Heart Matters Blog

I won't stand by watching a sister fight against a brother, a friend hurl insults against another friend, a Christian slander another child of God + let Satan kick back laughing in TOTAL GLEE. Smiling from ear to ear. So happy we played right into his hand.Don't be mistaken—whatever you see with your own 2 eyes? Not it. Our struggle is NOT against flesh and blood. So all the hate, injustice + division?We know the truth. Paul makes it very clear: We're fighting against the evil rulers, authorities + mighty powers of this dark world + against spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. (Eph. 6:12)So rise up, friends. There's a war going on + it didn't just start last week. Don't let yourself be deceived, don't turn on each other like Satan hopes + remember from where you fight: God for ...

"Let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily hinders our progress…" Hebrews 12:1 My preschooler was in a mood, and it was as if nothing was going his way and everything made it worse. To add fuel to the fire, we were out for a family walk, he was running ahead of us, and as my son got close to where the sidewalk ends, my husband shouted, "Oscar! Wait for us, buddy!" But he didn't wait. He kept running. My husband's voice grew louder, and I joined him in a chorus of, "Stop! Wait right now!" But it wasn't until my Olympic runner of a husband chased him down that Oscar stopped. There was a stern tone of voice and serious faces exchanged, but my son got the message loud and clear—"Cars are dangerous. You have to listen. When we say stop, you stop, and yo...

"Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Psalm 23:6 What runs like clockwork in your life? Is it your morning routine? The sun rises, you wash your face, brush your teeth, and eat scrambled eggs, and then off to work you go. Is it your kids' schedule? They need their lunch by noon, nap time naturally follows, and Daniel Tiger is the only way to get through that afternoon slump. Or maybe the only thing consistent in your life these days is trash day, and when Tuesday rolls around, you roll out your can to the end of your drive, and as you come in from work, you bring it right back up. As Christ-followers, there's more regularity to our day than we may know or even imagine. Whether it's been a bright or dark da...

My son talks a LOT about heaven these days. His bedtime prayers sound like, "Dear God, can we go to heaven this weekend?" and our conversations in the van include, "Mom, heaven is so high! How will I ever get there?" I'm soaking it all up. I'm taking in the wide-eyed wonder, amazed at the scope of his persistent questions, and replying the best I know how: "We might get to go to heaven today if Jesus is ready! He's preparing a place for us, like Daddy prepares your room and gets your bed made, and He'll come get us when it's all set and done." Or "It is so high! We can't get there on our own! But Jesus will help us. He's the only way we can get there." And with all of these heavenly thoughts and kingdom-minded questions fired at me from my 3-year-old, a line from the Lord's prayer comes to...

 God has not called me to be successful, He called me to be faithful.
—Mother Teresa

If anybody understands, it would be Ruth. When her husband died, instead of returning home and starting again, she chose the harder path of traveling and taking care of her mother-in-law.

It’s growing more and more popular with the new year to choose a singular word to set the course over the next 12 months vs. making resolutions. 

I’ve done it myself—one year was “risk-taker”, another was “be”—and it’s a good, focused strategy that can really jumpstart people to become their better, created selves. Those years, I chose to bravely say yes to opportunities I may have otherwise passed up, and I was reminded to live in the moment instead of distracted by the buzz of my phone or the demands of tomorrow. 

But last Christmas, my mother-in-law gave me a Giving Key necklace with the word “believe” stamped on the gold vintage key, and I haven’t picked a word since. It seems this simple accessory has pointed out more than once that it’s time to believe in God’s promises, actually live like His power and grace is real, and rest in His presence when circumstances and evil pull me away. 

Amidst the twinkling lights, stocking stuffers, and your best-dressed outfits, it’s easy to forget why we actually celebrate Christmas. You get caught up in the giggle of your grandson, your stomach’s grumbling over that glazed ham, and it’s your responsibility to entertain the in-laws this year. The festivities are alive, and it’s no wonder the moments can all race together in one big blur!

Or you’re on the W-A-Y other end of the spectrum. You feel lost this season. That job you’ve been pining for? Given to someone else. That investment supposedly paving the way for an early retirement? Down the drain. Your boyfriend you envisioned your future with? No ring or explanation, gone. The minutes and traditions drag on, and nothing really seems worth celebrating this time around.

