t soon forget the first class I took of hers: a travel study to Guatemala. Since the best way to learn Cross-Cultural Communication is through personal experience, Ruth takes Trinity students to either Central America or Africa every year. The program is packed with hands-on learning. We explored the cities, spent a day learning a craft from local artisans and met people from all walks of life. Ruth imparted her passionate belief in the importance of relationship and communication in development work.

Ruth has been to over 30 countries and worked in Africa for several years. Since settling down in BC, she’s been back several times, both with her family and on her own. During her travels, Ruth and her family built a deep connection with the people of Muhanda, a village in Western Kenya.

“Their hospitality is absolutely amazing,” says Ruth.

Ruth and her husband Petra, a Kenyan native, were inspired to come alongside the village and help in any way they could. In 2009, they founded Hands On Development Initiatives (HODI), a non-profit dedicated to finding innovative ways for rural communities to end the poverty cycle.

The couple partner with a variety of people from business owners to government officials and more. Many of these people owe their success to the community’s generosity and are eager to give back. So far, HODI has given Muhanda access to clean water, opened a much-needed maternity clinic and created scholarships to help students complete their education.

Although Muhanda is one of the poorest places in Kenya, Ruth was struck by the radical hope, ingenuity and generosity of its residents. Her work with them has grown organically out of relationship; a symbiotic partnership. HODI’s website says, “We listen. We learn. We hear wisdom in the voice of the elders, and sometimes in the voices of children.”

It was by listening carefully that they learned about local AIDS orphans living with their grandparents, and were able to help them. “They were just destitute,” Ruth says.  It’s the invisible ones HODI seeks out, she says. Those who can’t advocate for themselves. This is why they focus on projects that help the whole community thrive. ‘That way no-one gets left behind,” Ruth says, quietly but emphatically.

Ruth barely gave her coffee cup a glance as she talked animatedly about the village’s history. When Kenya was under colonial rule, the British didn’t see any economic advantage to educating girls, she explains, but the local missionaries believed in the value of educating women. Their school taught many Maragoli women, including some of Petra’s female relatives.

Maternal Health

Hands-On Development Initiatives International is built on a similar ethos of equality and empowerment. After recognizing the brutal lack of care for women during pregnancy and childbirth, HODI is facilitating the construction of a maternity hospital. The best estimates show 14,700 Kenyan women and girls die from pregnancy-related complications every year, and the lack of maternal healthcare weighed heavily on this mother.

“Many of these women were giving birth with no help,” Ruth says. “They were dying from minor problems. No woman today should have to go through that.”

HODI is about holistic community collaboration, so Ruth and her family prefer to “stay in the shadows” as much as possible. They bring supplies every visit, but they give them to trusted community leaders who give them to people who need them most  “We keep track of it all,” she says, “But we don’t ever want it to be ‘O, the Canadians are here.’ There’s a temptation toward heroism in situations like these, but that’s not what it’s about.”

For years, Ruth has ushered students out of the classroom and into radically different parts of the planet, to meet and learn from the people there. Today, several students and alumni intern and volunteer with her non-profit, taking part in this vital work of reconciliation. Ruth’s excitement and enthusiasm for building bridges between different cultures has led to deeply meaningful work.

I don’t mind telling you, it’s pretty contagious.

Find out more about HODI at www.hodiinternational.com

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About Christi:
Christi has a Communications degree from Trinity Western University. She loves stories and feels privileged to have heard some truly incredible ones while interning at Childcare Canada. Christi hopes to figure out how she can best use her gifts to impact the world around her. Her greatest passions are writing and travel. She’s just come back from recent travels in Australia.

Photo credits: Christi, by Cecilia Flaming

“When we grace a shared moment with our undivided attention and love, we create heartprints that can be carried with us, always.”

By Stefanie Thomas | Twitter: @stefanie_nicole

When I was a kid, it was always a bit of a thrill when the Avon Lady paid our home a visit. I’d study the glossy pages of the catalogues she delivered, making note of which treasures my heart desired. Strawberry-scented lip gloss! Bath powder, complete with a fluffy pink powder puff. A necklace with a pendant of a pigtailed girl on a swing. (She’s tucked away in a drawer somewhere, but this cute girl still swings on.) I especially appreciated when seasonal items were featured. Poring over pictures of Christmas ornaments made me excited for the coming holiday.

