Merry Christmas, Nieces & Nephews!

I did nothing to deserve 81 of you but WOW, you have made our lives rich through the years. You filled a void during the years Uncle Kerry and I were childless.

Here are some of you as part of my home day care at a 1994 parade in Cambridge:

And others of you in a tickling match with Uncle Kerry:

Some of you came to work for us in our business as you grew:

Still others attended and helped us run Camp Fire. Remember the year I came to breakfast announcing that I had counted YOU instead of sheep while falling asleep? And there were 23 of you there with us? I told the campers they could ALL call me aunt if they wanted, and they did! For a decade now, tiers of young people calling me Aunt Michelle have rippled through southern Wisconsin and established my identity solidly in this role. 

Because you’re such a big part of it, I’d like to tell you a little about my quest for identity and value.

I was confessing a fault during a revival service a couple years back. After a moment or two of shock waves rippling through the group, Mirella piped up in her bright little voice, "But you're Aunt Michelle!" Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and we moved on. That moment has done more for my identity than any other. It sank the message to a new level in me, that fault and weakness don't change who I am. (Thanks, Mirella!)

I wrote this in my prayer journal once: “What is this I’m not real  thing I go through? Like I’m not enough to deserve real pregnancy. Real ministry. Real publication. Like I’m only half-baked. A lesser-than. This feeling has trailed me lifelong. It sets off such an ache of insecurity.”

I'm pretty sure we all wrestle with insecurity, pride or a vacillation between the two. At any given moment we may feel either half-baked or else the prize cake in the display window. Both are destructive to true identity, and are weapons of the enemy. Both assume that we created ourselves and can take either the blame or the credit. Here's a good reminder of Truth, excerpted from Psalm 139 in The Passion Translation:

"Lord, you know everything there is to know about me.

You perceive every movement of my heart and soul,

and you understand my every thought before it even enters my mind.

Your understanding of me bring me wonder and strength.

You formed my innermost being,

shaping my delicate inside and  my intricate outside,

and wove them all together in my mother's womb.

I thank you, Lord, for making me so mysteriously complex!

Everything you do is marvelously breathtaking!

I invite your searching gaze into my heart.

Examine me through and through."

I remember well the day I had been duking it out (verbally) with my kids and had shut myself in the bathroom for a moment of respite. I looked into the mirror and cried, "God, who AM I?" His response sank immediately into the fibers of my being: "You are Mine."  Turns out, this was the very message my kids were needing to hear from me, and the battle ceased when I stepped back out and passed it along.

This supernatural-realm identity is my bedrock.

But it can’t stop there. It might not even start there, because the natural realm is all I can see, and may need to nudge the supernatural into action so the two can feed off each other. I need to know what it looks like. What part of Him do I reflect? What are His dreams for me? How do I best live out my particular bent and personality? The answers are seldom clear. Just nudges that I step forward in to see where they lead. But like walking up a sand dune on Lake Michigan’s eastern shores, each step forward has a half-slide back when I get into comparing myself with others.

When God formed us, He didn't started with a mold and then tweak things from there, adding to some of us and taking away from others. He started from scratch. That's another way to look at it, isn't it?

He made me from scratch, not a mix.

And He has a completely different method for baking each of us too. I have to believe He sets me up well for my unique and powerful Kingdom purpose, even when things seem to go wrong and don't make sense. (There are beaters and a hot oven involved.) Like maybe I should realize that being a mom in my 20's and 30's would have used up the energy I'd need for aunting well, and then for adopting my kids who wouldn't be born till the next millennium. (!)

Here's how all this is playing out in my life these days:

I read a lot. Especially since returning home full-time in May, I have devoured everything I can find that speaks to what I’m going through. Rows of new books line my shelves which I have read, highlighted, and re-read. This has helped me through some really tough times, and has given me perspective and strategies for fighting my battles.

Anna laughed and  took a picture of my foot space one particularly rough night:

The challenge is, I'm created to write too. I know this is part of my identity. But when I start thinking of publishing anything, thoughts from other writers ping me from all directions. The very tones, styles and insights that bring me such life turn on me and (unintentionally) fire such comparison-based accusations as:

“There’s already better stuff out here.”

“It’s irrelevant! Boring.”

“Definitely half-baked.”

Choosing the style and topic for this blog has been a struggle. Last week I had finally decided on my audience (you), my tone (informal) and my method (letter-writing). I was ready to go! I wrote my first letter, liked it, figured out how to get it posted … And then read it the next day. Oy! Definitely half-baked. Old voices of invalidation taunted me, my emotions went into a tailspin and my family suffered the mom-grumps. When Regina offered to take Sanae to dance class, I went Christmas shopping to cheer myself up. But temperatures were below zero and I wasn’t home to keep faucets in use, so our pipes froze. (Yes, you know this old house and its basement!) We spent the evening feeding fires, positioning heaters, blowing fans, hauling water from the shop to flush toilets, and … hosting. Yes, of course visitors stopped by. I forced a smile while my heart stayed in its proverbial basement, my identity as frozen as the water .

