Contemplations of a Crispy Mom

Ditched Because You're a Christian?

2009-11-10T01:16:00Z

Last week, a friend of mine called me upset by a recent rift in one of her other friendships. She was beginning to suspect that someone she had known for over 30 years had given her the heave-ho after discovering that she had become more serious about her faith. She was deeply hurt by this turn of events and wondered if it ever happened to other Christians.

Um . . . unfortunately, yes. Absolutely.

I told her of my own battle with this. I became a Christian at the age of 30. A statistical anomaly from what I’m told. Up to that point, I considered myself a good person. But, I made a lot of poor choices in life. Many of which I’m lucky to have lived through. Like most people, I tried my best, but I gave myself a lot of slack. Let me restate that: a LOT of slack. Once I became a Christian, I decided that I wanted to do better. To aim for a higher ideal than the life I led before. So, obviously, some changes needed to be made.

Now, I need to make it clear here that I’m still struggling with some of these changes more than 8 years later. And that, of course, is no reflection on God, but rather on my ability to truly give these issues over to Him fully. All of this to say, that becoming a Christian did not rid me of my problems and struggles, but simply gave me the desire to try harder, to do better than I ever did before.

During this transition, I decided against doing things that I had done only weeks before. It wasn’t that I suddenly judged others for doing those things, I just knew that I didn’t feel comfortable doing them anymore. In response to God’s incredible love for me—a love like I’d never felt—I had a deep yearning to change myself. To not only move away from the things that I knew He didn’t approve of, but even those that were a little on the fence, those that made me feel like I was setting a bad example somehow. I suddenly had the nonstop urge to become a better daughter for Him. Someone He would be proud of, someone worthy of being called His child.

I never said a word about making these changes to my friends. I never suggested that they do the same. Many of them were not Christians, and I knew—from my own personal coming to Christ—that actions often were a better witness than words. That turning on them after turning my life over to Christ would go directly against what I believed a Christian should truly be. That I needed to find a way to keep a relationship with them in the hopes that someday, they might choose a relationship with Christ as well.

It wasn’t easy.

I lost a lot of friends, had many simply distance themselves and felt isolated from others. As I went about respectfully setting boundaries around areas I was no longer willing to go, they began to see that I was serious about my faith. And that, sadly, was all it took.

The fact is, they were going to assume that I was judging them and holding them to a higher ideal no matter what I did or said. They were going to see me as the world sees many Christians—too many rules and not enough fun—no matter how I tried to still be a part of their lives. And, I had to accept that, and let the ones that chose to go . . . go. Because in the end, it was no longer about me, or them, or our friendship. It was about me and God, His offer, my acceptance and our relationship.

I had to do what many before and many after me have done. I let go of the past and chose to move forward.

Philippians 3:13-14 says”

“Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

If you find yourself in this situation, it can be a lonely and disheartening place. I encourage you to bring your disappointments and heavy heart to God. Pray for what you need, knowing that He will find a person to give that to you.

I’m lucky enough now to have several godly women in my circle of friends. It wasn’t always that way. But, I continued on, knowing that He would provide me what I needed, and who I needed in my life. He did and He will do the same for you.

When Just is Just . . . Unjust

2009-10-30T18:44:00Z

What is it about asking God for help with something big in our lives that makes us just . . . oh, I don't know . . . a little nervous maybe? We approach Him guardedly, even when we have a strong relationship with Him and know that He truly does want to give us the things we desire.

We pray something like this: " If you could maybe just give me a little direction on where I should be going. . ." or "I'm so worried about what is going on with my child. If you could just help them through this situation . . ." or even "I really need help. I just want enough money to . . . "

So, what's wrong with these? Well. Let's take a look at the word "just". While Webster's Dictionary has several definitions for the word, the one that is most common is the following:

Just: by a narrow margin; barely; only or merely.

Did you get that? Joyce Meyers has spoken on this and a friend of mine recently pointed it out to me. By using the word "just" in our prayers, we are essentially asking God to barely do what we ask. To do it by a narrow margin. To only provide the least of what we want. And, though He knows what we need without our asking Him, when we seek Him out in prayer to specifically ask for His help, He has said that He will give us what we ask for:

Matthew 21:22 says:
"Jesus said, 'If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.'"

I believe that with everything that is in me. But, when I pray, am I doing myself a disservice by saying "just", or am I showing my true, deep down, lack of pure faith? Am I giving God wiggle room in my prayer so that if He doesn't answer it like I want, I can convince myself that I didn't really want it either?

