Faith

Mama Said

/ Elizabeth Trotter / Leave a comment

My mom was an Army wife. She told me that things always go wrong when a dad is out of town — whether deployed or out for field exercises or summer training. All the Army wives knew it was true. 

A kid would get seriously sick, or the car would break down, or something would go wrong with the house when a dad was gone. It was a fact of life they had no choice but to accept. One time a toddler ended up in the hospital while my dad was gone. Another time Mom had a baby. (Thank God for supportive church people, right?!)

But this truism ended up applying to more than military life. Ministry life felt much the same.

I remember being six months pregnant with my fourth child when Kansas City received torrential downpours. Jonathan was at Bible camp with the youth group, and the parsonage basement flooded over fifteen inches. It short-circuited both the air conditioning system and the (newly replaced) hot water heater, which now both needed replacing, and ruined most of what we’d stored down there — books and family photo albums in cardboard boxes which we had carefully placed on top of stone blocks. 

But the water level rose above those stones, and capillary action on the cardboard ensured total damage. I needed an entire team of people to help empty the basement of its boxes and furniture, now ruined, try to salvage anything we could, and toss the rest. Later that week a nearby water main broke, and we didn’t have water at all for a while, which was even worse than trying to shower in cold water a few days before. 

After that, we stored our belongings in plastic boxes on even higher blocks.

I remember another time when we lived in Cambodia and Jonathan was on an international trip and I got sick. He wasn’t planning to come straight home though. He was going to meet me and the kids in Thailand, where we were scheduled to be the keynote speakers at a home education conference.

I had to figure out how to get better and still make it to the conference with four kids in tow. Asian airlines and airports have been checking for fevers long before COVID-19 hit the world, so I didn’t actually know if I would make it to the conference. That week involved a lot of praying, phone calling, and Tylenol swallowing.

Something similar happened again recently. Jonathan was just about to leave for an international ministry trip when I became seriously ill. I couldn’t concentrate, I was in constant pain, and I could barely get out of bed, but I somehow dragged myself to the doctor for testing. What I was diagnosed with (thyroiditis) was going to require a long recovery, but there were some medications that could help manage symptoms in the meantime. 

Then it was time to decide whether he should leave on the ministry trip or not. I was in bad shape, and he offered to stay home and care for me. But I really felt he still needed to go. People were depending on him — some people were attending the event specifically to meet with him. Plus, I had all these older teen and adult children who could help, in addition to an amazing local church family. One thing I know for sure: the prayers of the saints have held me these past couple weeks.

This illness isn’t fun. I actually got worse for a little while after he left. But the experience reminded me of my mama’s wisdom. Things always seem to go wrong just when the person who is supposed to help you navigate the trials of life is also gone. Is it chance, happenstance, spiritual warfare? I don’t know. I do know that my husband and I have often fought just before a big ministry event — so much so that he began to expect it. 

This time around we didn’t fight. I got sick instead. 

I’ve never been one to accuse the devil of much. I’ve seen the practice misused. But sometimes it’s hard not to draw spiritual conclusions. This illness was so unexpected. I’ve never had thyroid problems, and they don’t run in my family. I’m generally healthy. Yet right before Jonathan was supposed to leave for an eleven-day trip to do some really important ministry, I was diagnosed with a temporarily debilitating illness.

The truth is, maybe we’ll never know the reasons these things happen. But as every military, ministry, and missionary wife knows, they do tend to happen. The question then becomes: What are we going to do when they happen?

More Than a Baby Dedication

/ Elizabeth Trotter / Leave a comment

Long before a certain first lady popularized the phrase, the Church has known “it takes a village” to raise a child, to make a disciple. Whether we are parents hoping to shape the soul of a child or adults seemingly in charge of our own spiritual formation, discipleship is not an individual sport. We simply cannot do it on our own. We need help.

Yesterday morning our church held a baby dedication. What a gift to be part of a body whose love for children overflows into the need for once-yearly baby dedications. I’ve seen it before — anyone fellowshipping with Red Bridge Church of Christ in the 1990s witnessed it too — but it doesn’t happen just anywhere.

Watching those parents walk on stage with their little ones, I remembered my own baby dedications. The fresh hope of new parenthood. The weary fog of sleepless nights and never-ending laundry. The overwhelming determination to be a better follower for your son or daughter. And of course those sweet baby kisses.

At the time I didn’t realize that baby dedications are about so much more than committing to raise your kids in church. They’re also about leaning on the wisdom and guidance of others as you muddle through family life. About knowing you have people in your corner, people who believe in what you’re doing and are willing to help you when times get hard.

Now that our kids are older, I find myself able to be that village for younger moms, even as older moms offer the same for me. Just yesterday, in fact, someone ahead of me on the journey checked in on me and encouraged me. I, in turn, did the same for a younger mom — as though our auditorium interactions were illustrating the point of that onstage baby dedication.

During the service, the pastor first asked the parents for their commitment to raising their children in the faith. Then he asked the church to commit to supporting these parents in both spiritual and practical ways. One of the commitments particularly moved me:

“Do you commit, as brothers and sisters in Christ, to continually and lovingly welcome these children into the family of God and affirm their participation in the Kingdom of God, so that they never doubt their belonging amongst His people?”

My eyes welled with tears. Only in the church is this kind of intrinsic, never-fading belonging possible. To be sure, the church gets it wrong sometimes. We have hurt people terribly. I have been hurt. You have been hurt. But when it’s working as God intended, the church is a place for deep, unquestioned belonging. No manmade organization can rival it.

Anna Danforth, Lauren Wells, and the rest of the team over at TCK Training call this “multi-generational belonging.” Kids who receive it feel more grounded and secure, and it helps to offset the difficult things that inevitably happen in life. And it’s something the church has been doing for thousands of years, long before the modern research on Positive Childhood Experiences.