Thank God for new days with new mercies and fresh starts! I woke up the next morning to the realization that I can’t live without writing, and a renewed resolve to try again. It took another day to get the water flowing, and two more my writing.

Truth be known, we're all going to be a bit half-baked on this earth. We're all in process. Let's have a little grace for ourselves and each other as we grow, huh? It shouldn't be affecting our identity.

OK, so my own crises are pretty mild, comparatively speaking. I've heard it said I was sheltered growing up. In some ways, it's true. Both Dad and Mom were devoted Christians. They were pretty good at parenting by the time I came along. We lived in a small town (Cambridge) with a small school with good values. When I wasn't in school or sports, I was taking care of cows, painting barns or baking cookies.

But then I turned 14 and we started taking in teen boys that no one else knew how to help. It developed in me a keen awareness of the difference between darkness and Light as the two co-existed in our home.

To my foster brothers, identity struggle went deep. It had shaken them to the core, and so they acted out in desperate ways. The first one to come had just bitten the head off a bat (at school, if I remember right) to imitate Ozzy Osbourne. Stories abound from there. Busted walls, swearing and window-rattling wrestling became a norm in our home.

I would watch as my parents' steady love would chip away at the wall separating Light from the darkness in these young lives. Dad frequently quoted this epigram by Edwin Markham, which has become a favorite of mine in recent years:

"He drew a circle that shut me out -

Heretic, a rebel, a thing to flout.

But Love and I had the wit to win:

We drew a circle that took him in!"

But that kind of love hadn't found its way into my heart yet.  I took it upon myself to hold a mirror of righteousness up for my foster brothers. I corrected everything they did wrong. I didn't yet have experience  with Christ,  which is the portal that ushers His love from spirit to soul where it can manifest in action. Without it, I only knew ethics and rules.

I was part of the problem instead of the solution.

At 14, Sanae is in a better place. She often recognizes people's pain, comes alongside and pulls them up through a demonstration of unconditional value. She has other dangers, like getting mixed up in their pain and drama with them, but we'll face that a day at a time and celebrate the beauty we see reflected in her brand new vandelier.

Yes, you read that right. Sanae asked for a “vandelier” for Christmas. (She thinks the word sounds better than “vanity” and is not to be confused with with a fictional weapon for fighting vampires.) Kerry and I found her a white desk at the Agrace Thrift Shop that looks a lot like like the vandeliers we saw on Amazon, and bought it to save $40 and 4 hours of assembly. I ordered her a pink tri-fold light-up mirror to set on it that matches her new Hello Kitty craze, with one pane to reflect each realm. (Well, at least we can say so, to keep her aware of beauty in spirit, soul and body.) She cried happy tears when we presented it to her. But how disappointed would she have been if I'd stuck pictures of Mother Teresa, Polyanna and Angelina Jolie on the mirrors? Of course I wouldn’t do that; she’d be demoralized. (Actually, she'd probably just laugh and rip them off.) But she's quick to point out how I do sometimes hold up a false image for her to reflect. We have so many differences! She's more interested in cats than cows, would rather make soup than cookies, and will choose painting nails over barns hands-down. With each realization, you'll hear a r-r-rip in my grip as I release yet more control over her identity.

Let's each learn to live with one foot planted in who we are as a unique individual, and the other in “I am His.” What starts out as a dance back-and-forth should eventually settle into a firm, even stance as we mature. It really comes down to balancing the spirit-soul-body realms in daily living. I’ll talk about that in a future letter.

Heavenly Father, please awaken the hearts of my nieces and nephews everywhere to the calling, creativity, life-giving destiny and value you’ve put in each one of them. Help them to recognize next-steps and have the courage to take them. Help them to dream, to know your dreams, and to see how they can fit together into something beautiful and world-changing. Set them free from the demons of comparison, insecurity and pride. In their place, fill each one with a glorious humility that longs to make You known and to be revealed with You in your glory. Give them fresh hope and courage today! And help them to offer this same freedom and hope to all their loved ones. In Jesus’ Name I pray, Amen.

Love you forever,

Aunt Michelle

P.S. I have a belated Christmas gift for you younger ones. In a few days I will begin posting the story, “Mystery at Lake Paradise,” which I began reading at camp in 2019. You might even enjoy it together as a family. Thank you for your reminders to keep the story going!