Mother’s Day was another occasion that seemed to be a big deal in the land of Avon. When I spotted this little plate in the catalogue, I knew I had to get it for my mom:

A Mother’s Beauty

What strikes me as funny today is (A) what does “Love is a Song for Mother” even mean? and (B) that I would have had to go through my mom to order the plate, so she couldn’t have been too surprised when she unwrapped it on Mother’s Day. But the beautiful thing about my mom is that she always seemed surprised, reacting as if whatever I’d given her was the best gift she could have received. Yes, even those fake red roses whose polyester petals we’d doused in Babe perfume (or was it Charlie?). You’d have thought we had given her the world.

To start from the beginning, my mom was an adorable baby:

Right? When she first learned to speak, she couldn’t pronounce her own name – Faye – so she called herself “Little Pay.” This, combined with the fact that, as a child, she tied a rope to a piece of wood and dragged it through the forest as her pet alligator, is, to me, heartbreakingly cute and only makes me love her more.

I remember my mom coming to my school when I was a kid and my classmates saying, “That’s your mom? She’s so pretty!” I felt proud that my mom was lovely on the outside, but what made me even more proud was how lovely she was on the inside.

Fond Memories

When kids at school got picked on, my mom encouraged us to reach out to them with kindness. She could often be heard reminding us, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” While some kids on the playground were echoing narrow-minded or racist beliefs, my mom taught my sisters and me to be loving and inclusive. I am so grateful she never tolerated prejudice or hatred.

Ours was the mom who let us blow through straws into a mixing bowl full of milk to make bubbles. When my friend’s mom arrived to find us at the kitchen table in all our bubble-blowing glory, she scoffed at what a waste of milk it was and asked my mom, “How could you let them do this?!” (This woman was a little on the stern side–she made her kids wear slippers in the house at all times–and to this day, if I get a whiff of Estée Lauder’s Youth Dew perfume, I am immediately reminded of her.)

Not all of our friends came from happy homes, but my parents created an environment in which others felt safe, comfortable and taken care of. Our friends knew they were welcome at our house, that they would be allowed to stay for dinner, play loudly and make a mess. More than once we took in friends, teens who had it so rough at home that they lived with us for a while. I am so glad our house was that house.

My mom is patient, gentle, wise and loving. She inspires me with her spiritual practice and offers reminders of God when I need it most. My mom has blessed my life in countless ways, but as I give thanks for her today, I’m remembering some sweet simple moments we shared when I was about five years old.

Just Mom and Me

Our home was usually busy with activity, but once in a while I’d get my mom all to myself. It didn’t matter what we did, getting one-on-one time with her was a treat. I have fond memories of sitting on the bathroom counter, watching mom apply the face mask she’d made from whipped egg whites. Then it would be my turn. We’d let our masks dry and then carefully peel them off, marvelling at how smooth and clean our skin felt. Mom had her hands full raising three little girls, so I don’t imagine she got much time to pamper herself. Having a few minutes to give herself an inexpensive, homemade facial might have been my mom’s attempt at squeezing in some overdue self-care, but for me, it was memory-making material.

It felt special.

Another experience I often recall took place one winter’s day when mom and I had the house to ourselves. We munched on popcorn and sang along to Barbra Streisand’s Greatest Hits Volume 2 as we watched snowflakes fall outside. And then we cleaned out the fireplace. My mom folded over the top few inches of a brown grocery bag, and together we used the wrought-iron broom and shovel to carefully fill the bag with delicate black ashes. It was the most menial and mundane of tasks, probably something my mom was happy to cross off of her never-ending To Do List, but several decades later, I still fondly remember how special it felt to take on this job together on that quiet, snowy afternoon.

Once, when I was unable to sleep because I was sick with the flu, my mom scooped me up in my favourite pink blanket and together we retreated to the family room couch. She fixed me a little snack, and together in the early morning darkness, we watched The Flintstones. I was sick and I could have been miserable, but something about having my mom’s undivided care for me, being up together when everyone else was sleeping, made it feel all better. I still have that pink blanket, and my mom is still there with TLC when I need it.