But no matter how far we’ve wandered or how lost we may feel, no matter how perfectly our ribbons are curled or our bows are placed, there’s a hope, so boundless and crazy, offered to every one of us. And it’s found in the meaning of Christmas. Relevant to the hipsters, the nonconformists, and everyone in between, it’s a story that beckons with a plot that revives and replenishes.

Jesus, the God of gushing love, came to this earth because we were wandering. We were lost. We were sinking in our defeat, error, and purposelessness. He saw our slumped shoulders and our worn out spirits. He heard our sighing and our groaning as we laid in our beds, the puddles of tears staining our pillows, waiting for some form of relief, some sort of hope, some sort of purpose.

And He came.

Jesus was born into this world to start a new thing, to make a way for the wanderers, to bind up the brokenhearted, to set the captives free. Sequentially, Jesus’ birth isn’t just a religious holiday or a historical event that stood the test of time. But His birth turned our days of mourning into a lifetime and eternity of festive praise. And Christmas, Jesus’ date of birth, got the whole ball rolling. Pure and simple. That’s it. That’s all. That’s everything.

This is why the wise men traveled on camel back and followed a star for miles and miles to see. This is the reason a Fisher Price manger scene can be revolutionary and hard selling. This is the glory of Linus reciting Luke 2 in the Charlie Brown Christmas. This Jesus and his uprising is the magic of Christmas, and it deserves to be shared, spread, cheered.

So as you look around your dinner table today, take time to pause over the holly centerpiece and the clanging forks. Your aunt is feeling lonely without her spouse for the first time this year. Your mom is trying hard not to worry about the stack of bills hiding in the kitchen cabinets. And your daughter can’t get over the fact that she has one less present than her brother. As you pause, look each person in the eye. Remind them that nothing can separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, angels or demons, fears for today or worries about tomorrow, the power in the sky above or in the earth below can keep us from experiencing God’s love around this table.

And that’s the hype of Christmas. In all its splendor and majesty, in a few paragraph nutshell, God so loved us that He sent His one and only Son that whoever believes in Him will not die but have eternal life. I’d say that’s something worth celebrating this Christmas, wouldn’t you?

When you grow up in the church, you know at a young age that you’re a child of God just as easily as you know your full name and can recite your home phone number. But it wasn’t until I started having kids and becoming a parent myself that the relationship between God the Father and me as His daughter took on technicolor meaning. And now, this correlation is all I see in my everyday, parenting moments.

For instance, no matter how long I’ve been potty-training my three-year-old, he still has accidents. And in those moments when I’m looking at his sorry face and rummaging through the drawers looking for clean underwear (again), I think of how God shows us the right way to live in His Word, but time and time again, we have accidents. And yet, every time, how patient He is with us. 

Or when Oscar says thank you when I give him a snack, I light up, and as a mom trying to teach my kids to mind their p’s and q’s, I’m so proud when he says that on his own. Which leads me to wonder how much more does our Heavenly Father’s heart soar when we acknowledge the gifts He’s given us and actually take the time to thank Him. 

“Life cannot be sustained without hope. That is what is so remarkable and intriguing about this tiny word.

It has a mysterious and generous quality. We know hope when we have it and feel miserable when we don’t.”

“The nations will see your righteousness, and all kings your glory; and you will be called by a new name which the mouth of the LORD will designate.”

Isaiah 62:2 

“Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples.”

John 13:35

Kids can be mean.

We officially have a one-year-old on our hands, and I have to admit, this stage is F-U-N.

Sure, there’s still nap struggles and defiance in the face of vegetables and blowouts. It’s a “nose goes” game anytime we hear the rumble. But at this age, there’s an unquenchable curiosity, a little mimicking, that’s just downright amusing. 

We clap, she claps. We scream, she screams. We laugh, she fake laughs back. I moo like a cow; Mabel moos like a cow back. Every day, we play this game of back-and-forth.

Growing up, I remember my dad hiding Easter eggs in the best of spots.

Inside the cabinet of our piano, on top of the ceiling fan blades, nestled in the strings of our basketball hoop, and scattered across our backyard in the mesh of leaves, dirt, and lawn furniture. And my brother, sister, and I would play like sleuths, elbowing each other for the biggest eggs, and each secretly hoping for another quarter to add to our piggy bank. 