Sometimes I find myself doing this with my own children. Even if I know of something that they want, if they instead ask me for a smaller portion of it, I'll give them what they ask for, not what I know they truly wanted. I don't do this out of meanness, I do it out of love. I want them to understand about wants and needs. I want them to be clear in their own mind of what it is that they desire. And sometimes, I want them to see that they could have had more if they had been clearer and understood exactly what they wanted instead of jumping the gun and asking me hurriedly so that they could have immediate gratification.

I don't know about you, but when I am actually setting time aside with God to approach Him with a problem, I don't want the bare minimum answer. I want Him to step in and give me the answer to my prayer in God-sized-proportions that only He can provide. I want to know without a doubt that the answer came from Him. I want to be perfectly clear in my approach and in my prayer so that we both understand exactly what it is that I seek.

I've got some work to do. Since my friend pointed this out to me, I've noticed the word "just" seeping in through every corner of my life. It's in my conversations. It's in my writing. And, it's in my prayer life. It's probably nerve-racking just to carry on a conversation with me. See what I mean?!

No more! Let's approach God in confidence. Knowing not only exactly what we are asking for from Him, but also knowing wholeheartedly that He is going to provide it for us. The whole shebang. The big answer. The complete package. Then, when He shows up with it, we'll not only have our needs met completely, but our faith will grow as well. And with growth, comes the weeding of things we no longer need. Like, just a small word.

Glad for the Roots and Divots

2009-10-16T14:28:00Z

This week I cleaned out my office. Not a small task. After 15 years as a fabric designer (the last 6 years spent working out of my home) there were plenty of snippets and swatches apparently building a secret city in my cabinets. After eight months of no longer working, I decided that it was time to scrap all the pieces, clear my head and move on. I can't tell you how happy the trash men looked as they pulled into my culdesac and saw bag after bag lying beside my overloaded trash can. Joyous.

I was lucky enough when we built our house to build an office specifically geared towards my job. It is an unusual job after all, and needs a different set up than most: A pin up board that covers an entire wall. Track lighting that is focused on the board for the hours of color work that take place. A huge four foot high table used solely for rolling out and cutting massive rolls of fabric. A secluded area for my CAD system that is specifically angled away from light sources in order to avoid glares. And, of course, lots and LOTS of space to store swatches, idea scraps, artwork and the menagerie of items that have surrounded me since my twenties.

It is a great space. But, because it was specifically designed with one thing in mind for its use, I felt stuck somehow. I couldn't move on and didn't feel comfortable in it doing other things. Like, I wasn't allowed to be anything other than a designer in that space.

As I listened to someone talk on identities this week, I realized that I had become too tangled up in who I thought I was before I lost my job. In many ways, I felt as if I should be able to be a designer until I decided otherwise. That it should be on my terms. And, since I wasn't ready to give it up yet, it wasn't over. But, as is usually the case, God had a plan for me that had nothing to do with my plan for myself. In fact, as I look back on the last few years, I feel like I've been counteracting His plan in my fight to keep my own plan in line.

For many of us, it is all too easy  to tie ourselves up in the idea of who we think we are. We spend years tackling our careers or other callings to rise to the top. Images that come solely from who people believe us to be on the outside: a banker, a doctor, a realtor, a designer. And, more often than not, those identities--though they may garner a significant amount of attention--truly have little to do with who we actually are. And more importantly, often have nothing to do with who we are in God's eyes.

Sometimes we have to move on from these persona in order to explore the person that God has meant for us to become.  To move on from the life we have set up for ourselves and begin to settle into the one that He would have for us instead.

As I've struggled with letting this image of myself go, I've burrowed further down into my hole, trying to cling onto the remnants of my past. It's been an eight months of kicking, screaming, crying and clinging with my fingernails. Not pretty to admit.

Though it is difficult to move on,and though we may struggle to hang on as our fingers are pried one by one off of our stronghold, it is comforting to know that our hands are not the only ones involved. As I've transitioned through this phase in my life, I've come to realize (slowly, of course--my special gift) that God has placed His hand of protection over me during this time. It is a placing so gentle and unobtrusive that I often didn't realize it was there.  As He allowed me to continue on my own path, He still remained beside me, gently nudging me in His direction for me. Putting a passion in me to complete His goals instead of my own.

As Proverbs 3:5-6 states:
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight."

As I've become more familiar with this truth, I'm beginning to feel His hand lifting. And, as it has, I've been struck by the influx of light and air that comes from letting go of my plan and moving towards what I believe He would like for me to do next. From this vantage point, I am more able to look back and clearly understand why the roots I stumbled over, and the divots I tripped into were there. T o see them as hidden blessings in jobs not taken in haste or out of desperation. To focus on the clearing up ahead, and the One waiting for me to move in His direction.