How Love is Felt

Years ago on The Oprah Winfrey Show, author Toni Morrison raised the question, “When your child walks into the room, does your face light up?” More than parents’ words, it’s the love children can see that makes them feel special. For me, it wasn’t just sharing these experiences with my mom that propelled me to deposit them in my Good Memories Bank. What made these simple moments special was that my mom’s face did light up. I could feel that she was as delighted to be in my company as I was to be in hers.

Life can get busy, and perhaps at times we feel the pressure of having to divide ourselves among many people and demands. Writing this post reminded me that it’s not always the big events and gestures that have the most impact.

A sliver of a day devoted to homemade facials, or cleaning out the fireplace, or even cuddling through the flu can become a treasured memory.

- When we’re present with the ones we’re with, when our faces reflect the love we feel, the ordinary can become extraordinary.

- When we grace a shared moment with our undivided attention and love, we create heartprints that can be carried with us, always.

Happy Mother’s Day, to my own beautiful mom and to my beautiful SheLoves sisters–whether you are a mom or long to be one, whether you’re celebrating your mom today or missing and remembering her.

Thank you for making the world go ’round.

This one goes out to YOU!

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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear your thoughts:

• What are your favourite mother memories?

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About Stefanie:

Stefanie is a Registered Clinical Counsellor living in Vancouver, BC. She feels blessed to work in a helping profession and is grateful that her work requires her to show up not in a power suit but with listening ears and a compassionate heart. Stefanie enjoys spending time with family and friends and has never met a kid or baby she doesn’t like. She is a noticer and appreciator of birds (chickadees, herons, eagles) and many a beach rock has come home in her pocket. Stefanie is a lover of music, tv and movies, and she is gifted at absorbing and retaining useless pop culture trivia. She loves walking, fresh air, the smell of dirt, and anything of the salt and vinegar persuasion. She can often be found puttering.

Tales from the Parenting Trenches

“Given how varied parents, children and contexts are, how could there be one best way to parent?”

By Sabrina Connell | Twitter: @sabrinaconnell

I had a friend who could not have been more my opposite. I’m fairly certain she kept me around because she didn’t have enough people in her life who would openly disagree with her. In addition to opposing personalities, political and religious views, we had incredibly different parenting styles. Yet, despite our differences in parenting, all of our children, who shared classes together, thrived. While my husband and I often allowed our children to sleep with us, frequently played with them and gave them room to negotiate with us, she and her husband drew more strict boundaries and encouraged more independence in the form of their children packing their own lunches (including their two-year-old), comforting themselves at night when they were scared and playing without adults involved.

She freely expressed her opinion that she was parenting correctly and I was operating in error. Was one of us wrong in our parenting? More importantly … was one of us more right?

Numerous books promote varying parenting styles. Recent popular books like Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother and Bringing Up Bebe may even suggest that parenting styles in other cultures might be superior to ours. Given so many options and arguments, what should we do as parents?

Parenting style depends on so many various factors that I’m convinced there really isn’t a one-size-fits-all type of mothering.

• What outcomes are you hoping for?

Parents make choices in the service of values they hope will shape their children. In raising her children, my friend was seeking to help them develop self-reliance and independence. We, on the other hand, were aiming to raise our children in a manner promoting community and interdependence. Every parenting choice we make is in the service of some type of goal or desired outcome that is shaped by our own values.

• In what type of context are you raising your children?

Children being raised in urban neighborhoods face different challenges and expectations than children raised in suburban or rural neighborhoods. As such, different parenting strategies may be required. Globally, children around the world develop in vastly different contexts with dramatically different parenting practices, and yet still they manage well. For example, among the Efe people of Congo, West Africa, Efe babies learn how to use machetes very early on, because knowing how to do so is helpful in securing survival in the Ituri Forest!

(Photograph by David Wilkie, from The Cultural Nature of Human Development, page 6, by Barbara Rogoff)

• What type of personality do you have?