Now since my own toddler has come of age to participate in an Easter egg hunt, you can bet your bottom dollar it is on. My husband jokingly (but not so jokingly) left a stack of eggs on our kitchen table with these instructions: “So Oscar can practice. Try to get him to find the gold ones first—they have the biggest prizes.” Welcome to the inside of #andersonpartyof4.

Play dates are the best. The other day, all of us moms lugged in our car seats with toddlers in tow, we spread out some toys across the living room carpet, and our babies just sat there staring at each other. The ladies cracked open some sparkling waters while the toddler boys roamed the room, and in no time, it was pretty apparent we didn’t get together for them anyways. Because really, a play date? Who are we kidding…more like a mom therapy group.

“So when did you introduce a second meal?” “How many ounces is he drinking these days?” “Can you take a look at her rash?” And on. And on. And on. No one else could possibly be interested in hearing about potty-training for a half hour, or my woes on how my baby’s sleep schedule has rocked my world. It would be a complete and utter snooze fest, a wasted hang out, to everyone else. Everyone else, except the very people going through the EXACT SAME THING. To them, it was like finally finding a lemonade stand on a hot summer day.

How have you experienced this in your season of life? You know who those people are. They’re the ones giving jerky, emphatic nods whenever you share the highest highs and the deepest lows of what’s really going on, chiming in to every detail with a, “Yes! Yes! YES.” Don’t you just love them? When you meet these people, you can almost feel the connection, the electricity in the room that comes from finally being understood, finally feeling like you aren’t alone, finally pulling back the curtain and getting a standing ovation. You walk away feeling nothing short of a kindred-spirit-kind-of-bond after all the confessing, debriefing, and empathizing.

Did you know there was a day when the sun stood still? 

Ever since my first-born was just a tiny kicking blob on an ultrasound, I’ve debated about his life verse. There’s so many compelling nuggets in Scripture that could ennoble him to live a faith-filled life… but I was always stuck on the cliché, oh-so-common verse in Joshua: “This is my command—be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go” (1:9). 

Shouldn’t I be more creative though? This verse was announced at my college graduation ceremony, screen-printed on the back of my volleyball warm-up tee, etched into half of the mugs in my cupboard, and at the risk of sounding melodramatic, it’s splashed across every other Christian trinket you could possibly find around the globe.  

I think back to when I bumped into a friend at the mall just days before my maternity leave was over. With her own baby on hip, my stay-at-home-mom friend explained she needed some fresh air—and what better place than among the clothing racks, shoe sales, and hubbub of other SAHMs looking to get out of the house.

I just stared at her. Her life seemed so carefree. Anyone passing by would covet (what looked to be) a life full of free afternoons and minimal stress. But within how are you’s, you look so good, and give me life updates, she pulled me in between clearance racks and divulged. (That’s what we do, you know. Us women can’t help where we are. If there’s secret confessions to be made, we will SPILL… Even if it means hiding under hangers.)

My dear friend grabbed my shirt, her toddler started screaming, and her shoulders collapsed. She said, to be honest, some days are hard. Many are lonely. And sometimes she just wishes to be back at work, enjoying a lunch with her colleagues, and feeling accomplished by a marked-up to-do list. Doing something for HER for once.

Later, I bumped into another friend who returned back to her office, briefcase, and dress suits after spending months at home with her kid. Another round of how are you’s, you look so good, and give me life updates. All the same, she spilled the beans. “It doesn’t help when he screams at daycare drop-off,” she permits. “That can make anyone cringe–but as I sit in meetings, I’m wondering how he’s waking up from naptimes and looking up to an unfamiliar face. Wondering why it’s not mom.” The worst–those days when she comes home late just in time to put him down for bed, she wonders if it’s worth it.

Both situations are completely understandable, common. Even predictable. You want to be there to witness every major milestone in your baby’s childhood, and you can’t imagine sharing the responsibility of raising your child with someone else. I’m nodding right along with you. But there’s a pull to follow your dreams, pay the bills, and/or get some social time (aka me time) for your extroverted self. I’m still nodding. Which to choose?

