To be touched, to be loved, ah the deepest of comfort!

Mountains of Colorado

There is an excitement that bubbles up from within when I arise early, pile into the car and take off before many are up and about. As a little girl, when venturing out on family vacations, we always left at the crack of dawn and familiarity of it all, still thrills my soul.

Often, here in the high altitudes of Colorado glens, the gentle clouds on the ground, wisping and dancing about, the cold that sends a chill from the mountain air, as we ride in our chariot with music throbbing within and the love that ties our hearts together, makes this moment a cherished one.

The Broadmoor, awash with fresh flowers, a sparkling lake, splitting eggs benedict, strong coffee,  and cherishing each uninterrupted moment, stolen from a too-busy life.

Such was last Saturday as I whisked Joy off for breakfast, a walk and heartfelt discipleship. (I have a little drawer where I stash a dollar here and there, or a birthday check or a $20 given, just to have a fun-fund from which to draw for such celebrations with my sweet ones--there always seems to be just enough to split something!)

Deep thoughts and idealistic dreams are buried in the souls of my children, but God has shown me that to draw them out is an art of a mother. Intentionally carving out time alone with each child on a regular basis has provided foundations of our relationship which has grown very strong over the years.

Words of love and affirmation and a focussed attention, looking into their eyes and listening, really listening to their hearts speak, as I hold silent, is the beginning of such divine appointments.

When Nathan was merely 3, the older ones were at church with Daddy, and I wearily sat in a big overstuffed, beloved chair, and said, "Nathan, come sit with mama and tell me all that is inside of you."

Much to my surprise, when finally alone without any competition of siblings to share the stage, he cuddled next to me and for almost 45 minutes, chattered, giggled, talked and poured out his little boy heart. He, an extravert, had been waiting to spill his little soul and all the thoughts that bubbled there. I, astounded that so much could rest there in one so young, began to see that all of us long to be heard, all of us long to share our hearts, thoughts and dreams, and when heard, we open our own hearts to the one who would show us such devoted attention and love.

And so, in the midst of a crazy ministry life where literally thousands fill our home each year, siblings always noisily about foot, Daddy needing my attention, lessons to be taught, instruments to be practiced, meals to be made, clothes to be washed, the phone never stops ringing, this time away, like Jesus taking his away to the cool breezes of Mount Olivet, where no one would interrupt or bother, I have carved out a mountain of influence, by taking them away, by serving their heart needs, one little meeting, one little date at at time.


And so, the lavish discipleship breakfasts, walks around the lake and amidst flowers and trees abloom, several times a year, have become a beloved and shared adventure and tradition, between me and my precious children. The sacrifice of sleep, time, money and attention pays off, as their hearts open to the messages of my heart, which when I am patient, are always eventually heard.People always say, "What is your method of discipleship and what books did you use to win the hearts of your children?"

It was from the book of time invested, love given, eyes and ears focussed, and words of life focussed on hearts that needed and longed for affirmation and validation. If Jesus left heaven to so focus on his own, personally feeding, touching and rubbing and washing the toes of 12 burly men, could I do any less?

The sacrifice of my time, feeding them feasts, scratching their backs, massaging their little hands with lotion that smells vanilla, the head rubs in my lap, the candlelight and warm cups of drink, a cookie shared,  in the quiet of my bedroom, the hours of hours of rocking and singing and nursing and caressing, is a servant mother's way of saying, "You matter to me. Your are worth my undivided time. You are more important than all the tasks that loom about."

And this servant love and time is what lays the foundation for my sweet ones wanting to love the God I love because I took the time to love them.


Join me today, as I review Mission of Motherhood, chapter 4, as we discuss the Servant Mother, at