Are you more sensitive and reactive? Or are you stoic and able to conceal your emotions? Admittedly, I’m a bit of a push-over with my children and being strict or firm feels unnatural to me. I’m pretty sure my children even see my attempts at being strict as contrived and forced.  Similarly, some parents are naturally more structured and organized, while others are more spontaneous and … unorganized (myself included).

• What type of resources and social support are available to you?

A single mother who works numerous jobs to support her children may have a different level of energy and availability for her children than a mother who works part-time and enjoys the support of her relatives. Similarly, some parents raise children in communities where libraries, playgrounds, schools, and parks abound, while others raise children in communities that lack such resources.

• What type of child do you have?

Many of us who have more than one child can attest that even within our own family systems, we often adjust our parenting styles between our own children. My son and my daughter require different routines, different encouragement and different discipline.  If I were to tell my children that touching a particular object could be dangerous, my daughter would carefully back away while my son would take such information as an invitation to discover the potential danger himself.

Given how varied parents, children, and contexts are, how could there be one best way to parent? There are few absolutes in childrearing beyond wanting the best for our children and seeking to help them thrive using the resources, knowledge and abilities available to us. In addition to monitoring our judgment of others’ parenting practices, we may also want to monitor our judgment of ourselves. Rather than questioning whether or not we’re parenting our children right, perhaps we can take comfort in the fact that we’re asking that question at all as it reflects our motivation to raise our children well. Kudos to all you momma’s out there making the most of what you’ve got this Mother’s Day weekend!

For a fascinating peek at how babies are raised in different contexts, watch the documentary Babies.
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About Sabrina:

An artist-turned-academic, Sabrina spends her days navigating between a wide variety of roles including that of mother, wife, graduate student, researcher and daydreamer. She is currently a doctoral student in the Communication Studies program at Northwestern University where she researches the various ways in which children and parents engage media and technology and the potential effects these interactions might have on the development of children. Prior to her time at Northwestern, Sabrina earned a Master’s degree in child development from Tufts University, as well as a Master of Arts in puppetry from the University of Connecticut. She has a passion for all things involving play, whimsy and the art of nurturing.

Image credit: Boy in field, by Thomas Fleenor

” … what began as an invitation to orchestrate my dad’s dream, has turned into an opportunity to shape my own.”

By Katie Mogan Graham

I spent the first twenty odd years of my life thinking I was meant to be an artist. It didn’t really matter what kind, just someone who spent her days making things beautiful (and being allowed to make her living quarters messy as she did so). I loved to draw and design costumes as a child. This was followed by a brief love affair with pottery and then a longer relationship with photography in high school. At university I decided to major in Art History (aka studying other people who made the world beautiful) and I worked at a gallery until I graduated.

The heady, idealistic phase of believing my papers actually made an impact on the world around me, ended abruptly as I entered “the workforce.” Braced with my best imitation of an “office outfit,” I spent three years trying to add beauty to my cubicle-d surroundings (and sometimes their inhabitants). I organized events, decorated lunchrooms, styled photo shoots, made elaborate presents for my colleagues’ birthdays, but still felt that my nine-to-five beautification project fell short of what I could really do, if given the opportunity. Convinced that I could do more, I ended up leaving my steady salary to start my own business dedicated solely to my love of fashion, events and beauty.

I called myself “the urban stylist” and spent my days cruising stores on Robson Street in Vancouver for the latest trends. I spent nights attending fashion shows. I enjoyed the freedom to plan my days however I liked, and particularly loved writing for local fashion publications. Still, as the months progressed, I sensed something wasn’t quite right. It could be that I had recently met a really nice plaid-wearing guy from a small town “Up North,” or maybe the massive pile of credit card bills were finally starting to take their toll. There are probably many reasons why this latest incarnation of my artistic dream didn’t work out, but the deciding factor was being asked to help someone else live theirs.

A Dream

In 2010, my dad asked me to help him a launch an organization that had been his dream for over twenty years. He had the vision and the means to support it, but he wanted someone with an arts background to get it off the ground. The idea was to create market access for impoverished artisans around the world. We would partner with development organizations to ensure wages were fair and profits were split between the artisans and community development projects. In addition to increased demand for their products, we would also provide the artisans with design ideas to appeal to North American consumers. I would be in charge of designing and choosing the products and creating our brand, an artistic challenge too enticing to turn down.