He is still there with me in this. But, now his hand has shifted. Firmly planted on my back and gently guiding me as we walk in the same direction, towards the same goal: His.

Timing Grace

2009-09-29T20:27:00Z

After two months of living in a deep fog, I am coming out of my hole. I think a lot of us would like to crawl in our own customized get-aways right now. Times are scary. For some more so than others.

For some of us, the scariness comes from stories on the nightly news or our daily newspapers as we watch the statistics of job losses and home losses and wonder if life losses will follow as they did in the Great Depression. For others, the scariness shows up at our own kitchen tables as we struggle with piles of bills we can no longer pay due to job losses that were out of our control and a job market that flows against us.

For me, facing this economic nightmare has meant more than putting back extras at the superstore, or taking a vacation closer to home in lieu of something more exciting. For me and my family, it has meant food on our table and clothing on our backs. The nightmare of the possibility of our losing our home. The phone that won't stop ringing from bills that we can no longer pay, but one that stays eerily silent of job opportunities. Sadly, I know that I am not alone.
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With the passing of my career, came the loss of nearly two-thirds of our income. Quite a hit for any family to take. Unfortunately for us, it arrived just after we'd recuperated from my husband’s job loss nearly a year before. Just as we got back on track with our bills, the cycle began again. Eight months into this second job loss, we were at a dead end. Our savings depleted. Our retirement cashed in and depleted. We were at zero.

The looming thought of bankruptcy kept us awake and on edge most nights. With our mortgage company refusing to work with us after 7 months of us trying to jump through hoops for them, we resigned ourselves to the fact that it was inevitable. We would do what we had to do to save our house.

I can’t tell you the number of times I cried out to God during this time. It has been the biggest struggle of my life thus far. I prayed to God daily even to the point of begging Him to help us. Pleading for mercy. However, as often happens with the timing of grace, my time line was immediate whereas God's was not.

In the midst of our struggle, a single joy surprised me as by husband began his walk with Christ. However, as our financial situation carried on and worsened with each passing week, more than losing my home, I feared that my husband might lose his faith in God and what that kind of loss would mean to our family and our future.

After weeks of gathering personal financial information I never expected another person to have access to, and a growing sense of desperation and fear, we were ready to file for bankruptcy.  Once we decided our course, I wanted it over with immediately. We got everything ready, turned it in and waited for our date. When we were given one, a Tuesday morning, I was put out that the lawyer couldn't squeeze us in the Friday before. Another weekend of worry. Another weekend of unending phone calls.

Finally, our bankruptcy date was one day away. As happened each morning, my husband received a daily Bible verse by email. Though he had read these regularly when he originally signed up for them, he had begun to delete them without even opening them in the last weeks. But when one arrived in his in-box that morning, he opened it and found:

"Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete." John 16:24

He considered that verse, wondered if maybe he hadn't been asking for God's provision in the right way and prayed one last prayer of help, in Jesus name.

When he picked up the mail that night, a thick letter from our mortgage company sat amongst a pile of unpaid bills. Foreclosure papers, he was sure. After 7 months of working with them, we had already been informed that they would not be modifying our loan. We had already received a letter from an attorney stating that foreclosure proceedings would begin. Not wanting to read the actual words, he sat the letter to the side and went on with his evening.

As he stopped at one last job site to check on some work, he was delayed and had to wait for someone to show up.  Staring at the letter on his passenger seat, he decided to face the inevitable.

With less than 15 hours before our bankruptcy would become final . . .

God showed up.

A mortgage company that had fought with us over minute details of our lives, had consistently lost tax returns, pay stubs, and a variety of information we had sent to them; A mortgage company that listened to our last plea for help only one week before and told us that they would proceed with foreclosure anyway . . . had suddenly changed their minds.

This information didn't arrive days before, as it could have, or days after--as would have gone along with our recent stroke of luck. It arrived within our greatest hour of need. On the very day of our final attempt to cry out to God one last time. Our last time of hoping beyond hope that He would answer, but feeling in our hearts that the time for help had passed.

In His own, Perfect, BEAUTIFUL timing . . . God answered our prayers.

As we sat stunned and read and re-read the proposal, we felt so undeserving of the love He showed us even when we didn't believe He would.  It reminded us again of how big our God is, and how much He loves us, even when we can't feel it, or see it, or even believe that it is coming. God performed a miracle for us before our very eyes. Had we gotten the appointment date the Friday before, or received the letter 16 hours later than we did, we would have missed His blessing.

He is an amazing God. An unexpected God. An unfailing God. And, a God with impeccable timing of His grace.