My toddler was a tiny one-year-old last Christmas, fascinated only by the basics—staring at the lights on the tree, rearranging ornaments, and thrashing around wrapping paper.

This year, Oscar is two, and things are obviously different. He wonders why Rudolph’s nose is red and laughs when Frosty says, “Happy birthday!” instead of Merry Christmas. And he’s not only preparing for his very first Christmas pageant, but he doesn’t chew on the manger scene anymore either. Instead, he places the angel correctly above the stable and hums “Away in the Manger” while rocking pretend baby Jesus in his arms.

Even though Oscar experienced Christmas last year, his ever-growing mind soaks up all the songs, stories, decorations, and lights like it’s new this time around too. In a way like everything’s fresh. And the awe in his eyes is plain for all to see—showcasing just how captivating and extremely interesting every detail is.

Beginnings are always messy.

John Galsworthy

Last year, our family moved into a charming, full-of-character, little blue house that was built in the 1920’s.

Almost everything is beautiful in its own regard: The wide farmhouse sink. The French doors peeking into the living room. The sturdy hardwood floors. The composed clawfoot tub in the upstairs bathroom. And since we are in no way Chip and Joanna Gaines, my husband and I breathed a deep sigh of relief when the inspection came back clear, and it was move-in ready! Nothing to fix, change, or update.

Well, almost nothing.

When you walk into our kitchen, sure, you first see the woodworking of our tall cabinets paired with that drool-worthy farmhouse sink. (To which my husband actually said, “We will take this out, right?” I can almost hear you gasping through the screen. I know, readers...I have since enlightened him.)

But when you look to the left, you see a randomly placed stove and when you look to the right you see a floating fridge, and when you take a closer look, you see no countertop space, and I hate to even write this down, but no dishwasher. It’s random. And ugly. And somewhat maddening.

So this week, we’ve looked our kitchen square in the eye and started making progress towards renovating it into something functional and aligning the charm with rest of the house. Starting with the paint.

We (and I mean we, as in my husband) laid down the prime the other night, and as I walked into the kitchen to see the progress as only a dutiful contractor would, he quickly said, “It’s just the prime! There’s streaks and you can still see the wood paneling underneath, but don’t panic. It’s going to take a few coats to get it to look how we imagined.” He knew I would panic. Lift my eyebrows. And wonder what we were thinking trying to DIY. He knew I would be skeptical, discouraged by what appeared a messy situation. Because I like to see betterment in the progress.

But sometimes, it gets messy before it gets good. Have you ever experienced that?

I used to click my heels into my college classes, smooth out my pencil skirt with matching blouse, and confidently stand before my classmates for presentations on market share, conversion rates, and customer acquisition costs. This was all so energizing as a marketing major, and I envisioned myself down the road bustling around a quick-paced advertising agency, becoming a successful project manager of sorts, and quickly climbing the corporate ladder to utter greatness. Dream big, right?

But after exploring internships and experiencing work cultures, I realized so much of the for-profit world was cut-throat and bottom-line driven. Bulldozing you as a person, all for the sake of earning revenue and keeping stockholders happy. And I just wasn’t into that.

So I went into ministry. Where I taught hundreds of kids Bible stories, pumped up a volunteer base in the mission to serve Christ, and even grabbed a spot behind our church’s podium because I was told I was compelling with my words and inspiring with my vision.

And I felt that. I felt energy brimming over inside of me, and I knew I was working in my element. Fulfilled beyond measure, saw myself powerfully being used by Christ, and blessed to call it all work.

But there was a stronger call within me. I had just gotten married to the most wonderful man in the world, and we couldn’t wait to start a family. So we didn’t! 10 months later, we welcomed our sweet boy, Oscar Tyler, into the world—and the moment I saw him, I cried enough happy tears to fill the Pacific Ocean, and I soon gave my two weeks’ notice.

My expectations? They were Pinterest-board worthy. I would wake up every morning to a snuggly baby who would patiently wait for his milk. Breastfeed effortlessly. Cart around said flexible baby with the car seat easily hooked in my arm. Take long, relaxing walks around the neighborhood. Have hours of me-time while baby naps. And schedule loads of coffee dates to catch up with friends.

But I soon came to find that motherhood looked different. Actually, quite different.