In the last two years, what began as an invitation to orchestrate my dad’s dream, has turned into an opportunity to shape my own. It’s not what I ever would have envisioned for my life, and yet it satisfies my desire to create and find beauty. I don’t make things, but I help people make them, and somehow that is much more satisfying. The women may not step off the pages of Vogue, but they are far more beautiful than any model I have met.

So yes, I could do more–support more charities, volunteer for more events, tithe more, give more time. I could also spend less on lattes, watch fewer reruns on Netflix, gossip less, whine less. I could do these things, but I’ve decided that my purpose, what I was truly made to do is to take what I love and use it to connect with others. I can’t delete my past, so I intend to let it continue shaping my future.

 Launch

Tomorrow, Saturday May 12th, we (Global Mothers) are celebrating the last two years of research and preparation by throwing a big party!

The timing is actually quite perfect as it is both Mother’s Day weekend and World Fair Trade Day–basically our organization in a nutshell. We are inviting everyone to come and join us as we share information about our artisans, their products and the work that the NGOs are doing in their communities. There will be live music, interactive drum workshops, songs and stories for kids provided by Vancouver mom/songwriter Sheree Plett, a whole kids zone with face painting, crafts and a photo booth, as well as multiple screenings of our short film, “Buy Good”. Everyone who attends can enter our draw to win Global Mothers products, as well as munch on delicious food prepared by the amazing ladies who run The Banqueting Table. We’d love to share Global Mothers Day with you, so drop by on Saturday, May 12th anytime from 12pm-4pm. Regent College: 5800 University Blvd. on the UBC Campus. You can check out our facebook page here or download our GM launch event poster here.

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About Katie:

I am that person who stays up late on Tuesday nights, watching kitten videos on Youtube. I am also the person who routinely eats milk duds and grape juice for dinner while watching said videos–information I don’t typically share with anyone. I am the happy newly wed wife of one lovely Northern BC fellow, who loves me despite my “endearing” quirks. When I am not tearing-up at the sight of kittens yawning in their sleep, I manage a non-profit, called Global Mothers. It takes me places I never thought I would go, introduces me to women I am honoured to have met, and challenges me to be more of who I was made to be.

“She came into the home with her arms crossed, defiantly gloomy, intimidatingly unfriendly.”

By Musu Taylor-Lewis | Twitter: @mercycanada

Have you ever watched a flower bloom? No, really watched a rosebud as it slowly opens up to reveal the majesty of its creation?

It’s incredible to see how much beauty is shut up into a rather small bud. Nothing of the vibrant colour is visible until the bud begins to open up; and yet all the beauty and all the radiant colour is already present within the bud. What that bud needs is the right conditions for it to blossom.

Over the last year at Mercy Ministries, I’ve had the incredible opportunity of watching a flower bloom: not a rose, not a lily, but one young woman who graduated from Mercy Ministries this week and is going out into the world with a colour and beauty that was not visible when she first arrived.

You had to be there … She came into the home with her arms crossed, defiantly gloomy, intimidatingly unfriendly. In my role, I mostly watch our residents from a distance and from that perspective, her manner made me wonder why she even bothered coming to Mercy Ministries, and whether she would stay. Residents come of their own free will and are free to go if they choose to.

But she stayed … and now, whenever I look at her, all I see is a flower in full bloom. She is friendly, straightforward, intelligent and thoughtful. Today she seems more shy than defiant, more curious than challenging and open to fellowship and friendship. I cannot describe just how much her whole demeanor has changed, in response to the word of God and the love of God’s people.

Watching her today reminds me of how the apostle Paul describes working with his friend Apollos to bring about change to people’s lives.

“I planted the seed in your hearts, and Apollos watered it, but it was God who made it grow. It’s not important who does the planting, or who does the watering. What’s important is that God makes the seed grow.”

I know for sure that God has done this remarkable work of blossoming in a young woman’s life. Mercy Ministries was the soil in which she was planted and God used different persons to bring her to full bloom: One person counseled and another planned. One person led worship and another gave. One person challenged and another was gentle. One person prayed and another raised money.