For those of you who are hanging by a thread so small you believe it may snap at the slightest breath, I encourage you to hold tight! As you struggle with thoughts of abandonment, be steadfast!  As you look around at your life and your circumstances, do not give up! God is with you in your struggle, no matter how large or how small. No matter how desperate it may seem. Whether you see Him in it or not. Keep your eyes on Him. Ask Him for what you need. Then wait on Him.

And, when He shows up--In His own perfect time--your joy will be beyond what you could ever imagine. But, that's His style after all. Perfect Grace for imperfect people.

Daisy Chain -- a book review

2009-06-16T21:00:00Z

Jed Pepper can’t get his young love, Daisy, out of his mind. Thirty years later, he stands amidst the empty ruins of the church where they met, still haunted by her memory.

A charming and mysterious girl, Daisy Chance has the kind of personality that draws people in like fireflies to a warm light, pulling them towards her again and again. In the dusty heat of Defiance, Texas, Daisy seems out of place. Too vibrant for such a lost and lonely town. Irresistible for someone like Jed.

When Daisy goes missing, leaving behind nothing but her shoe, the search for what happened to her leaves the whole town questioning each other and wondering if one of them could be capable of harming such a lively young girl.

The last to see her, Jed sets out on a quest to find Daisy and the love she so freely gave to him. But, when shoes go missing from the backyards of other Defiance children, he realizes there is something much deeper and much more dangerous going on.

Mary DeMuth builds her characters a memorable place in our minds. A place they settle into and stay behind long after the book is completed. With tenderness and sincerity she touches on difficult subjects to expose the secrets that lie in her characters hearts. Though the subject matter is often painful, DeMuth reveals her characters to us in gradual unveilings that cause us to care so much for them that we must continue through to the end.

Though the questions about Daisy remain unanswered in this first book of the trilogy, it is the other characters deep affection for her that leaves you waiting and anticipating the next morsel of information that will lead to the truth about what happened. Not a light read, but a deeply moving one.

Kneading More

2009-05-13T02:45:00Z

Last night, I made homemade sourdough bread for my family.

Okay. Maybe not TOTALLY homemade, but there was a bowl, a mix and some kneading involved. As homemade as it gets these days.

As I prepared the dough, I made sure to follow the directions exactly knowing that (from past experiences) not giving the bread the right amount of time to get ready would result in a big, lumpy mess.

Even knowing this however, when I got to the kneading part, I created a short cut. I mean really. Is it REALLY necessary to knead dough for 15 full minutes before putting it in a pan? I didn't think so. So, I cut it to ten minutes. Then, I stopped at five. What can I say? My two year old showed up soaking wet and covered in grass after sitting too close to the sprinklers.

As dinner preparation came to a close, I checked the oven to see how my bread was coming along. It smelled delicious. The top was golden and crusty. But, it seemed to have stunted growth. It was only half of what it could have been. I was a little embarrassed to even put it on the table in front of three little ones who have a knack for pointing out the obvious. Though it still tasted good, and I even got complements on it, I knew it wasn't right. It could have been better. And, it was all due to hurried efforts. An unwillingness to put in the time needed to make it right.

It reminded me of another short cut I sometimes take when life gets busy. My time with God. While I strive to spend time with Him each day, as my days get crazier I sometimes cut my Bible study or prayer time short. Whenever I do this, my week has a way of getting crazier and more stressful. I can always tell when I'm taking shortcuts in growing my faith because I begin to feel as if I'm stunted in some way. As if I'm not as connected to Him as I could be. And, it's during those times that I tend to do things that are embarrassing or that I regret in my relationships with others.

Can you relate?

Can you tell a difference in how you feel each day based on whether or not you've drawn near to God? On days that you do, do you feel better as a whole? What about days that you don't?

Isaiah 26:3 says

"You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you."

Want peace in your life? Stay committed in your walk with God. Daily. Share your struggles, your joys and your gratitude with Him for all aspects of your day. Finding peace is easy. Keeping it takes commitment and a willingness to put in the time. Some short cuts aren't worth it. Be steadfast in your efforts. You will be glad for the results.

Me No Speaky "Girl"

2009-05-05T15:04:00Z

If you don't already know this about me, I think I should tell you: I don't speak "girl-speak".

In fact, when it comes to the secret language of women, I'm totally clueless. I grew up with boys. I learned to communicate directly or be forced to act out the entire Star Wars saga for eternity. I mean, sometimes you just want to play Wonder Woman, you know?

So, I've found myself in interesting situations throughout my life where I am surrounded by women who speak a secret language of sorts, for which I have no dictionary or interpreter. It puts me at a disadvantage and can sometimes cause hurt feelings that I didn't realize were being hurt.