But it’s also something we must commit to in every season, in every generation. For every new baby that’s born, for every new beginning. This kind of belonging doesn’t happen automatically. It happens when we take Christ at His word and welcome a child into our life. It happens when we commit to supporting young moms and dads and when we ask older believers to help illuminate the path for us.

Intergenerational faithfulness is about more than just a baby dedication. It’s about the church being the church for every member, from newborn babe to great-grandmother and everyone in between. Because you belong here — but only if we live like we believe it.

Just in Time for Summer Book Clubs: A Discussion Guide for The Hats We Wear!

/ Elizabeth Trotter / Leave a comment

Several women have told me they’re planning to use my book, The Hats We Wear: Reflections on Life as a Woman of Faith, for their summer book clubs, and I wanted to develop a discussion guide for them. But you could also use it as a set of journaling prompts if you’re reading through the book on your own.

The book is divided into six sections/hats (Practical Theologian, Emotional Human, Embodied Woman, Wife, Mom, Homeschool Teacher), so I’ve structured the guide around a six-week schedule — although you could split sections into two and take longer if you wanted.

The questions are designed to get readers thinking deeply about their own lives, so a single book club meeting might not be able to cover all of the questions in each section — leaders will probably need to decide which questions to prioritize based on their particular groups. But the discussion guide can at least be a jumping off point for you!

You can download the PDF or access a viewer-only version of the Google doc.

And I’d love to hear about how your book club conversations go or see any photos you might want to share, so feel free to contact me privately with any questions or comments!

Tuning the Radio Frequencies of My Heart

/ Elizabeth Trotter / 2 Comments

I sought the Lord about a certain question. I brought it before Him every morning. I laid it before Him day after day. Silence. No answer.

I determined to wait. And pray. And wait. Still nothing.

Then I asked why He wasn’t answering. Why He wasn’t moving. I stayed stuck on that one particular request, circling around it like a hawk.

One Sunday during communion I went forward for the bread and the cup and returned to my seat. In doing so, my body remembered another Sunday communion meditation a few weeks before.

I had made a specific request to God and then forgotten about it. But as I sat with the emblems and looked back over the past few weeks, weeks I had been obsessing over a quite different request, I could see three very definite answers to that Sunday morning prayer.

And I realized that God hadn’t been silent. He’d been working, He’d been speaking – but on a different channel than I’d been listening to. My heart had been tuned to one frequency and one frequency only, but God was transmitting on another one.

And since God is God and I am not, I was the one who needed to adjust my frequency. To listen where He is actually speaking, not get stuck on the wrong channel just because it was the one I wanted to listen to.

I had to turn the dial to a different channel, and then all of a sudden God wasn’t silent. He was speaking. He was reminding me of life-giving verses I had forgotten about, like ‘Seek first the kingdom’ and ‘Do not worry.’ And He was answering that specific Sunday morning request I had made.

They weren’t the answers I was looking for – I still haven’t heard those – but it was the voice of God speaking. I simply had to adjust my dial. Tune my heart. Figure out which frequency God wanted to use to talk to me. And as it turns out, that’s not always the one I want Him to use.

For whatever reason, Jesus doesn’t let me pick the radio stations on the road trip of life. But that doesn’t mean He’s not speaking.

What is my job, and what is God’s job?

/ Elizabeth Trotter / Leave a comment

What is my job, and what is God’s job? I’ve asked this question a lot in my life. The balance of grace and works has often befuddled me. If God gets the glory for everything — and we know He should — then do I have responsibility at all? 

I confess I have sometimes felt frozen in place, not knowing what I was supposed to do about a particular struggle, because I thought that somehow God was supposed to do everything. He fights our battles for us, right?? 

This question came up again last fall when I was in the middle of a mental health crisis. Was I just supposed to sit alone in my prayer closet, begging the Lord to deliver me from my anxiety and depression? Or was I supposed to do something about it? And if so, what?

I slowly realized that I did need to do something. And oh how many things can be done about depression and anxiety! It can feel overwhelming to a perfectionist like me. It feels like I need to do all the lifestyle treatments both perfectly and often enough while also depending entirely on God to save me.

I had forgotten that all the things that can be done to help myself are actually invitations from God to participate in my own healing. I’d been in that place before and even written about it, but we humans are such forgetful beings, aren’t we?

Interestingly, I first gained clarity on this question while talking with my therapist about my editing business — because I battle the faith-works tension regarding my job too. I often rely on a belief my hairstylist first expressed to me: “God brings me the clients I need.” Her example of faith was an inspiration to me, and her statement has proven true in my life over and over again.

But do I play any part in this?

My therapist said I do. It’s my job to do a good job, to bring all my dedication and skills to each project. It’s also my job to promote my services online (even though it feels awkward). “God can’t do those things,” she said. “Only you can.” God has given me a body and put me on this earth, and there are certain things only I can do. 

In her book Field Notes for the Wilderness, Sarah Bessey writes about the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000. The miracle didn’t just happen because Jesus multiplied the bread and fish. It happened because someone offered something small, which Jesus used, and because the disciples participated and handed out the food. The people wouldn’t have eaten without them passing out the food. 

I’ve always loved the feeding of the 5,000, and I’ve always connected it to a child’s act of faith. I had never connected it to the attending and waiting skills of the disciples. The disciples wouldn’t have seen the miracle if they’d clustered around Jesus. Only in moving out from the center did they witness the miracle. 

And so it is with us: Jesus invites us to participate in the healing He performs. The power isn’t ours, but we won’t see the goodness of God unless we take part. The man whose friends lowered his paralyzed body through the roof still had to pick up his mat and walk, after all. And in some mysterious, incomprehensible truth, we only partake of the miracle God is waiting to give us when we join Him in His work.