What is important is that this flower bloomed.

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About Musu:

My life is lived out of the calling “to advance Christ-centred work.” I am currently Director of Marketing and Development at Mercy Ministries, working to get the word out about the life-transforming work that takes place here. Prior to my work at Mercy, I directed a Crisis Pregnancy Centre, studied Christianity and Culture at Regent College and co-led women’s programs at my local church. I have four great children and am married to Steven, a gift to me from the Creator.

Image credit: Girl in Garden, by Sean Carpenter

Taking time to rest may just be the most spiritual thing I do all week.

By Claire De Boer | Twitter: @Britchic19

Last weekend I attended a conference called LifeWomen at my home church here in Surrey, Canada. The concept of LifeWomen couldn’t have been more inspiring—this conference really did breathe life into me.

One of the speakers, Dr. Robi Sonderegger, is a clinical psychologist and humanitarian activist—an amazing speaker who has an innate ability to speak to the very heart of women and seemingly understand our deepest needs.

Dr. Robi said many profound things over the three-day conference, but the phrase that really took route in my brain was perhaps one of the most simplistic:

“Taking time to rest may just be the most spiritual thing you do all week.”

I never take rests.

To me my rest time is when I put my head on my pillow at night and close my eyes. Even then, my brain is often swimming with a multitude of thoughts.

God has been tapping me on my shoulder and telling me to rest for some time now. It’s therefore no surprise to me that this particular phrase from Dr. Robi is the one that sticks in my mind.

A Moment of Rest

I took a trip with my family earlier this spring down to Florida. Part of me didn’t even want to go because it meant leaving a heavy workload. At the same time, I relished the thought of an opportunity to unwind.

It ended up being one of the most relaxing two weeks I’ve ever had. It wasn’t until I found myself out of my usual environment that I realized how much I needed the break. I felt calm; I could breathe deeply again and enjoy the life around me. On this trip I promised myself that when I returned home, I would take more time to relax.

It didn’t last. The memories of my relaxing trip soon faded into the background and within a couple of weeks I was back to my old routine—soccer mum one minute, crazy writer the next.

Resting in Him

Dr. Robi’s words are taking me on a journey. On this journey I’m pondering why and how God needs me to rest. The answer is transparent: If I don’t take time to rest, when do I connect with Him? How can I let Him take center place in my life if I’m too busy to let God in?

God’s message is clear: we need rest in order to have strength when we are working.

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” –Matthew 11:28-29 The Message)

What good am I to my family, friends and work if I don’t rest? I become irritable, my mind often fogging over, and I go through the day in a state of heightened anxiety, which could eventually lead to illness. It’s quite clear why God requires me to rest.

But sometimes I’m a little like a petulant child, you see. I know what I need to do and why it’s good for me, but I keep running along in my own world, ignoring what’s best and just focusing on “getting things done.”

What would it be like if I spent a day focusing on NOT getting things done? What if I just rested in God for that day—took long walks on the beach, listened to music, wrote in my journal and prayed? It’s so easy! As a mother it would take a little logistical finagling, but it is do-able. So why don’t I ever do it?

Valuing my Time

As a child there was nothing I enjoyed more than singing or painting while listening to music. These things brought me peace, connection with myself and allowed my mind to rest. I valued this time to myself.

As I’ve grown older and added more tasks to my plate, including motherhood, taking care of a home and working, I’ve placed increasingly less value on my “alone time.” I like to accomplish tasks and feel anxious if I can’t.

Laying Aside Guilt

Until I really pondered the concept of rest and why I don’t make time for it in my life, I had no idea guilt was a factor.

When I rest, I feel guilty.

When I think of the times I’ve made the decision to put my feet up on the couch and read for half an hour, I have been unable to shake the thought that I could and should be doing something more useful.

It’s as though I feel I have to fill every second of my life doing something that will have some kind of productive outcome. But the irony is that without rest, everything else I do becomes unproductive. I can’t give all of myself to anything if I’m discounting my own needs.