Many times I've sat in large groups of women as they've gone round-and-round a subject to no avail. Quite frequently, I become the one that feels the urgent need to stop the merry-go-round by making a blunt statement or pointing out the obvious answer so we can move on. You can imagine how popular I am in these moments. I never seem to understand that many are enjoying the ride.

Just this week a friend and I planned to get together. Due to some technical difficulties via text (I'm an adamant hater of cell phones by the way) we completely missed each others point for two days, due mostly to "girl-speak". My sweet friend had planned on me coming over, had prepared some special treats and waited for me to pop in. I, on the other hand, had taken her cue of "you can stop by if you want to, or not" to mean that she'd really rather I didn't.

After an entire weekend of missing each others point, and probably a very fun time together, we both had hurt feelings. All because --you guessed it--me no speaky "girl" language.

Apparently, I speak boy. I'm use to directness. When I hear the slightest opportunity for an out in someones invite, I assume they are placing it there for a reason. They want an out. So, being the polite Southerner that I am, I always give it. But (and I'm a slow learner) sometimes, they are placing the "out" there simply out of politeness on their part. They don't want you to take it.

Ahhhh....

This isn't the only language barrier I have.

I often feel this very same way in my conversations with God. If I pray for something that I'm not sure He would want me to be pursuing, I offer an "out". Not, of course, that He ever needs one. But, I sometimes feel obligated to say something like "But if that's not your plan for me God, it's okay." When deep inside my heart, it is NOT okay. I really, really want my prayer to be answered. Which, of course, He totally knows.

Recently, I've become more direct in my prayers. I've come right out and specifically asked for exactly what I want, unapologetically. Knowing that as long as I am asking for something that does not go against my faith, He will provide. And amazingly, He has.

John 15:7 says:
Jesus said, "If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given to you."

If we remain in Him and He is in us, He will give us that for which we pray. This has parameters, of course, knowing that what we ask for must be within the boundaries of faith, but Jesus tells us to ask. He tells us to be direct.

So I write this to encourage you today. If you are struggling , take it directly to God. Keep up your relationship with Him. Stay in His word. Study what He may say about your very situation. Then . . . be direct. Pray for what you need. Pray for what you want. Knowing that He is asking you to. He knows your every want and need, your every hope and desire, and He longs for you to bring them to Him. Ask.

Tween Mania

2009-04-30T15:24:00Z

We're having issues at my house.

As my young daughter inches further along in her tween years, I'm starting to understand why the category "tween" was invented. At the age of nearly ten, she is quickly resembling more and more of what I was like as a teen. I'm amazed at the level of intelligence and savvy of children at this age. She has far surpassed where I was emotionally and mentally at the age of 10. And, I have to say, I don't like seeing it. With every request her father and I make, eyes roll and lungs exhale. When correction is needed, she balks as if we have crossed the line in our relationship with her. And, when firm action is taken we are flat out informed of the unfair / mean / rude / disrespectful (okay, she is mocking us) / hurtful parents we have become.

Even when she fully understands that what she is doing is of her own will, when trouble finds her she must blame someone. Always, someone else.

As I listen to tones in her voice that make me cringe, I think back to my own mother and wonder how she made it through. (Thanks mom!) Surely, I didn't start at this age? I mean, I clearly remember being a bundle of joy until the age of oh . . . fourteen, right?

As struggles ensue on a daily basis, I often come out on the losing end of these battles. Not that I don't get my point across, and not that she doesn't comply (forced to comply is still comply), it's that I feel like a horrible, mean, scary and terrible mother for being so hard on her.

My greatest desire for my daughter is that she grows to see herself as God sees her, not as the world sees her. I want her to understand that rules are made for her protection, not her fun-prevention. And, I want her to feel that she is deeply, deeply loved by her family . . . but most especially by her mother.

It's frustrating.

At the same time in our home, I'm having some issues of my own. Recently, my career came to a crashing halt as I was laid off and soon found that the textile industry has shrunken to a mere speck of its former glory. While I was actually relieved in many ways, and glad to pursue other things of interest, it has been nagging at me. With seething undertones. In the middle of the night.

I struggle with this fact on a daily basis. And, while I am determined to stay on the positive side of the fence, someone is clearly trying to pull me to the negative. It has caused me to cry out to God more than once, asking Him for direction. Begging Him to let me in on the little secret known as: my future. And, I would imagine, I'm not exactly the picture perfect child in these moments. Perhaps whiny even, as I long to know Whhhyyyy.

