This book you are holding is filled with inspiration and encouragement as Heather shares her heart, freely and fully, so that you might not feel alone on your own journey. Her experience is vast and varied. Her love for Christ, her husband, and their five blessings resonates throughout each page. They are her true north, her guiding lights. The stories shared within just might inspire you to step outside your comfort zone and trust a little more in the plan God has for you and your family.
No one travels the same road in the same way. There will be roadblocks—and many of them. But don’t be afraid of them or the occasional flat tire from the construction debris on the side of the road. Trust in the GPS that the Holy Spirit provides and listen closely for the sirens of the emergency vehicles that will arrive just in time to save the day.
Dig in, friends, and savor this book. Celebrate the sacrificial yet fruitful call to love and allow it to change your perspective on motherhood. Now crank up the radio, and let’s get this road trip started. Life is a highway, and all roads lead to heaven.
Mary Lenaburg
author, writer, and speaker www.marylenaburg.com
Mamas, Start Your Engines
(( and now an introductory word or two from our author ))
“Most of the time, I feel entirely unqualified to be a parent. I call these times being awake.”
— Jim Gaffigan
This whole written journey through the mother’hood began because I was up-to-my-eyeballs frustrated.
Mile after mile, hour after hour, day after seemingly endless day, I transported my beloved children in our beat-up minivan to destinations both hither and yon and back again. It was a thankless, mind-numbing task. And pretty numbing of other body parts, too, come to think of it.
I felt trapped in a ridiculously sensible vehicle with freakishly loud short people who neither appreciated my music playlist nor my air-conditioning needs. It was also only a matter of time before I completely lost my sense of hearing due to the sheer volume of noise assaulting my eardrums from the back seat.
Perhaps most telling about my pit-of-despair mindset was this: I just knew I had more important things to do with my time than lugging children around—even children I deeply and fiercely loved. Because, after all, I didn’t aspire to be a chauffeur (or a maid, or a short-order cook, or a nanny) when I grew up, so why was I relegated to all these tasks (and more) without so much as a paycheck to show for it?
My minivan had become a metaphor—a visible sign that I’d lost the last vestiges of my youth, my potential for cool, and my hard-fought independence. It represented everything I’d given up so my children could have what (and get to where) they needed.
The minivan represented eventual, total, and complete annihilation: death. And perhaps even scarier: carpooling.
Now, while I would much prefer death by chocolate, or spa day, or countless other pleasant things, that’s not where God has me.
In my heart of hearts, I know that family life is where God wants me, for better or worse. This is my vocation, my calling, my path to holiness. And so, I determined with a bullheaded willfulness known to my confessor alone that I would, with God’s grace and quite a bit of caffeine, endeavor to despise my minivan and the countless sacrifices it represented slightly less today than I had yesterday.
Besides, maybe if I tried harder to accept the road map I’d been given for this crazy adventure called life, I’d only be significantly wounded rather than outright killed by my minivan metaphor. Hey—a girl can dream, right?
Eventually, I conceded that death is inevitable; it doesn’t discriminate. As Sister Theresa Aletheia often reminds her Twitter followers: #mementomori (remember your death). Perhaps, though, my sacrifice—my dying to self—could accomplish something, like in John 12:24, where he wrote, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”
I wondered: what sort of fruit could I bear by laying down my life for my husband and children? I remembered a choral piece I sang in church choir before we had kids. Its lyrics were based on Galatians 5:22-23: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. If you walk in the Spirit, let your life reflect the fruit of God’s love.”
There. That! That was the sort of woman—the sort of mother—I wanted to be! I wanted to be more loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, gentle, and all the rest. I wanted to walk by the Spirit!
But how? That was the million-dollar question.
I don’t know about you, but I figure things out by talking and writing about them, so I started doing just that.
I wrote about the realities of mom life—how we sacrifice brain cells, energy, clean clothes, and washed hair for our kids, but how, even with all of that, a plethora of good fruit can be harvested, up to and including eternity spent with God in heaven.
Answering God’s call to unconditionally love our spouse and our children—traveling the straight and narrow way—takes a lot of practice. It takes sacrifice. And it takes many, many acts of the will that are often contrary to our impulses and feelings. If we want to live by the Spirit, we have to intentionally and consistently choose to incorporate good, godly fruits into our busy lives.
We moms, I figured, often give of ourselves until there’s not much left to give. Basically, we’re dying to ourselves for the good of our families all the time already. Couldn’t we possibly enjoy some tantalizing fruit as partial payment for our efforts along the way?
Now, I know what you’re thinking: Heather, this sort of sounds like the worst road trip EVER!! I’m gonna die, and you want me to settle for some fruit as a consolation prize? The certain reality is, none of us is going to make it off this highway called life alive, but we can praise and glorify God with the windows rolled down and the music turned up while we are able, so … why not?
It took me quite some time, but I now know that the very best place for me to learn about receiving and giving God’s love is … yep! in my metaphorical (and actual) minivan, backing out of the garage on the “x” that marks the spot where my very own family may be found.
It’s in the small, hidden ways (and the big, loud ones, too) that God is directing and leading ever closer to my final destination.
This book truly is a love letter for you, mamas-in-arms! I sure hope you like it and find it somewhat helpful.
You oughta know
The first fruit of the Holy Spirit is love, and that’s exactly what kept my engine revved as I wrote this book for you—yes, you! Death by Minivan is my love letter to you and every other mama heading into, smack dab in the middle of, or heading out of the trenches of the mother’hood.
Here’s what I hope you’ll get out of it:
• I want you to know that you are not tackling the towering mountains of diapers and laundry and schoolwork and snacks and fevers and playdates and dust bunnies and doctor appointments and wet kisses and boo-boos and grocery lists and teen talk and cooking by yourself. There are countless sisters out there just like you, who are also striving toward holiness one milepost at a time. He’s got a plan for you, and you aren’t alone. We’ve almost got a carpool going on up in here!
• I want you to know that you are enough, just as you are, and you can most assuredly handle this crazy, grace-filled journey called motherhood, because God can and will provide every grace and blessing that you need through the power of the Holy Spirit for you to bear abundant fruit.
• I want you to know that it is okay if you do