What would my life look like if I took the time to really rest—self-condemnation aside—every day?

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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear your thoughts:

• Do you take time to rest? If not, why?
• Does resting bring you closer to God?
• How could you incorporate a few minutes of rest into your daily life?

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About Claire:

Born and raised in the UK, Claire De Boer is the SheLoves Wellness Editor. She is a creative writer, woman of God, mother and wife. She is currently working on her first women’s fiction novel and a collection of short stories.

Claire is also a graduate of The Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University and currently mentors in the Southbank creative writing program at the university.

“Just a few weeks ago we had to call the police, because a mother was prostituting her own daughter.”

By Danielle Strickland | Twitter: @djstrickland

Mothers are amazing. At least that’s what Hallmark says.

I’m always a bit conflicted around Mother’s Day. It’s not just the commercialism and sentimentalism and obvious manipulated emotionalism of the day in our culture–it’s also the fact that my own reality and the world of the people where I live and serve are so vastly different.

My mother is amazing.There’s no doubt about that. She’s the spitting image of  Hallmark propaganda–actually, thinking about it now makes me think she might have taken some kind of special training. Always kind and considerate, full of love, understanding and perseverance. Not too soft, not too hard. I mean, really, I’ve been extremely blessed.

On the other hand there are the people I serve and work with every day.They often have a different story: abandonment, neglect, abuse and almost every kind of unimaginable thing. Just a few weeks ago we had to call the police because a mother was prostituting her own daughter. It’s a sick world.

So, my conflict grows.

This must also be on God’s mind because He wrote an incredible verse in Isaiah 49:15 that explains this tension much better than I can. “Can a mother forget the child she has born?” The question is asked by a prophet as a rhetorical one, but it hangs in the air. What you want to do is respond with a big fat “No!” and you even want to believe it. But if we are honest, we know that the answer is “Yes”–tragically, through brokenness or sinfulness, a mother can forget the child she has born. But then the Scripture goes on: “ … even though she may forget–I will never forget you. I have engraved you on the palm of my hand.” God answers with the Truth.

This isn’t Hallmark, but it would make a great Mother’s Day card for a lot of people I know. Even though she may forget, I will never forget. The reality of the situation is that every person who is born, is not born by the will of a human alone. The willingness or goodness of the parent does not determine the value of the child. For GOD has planned and willed that people are born. His desire is to see life grow and prosper.

God is the ultimate Mother. We catch a glimpse of this through Jesus’ weeping over Jerusalem as he says out loud he longs to be like a mother hen who gathers her chicks into the nest (Matt. 23:37) … He longs for us like a mother. He has the ultimate Mother heart.

I first heard about this promise from Isaiah from my Dad. The most fascinating part about this tension in my life, is where my parents come from. They are both supposed to be statistics that reflect the world’s worst news. Both of them were discarded children–my Dad abandoned and my mother a casualty of addiction and violence; a ward of the court at ten years old. In adoption circles, she is a hard case–the kind people talk about with raised eyebrows … everyone knowing that the chances of her wholeness are almost nil because what life had dealt her.

But God intervened. Even though their mothers forgot, God didn’t. And this is true for everyone, everywhere. God will not forget–He cannot. The Bible tells us that He has knit us together in our mother’s womb … He has designed our lives before one day has come to be. This is incredible.

Catherine Booth (co-founder of The Salvation Army) used to tuck her kids into bed every night and tell them, “You were born to change the world.” And she was right. The psalmist says that the cry of an infant puts the enemy to flight–and he is right. Every yelp of life, every glimpse of hope, every small act of kindness and goodness in a dark world is evidence that God keeps his promises. Even though she may forget, I will never forget you. I have tattooed you on me. Forever.

Now take that, Hallmark.

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About Danielle
Danielle serves Jesus as the Corps Officer of Crossroads Community in Edmonton, Canada. Her passion is social justice, including establishing human trafficking response teams in local situations and giving leadership to the global team for the Stop The Traffik campaign. Danielle speaks and teaches around the world and has written several books: Just Imagine: the social justice agenda, Challenging Evil and The Liberating Truth: How Jesus Empowers Women. Danielle is married and has two sons.