Though I don't find myself blaming God for my predicament, I do feel the need to blame someone. And, I don't like that. However, the thoughts in my mind have led me to realize how similar to my tween I've become. So frustrated over trying to follow someone else's rules. So helpless as to what decisions they will make. And so quick to judge when they don't go the direction I want them to.

Funny isn't it? How the things we struggle the most with our children are often the very same things which we are struggling with God? I feel Him telling me to be patient. I know He will show me in due time. And, I know throughout it all that I will be ok because of His deep, deep love for me. But, it's still not easy.

As I struggle in my obedience to God, I am reminded that it is the very same struggle my daughter is having with my authority. And, I'm reminded that in order for her to feel safe, secure and loved, the best thing I can do for her is to remain constant. To stand with her, and to love her like crazy even when she seems unlovable.

I know that is what God is doing for me. I pray that I can follow His perfect example.

Love Finds You in Humble, Texas: A Book Review

2009-04-14T16:00:00Z

Love Finds You in Humble, Texas by Anita Higman is the latest in the Love Finds You series by Summerside Press. This sweet, lighthearted read will leave you wishing the characters were real . . . and lived next door.

Trudie Abernathy is like many women you know: warm, funny and often imperfect. Her sister Lane is the sister you’d love to have but are glad you don’t: beautiful, ambitious and determined to help Trudie improve.

As Trudie’s thirtieth birthday approaches, Lane insists that what she needs most in life is a new look and a new chance at love. She treats Trudie to a makeover and insists on allowing a blind date to share their dinner celebration. When Trudie hears that the date is a man that Lane has “passed” on, she is sure she will be forced to spend her birthday with someone atrocious. But, when she finds herself sitting next to Mason Wimberley, a handsome and charming businessman who seems to “get” her quirky sense of humor, Trudie is smitten.

As the dinner evolves, so does a love triangle. Lane realizes her feelings for Mason as she watches him dote on her sister.

Unaware of Lane’s feelings, Mason makes his affection for Trudie clear and immediately begins to pursue her. But when Lane reveals to Trudie that she is in love with Mason, Trudie removes herself from the relationship out of a greater love for her sister than for herself. Still, she is devastated and struggles to get her mind around the choice she has made and to get Mason to divert his attention to Lane.

This is a funny and engaging look at the lengths that people will go to in order to protect and care for the ones they love. This love triangle, shared by sisters who care tremendously for one another, gives an interesting angle that will have you boucing back and forth between characters and choosing sides. Anita Higman pens an enjoyable read that will leave you smiling from the building kinship you feel with her characters.

If Patience is a Virtue, Where Does That Leave Me?

2009-03-09T14:46:00Z

If patience is a virtue, where does that leave me?

I've had a bad week. Actually, a couple of them. Difficult weeks. Taxing weeks. And they don't seem to be getting any better even after a relaxing weekend. Not good for a mom of three who lives for that breath of relief that only comes late Friday afternoon.

Two weeks ago, my company implemented a layoff of my entire division. Sixty people gone in an instant. No warning. No notice whatsoever. Sold to another corporation while we stood by helplessly and wondered what would happen to all of the hard work we'd put in over the years. Such is the nature of textiles.

It's not the first time I've gone through this. In fact, I've been down this path several times, as have most of the people in my industry. This is however, the first time that the layoff has been painfully stretched across the span of two weeks. Thus, my impatience.

After being told on a Tuesday that our company was sold, employees were shuffled into two piles. In pile #1 were those that would be interviewed by the new company to be considered for the few remaining spots they needed to fill. Pile #2 would dangle precariously for eternity while the original company decided whether or not to continue using them in the business. Well . . . that's not exactly how they put it. But, can you guess which pile I'm in? Yes, pile #2. I'm lucky like that.

Normally, I'm a very patient person. In fact, I was so calm over all of this through the first ten days, my husband was seriously concerned that I was having some kind of silent mental breakdown. I wasn't. I have a strong faith and felt totally assured that God would take care of me and my family through all of this. I was just waiting to see what He would do. The direction He would lead me in next.

When my boss called the Friday after the layoff to say it would be a few more days, I wasn't the least bit upset. I prayed that God would lead them to the right decision for me, whatever that might be.

When she called on day eight to say it would be two more days, I thought "OK. This is all part of the plan. I can wait a couple more days to discover my new path in life."

When she called again, on the second Friday night, to say it would be a few more days, I . . . well . . . I sort of snapped. My husband longed for a silent breakdown.

Of course, my lovely family was in the crosshairs. My poor children could not whine within fifty feet of me without being sent to their rooms. My dogs couldn't even request a trip outside to potty without me reprimanding "Really?! Again?!" Not the best days I've seen.

