Death by Minivan. Heather Anderson Renshaw

the road start to get a bit smoother, sweeter, and more fruitful.

      • I want you to know that, even if you might think you’re messing up this whole motherhood gig, it’s okay, because God alone is perfect. If you’re like me, you’d start a savings plan for your kids’ future therapy needs—if you could afford it. Yet no matter how inadequate you may feel, God is good. He’s faithful. He’s got this. He has you, your husband, and your kids, every mountain you’ll ever have to scale, every valley you’ll ever wander.

      • I want you to know how very, very much you are loved. Right here, right now. In the messiness, in the joys, in the struggles, in the blessings, in the brokenness. How you are loved big by an even bigger God. And how “loved big” is an epic understatement. How he can handle all your joys, sorrows, frustrations, and celebrations. He’s in this with you for the long haul, because he knows the path you’re traveling is difficult, but so very worth it. You were worth his journey to Calvary two thousand years ago, and you’re worth accompanying on the winding roads that make up your life today.

      This book exists because I thought you might need to hear these things every once in a while, just like I do.

      Now you should know upfront that just because I have five kids doesn’t mean I’m a parenting expert or a better mom than you. No way, no how! And just because I write about spiritual things doesn’t mean I’m a theologian or a biblical scholar. I’m a Christian mom faithful to the Church who has (mostly!) surrendered herself and her husband and children to the merciful arms of Jesus Christ, hoping that we all reach our final destination (heaven) someday.

      To be clear, this book is not meant to be a how-to manual, because even after sixteen years in the mother’hood, I don’t always know exactly “how to”! Plus, your “how to” for life with your family will likely look different from mine, and that’s absolutely okay.

      God willing, this book will inject some encouragement, commiseration, inspiration, and bursts of laughter into your life. Amen, alleluia, and praise God!

       How to win at reading this book

      Each chapter focuses on one of the fruits of the Holy Spirit found in Galatians, along with the four other nontraditional fruits I added. I began by reflecting on how that chapter’s fruit applies to our lives. Some chapters also include specific roadblocks or practical ideas for cultivating a particular fruit. Each chapter contains some helpful components for further reflection, discussion, and prayer, including:

      • Yield to the power of the Holy Spirit. A brief prayer to the Holy Spirit for the specific fruit at the end of the chapter.

      • GPS: God Positioning System. Scripture verses to illuminate your reading. Perfect for prayer, meditation, and possible memorization (#goals).

      • Roadside Assistance. Selected excerpts from the saints and others are included to inspire and provoke (in a good way).

      • Pit Stop. Various other resources or suggestions are listed to help you on your journey. Take what works for you and leave what doesn’t! There’s also space for you to include your own ideas.

      • Discuss Amongst Yourselves. In case you decide to read this book with other moms, I’ve added discussion questions at the end of each chapter to spark personal reflection and more in-depth conversation.

      So, my friend: read this book alone, in your favorite chair or your favorite coffee shop. Or in the park. Or at the library. Or in the pickup line. Or the drive-through. Or in the bathroom (I won’t tell). Rip apart my theories and conclusions. Come up with your own. Take a nap if you can. Read some more.

      Or read it with your friends. Listen to one other. Have something to drink. Laugh a lot! Pray together. Be sisters in Christ. This book was written for you under the influence of my children. Now you can’t say I didn’t warn you.

      Mamas, start your engines!

      Buckle Up, Buttercup

      (( prologue ))

      “Ummm …” I stammered, “am I supposed to feel like I’m driving my living room around on the road?”

      My sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel as I attempted to navigate a lane change. I’d never been so grateful for seatbelts and airbags in my life. The car salesman chuckled from the passenger seat next to me. “It takes a little bit of getting used to, but consider all the space you’ll have!”

      “Isn’t this great, Babe? All this space!” my husband enthused from the backseat.

      “Yeah!” I responded through lips forced into a faker-than-fake smile. “Great!”

      Space. I couldn’t deny that it was at a premium these days. After spending several enjoyable months as the proud owners of an attractive, mid-sized SUV, we realized that, once the new baby arrived (our fourth), we’d need more room for yet another car seat, as well as the additional 3,267 things tiny humans need to stay alive.

      I let out a weighty sigh, trying to focus my attention on the road, but I couldn’t help wondering how we’d gotten here. To clarify: I knew exactly how we became parents of three small children with another on the way; after all, our sweet babies didn’t just magically appear in my uterus. What I was having a hard time wrapping my brain around was how we had, seemingly overnight, become—bum bum buuummmmm—People Who Needed A Minivan.

       How could we let this happen?

      Okay, so I know how we “let” “this” “happen.” Because of love and marriage and God and openness to life (because them’s the rules) and a miracle and two pink lines. That’s how. Necessity is a mother, and once I found out I was pregnant, I was necessarily a mom. End of story. And I honestly thought that I had come to terms with that. Well, mostly. Yet, here I was, lamenting the purchase of an announcement on wheels: “HERE COMES A MOM WITH A BUNCH OF KIDS!”

      In my mind, fun people did not drive minivans. Cool people did not drive minivans. Surely accomplished, motivated women who did amazing things beyond shuttling children to and fro did not drive minivans. At least, I didn’t think they did. And yet, here I was. Driving a minivan.

      Now, some of you may be thinking, “What’s the big flipping deal? It’s a minivan, for crying out loud, not the end of the world. You’re lucky you could afford to buy what your family needed!”

      And you’re absolutely right. We were very blessed to qualify for a loan on a used vehicle in good condition. And you’re also correct to point out that buying a minivan is not the end of the actual world. I would counter, however, that purchasing a colossal-sized family room on wheels symbolized the end of a world—one in which I imagined cruising the streets at dusk, warm wind kissing my cheeks and bass bumping from my custom stereo as my manageable number of children quietly played travel games together with the windows of our not-too-big family vehicle rolled down. Succumbing to Minivan World somehow meant enveloping myself in an inescapable chamber of screaming and bickering, with a soundtrack of saccharine-sweet kiddie tunes reverberating off the walls, because certain short people couldn’t keep their body parts inside when the windows were cracked.

      I just wanted a decent, culturally acceptable rig that wouldn’t make me self-conscious. One that I could park in one of those spots with a “C” (for “compact”) on it. One that didn’t smell of petrified French fries, sweaty feet, and despairing cleaning products. One that didn’t smell like broken dreams.

      In my mind, buying this minivan meant my husband and I (but especially me, since I would be driving the darn thing) had finally given up trying to have an identity outside of family life. We’d hoisted the white flag, thrown in the towel, and thrown up a little in our mouths. Because, really? What was left after this but even more children, even more sleepless nights, even more worry about how to pay the bills, and eventually … gasp …