While only days before, a close friend praised me for being a "Godly woman" during this fiasco, I was starting to wonder if all of that was just a facade. If, when it came right down to it, I didn't have enough faith.

My patience was gone and I began to feel pretty bad about myself. Not for losing my job, which incredibly, I'm still not fazed by. But for only lasting ten days relying on God to lead. A mere ten days and the unraveling began. It led me to some serious thinking.

One of my favorite parts of the Bible is Exodus. After God freed His people from lives of brutal slavery in Egypt, they followed Him through the desert for forty years of whining and complaining. OK. The Bible doesn't quite put it that way, but that is essentially what happened.

People who had food rain down from heaven on a nightly basis would get up the next day and complain about the blandness of their diet. People who followed a fire in the sky would whine about why God had left them to die in the desert. Really?! With signs and miracles right in front of their faces? They couldn't see that God was with them? I love those guys. They are so real. And, I can totally relate.

While God travelled with them and provided their every need, they whined and complained without ceasing. So I have to wonder, why am I so surprised to find myself doing the same?

As I continue through my Bible-in-a-year reading this morning (now on year two), I came across the following verses:

"The Lord directs our steps, so why try to understand everything along the way?" Proverbs 20:24

"Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord." Psalm 27:14

He meant those for me today. And, I really needed to hear them. I feel my patience renewing. Sure, I'm not going to wait forever on my company to decide -- who can do that in times like these? But, I am willing to wait on God. To make sure that every decision I make is done so prayerfully. To listen and learn from what He places before me. To see the signs and miracles right in front of my face. For those things, I am grateful. For renewed strength, I am thankful. And for God's plan for me, I will be patient.

Hiding in the bathroom / Waiting in the car line / Pretending You're Cooking so you can read Book Worthy : The Missionary

2009-01-24T01:50:00Z

Looking for a great read? The Missionary by William Carmichael and David Lambert hits shelves next week. Or -- preorder through Amazon and get ready for a page turner.

Dave Eller, an American missionary in the barrios of Caracas has a passion for saving the impoverished children so prevalent amongst him. While he dutifully tends to the orphanage he and his wife Christie have been called to serve, he remains unsettled with thoughts of the many others that he can't reach. Angry at the Venezuelan government and the policies that fail to protect these children, David is all to eager to accept a questionable opportunity from a wealthy business man who promises a generous donation to the orphanage in exchange for a small favor that goes against the country's leaders.

When the deal does not go as expected, David's history of publicly denouncing the government makes him a target for an investigation that might uncover his recent impropriety. Realizing his mistake, David becomes unsure if he is helping a government operative, the CIA, or drug cartel. He quickly falls into a nightmarish reality of espionage and a covert existence that leaves him with the possibility of losing his ministry, his family and his very life.

This gripping novel presents unexpected twists and tension that will keep you holding your breath until the very last page. With vivid detail, Authors William Carmichael and David Lambert pull us into the contrasting beauty of Venezuela and the corrupt government that taints its citizen’s lives.

Not only will the novel keep you up at night and hiding in the closet for a spare moment to read, it will leave you questioning the times you've turned up the volume on your own voice louder than that of God's, who was nudging towards another path. As The Missionary shows us, the choice is ultimately ours, even if it places us in grave danger.

Due out March 1, 2009.

What an Ingrate!

2009-01-03T04:46:00Z

I have always hated my minivan.

Truly. From the very first day we bought it until now, four years later, I have loathed it. I still don't like the guy who sold it to me, even though I freely walked up to him and asked him for it. I feel like a big idiot driving around in it. Like I've totally given in to the mommy-vacuum by purchasing it. And, I hate how I'm more concerned about trash containment of cheerios and oreos than my pre-van concerns of whether or not I would look good in red or black.

Unfortunately, my van has taken my loathing personally. In the span of four years, 18 things have broken on it. From the am/fm switch cracking in half and falling off to much larger issues that have left us stranded on the side of the road.

Our last evil-minivan episode occurred over the holidays when a death in the family led us to leave town the day after Christmas. We made our way towards Virginia and stopped what seemed like five minutes later for a bathroom break (No. She didn't go before we left the house). As we pulled over, smoke began pouring from the engine. After checking under the hood, my husband quelled our fears, added some fluid and we continued on our trip.

Thirty more miles down the road, it started again. And the crying began. Our kids were terrified of the smoking car and began a crying opera that rivaled a Pavarotti performance. My husband checked it again, added fluid and continued on a little less sure of himself.

"I don't want to die!"

"The car's on fire!" bellowed from the back seat.

I wanted to join them. Instead, we stopped every thirty minutes adding fluid and waving smoke away as the longest trip in Virginia history was recorded. We managed to make it to our destination in only twice the time, missing the evening wake.

The next day we dropped the car at a local shop and went on to the funeral. Hours later we learned that it would be days before the car could be serviced with no idea how to estimate the cost. Our Christmas gift to our kids was a mini vacation. It looked as if that would be canceled. More crying ensued.

My husbands family stepped in and generously offered us a car to drive until we could come back to retrieve our own. After his funeral, we piled into Uncle Delwin's car and headed South. It was a humbling experience driving that car.

Like everything in his life, Uncle Delwin had taken excellent care of his 1992 Lincoln. After 16 years of use, it was in better shape and was a striking contrast to our minivan of four years. There were no cup holders, dvd players or automatic lights. The back seat was large enough for two small children to completely stretch out and fall asleep on. The backseat also sat incredibly close to the front, making me realize within an hour why parents in the eighties felt the need to use "the arm" as a method of correction. The trunk was twice as large as the minivan's storage area. It's seats were worn, and carpet stained. It had few amenities, yet drove beautifully.

It made me think a lot about Uncle Delwin and his priorities. As an aerospace engineer for NASA, he was so unassuming, you would never know that he'd spent his career doing things of which most of us could only dream. His house contained awards and items of recognition in such inconspicuous places (behind the basement bookshelf), that you would never come to know that he'd been inducted into the Aerospace Hall of Fame, or won awards for developing Hang Glider technology, if someone else had not revealed this information to you. His priority was his family. Nothing else mattered.

Though he easily could have lived in a larger house, driven new cars every few years, and spent lavishly on anything he wanted, he didn't. I began thinking over how hectic our lives had become, the many bad financial decisions we'd made over needless purchases, and why the rest of the world seemed to mimic our steps more than some one more deserving. Someone like Delwin.

In the seven hour trip down to Florida, I began to make a new plan for my family. I wanted to be like Delwin. I wanted to be more concerned with the big things than the little things. I wanted to stop being so ungrateful for the things I did have.

Then, it happened. Fifteen miles from our hotel, the Lincoln died. As we pulled over to a side road, my kids hit a new level of inconsolable. And I began to join them. As I sat crying in the passenger seat, watching my husband melt down outside of the car, I looked up into the clouds as the words "Jesus Loves You" formed in airplane writing across the skies. I kid you not. That happened.

Hebrews 13:5 says "Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you."

I realized in that moment that I had not been content in my life. Like many others today, I'd spent years chasing after things that truly had little significance. The reason I'd been so taken aback by Delwin is because he so resembled who I longed to be most like : Jesus.

As it turned out, the repair on the Lincoln was very minor. Something even the Fedex guy that helped us push it out of traffic was able to diagnose. However, the redirection I needed would not be as easy. But, I'm focusing on it. After years of living without thinking, I'm forming a new plan of how things should be. And, it's all thanks to Uncle Delwin. I miss him now more than ever.

Be Still Already!

2008-12-10T15:01:00Z

    I can't sit still.

    It's ingrained in me and I can't make it stop. (Please, someone make it stop!) Not that I don't enjoy downtime, or vacations or the like. But, if I'm at home and everyone has what they need, I'd much rather be doing something with my time than sitting still. If I'm watching television, I'm also reading a book. If I'm cooking dinner, I'm also unloading the dishes or folding laundry. If I'm laying down with my kids at night to help them sleep, I'm also going through a writing idea in my mind.

    I have an internal agenda that can get in the way of everything if I let it. My to-do list is to be outdone by no other than a computer repair manual. It goes on for pages and is updated daily. I have to literally keep myself in check constantly, making sure that what I am doing is what God would have me to do, not what I feel I should do.

    It seems as if my mind is on a 20 hour schedule that my 16 hour body struggles to keep up with. Even when I force myself to stop "doing", my mind keeps at it long into the night. And I find that it is often during my busiest times that I realize I'm listening too much to my own voice and not enough to God's.

    Why can't I just get out of my own way?

    I love the words in Psalm 46: "Be still, and know that I am God!" I like the image of that. Being still. Letting God take over. Having someone else carry the load for a change.  But is God asking us to be still so that He can do all of the work, or is He asking us to stop in order to pay attention?

    In Exodus 14, God led the people of Israel towards the Red Sea and instructed them to camp beside the shore. Then He hardened Pharoh's heart to the point that he decided to chase after the very slaves that he had just freed. As Pharoah approached them, the Isralites began crying out to Moses saying "Why did you bring us out here to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us?" In response, Moses told them "Don't be afraid. Just stand still and watch the Lord rescue you today. The Lord himself will fight for you. Just stay calm."  That would have sounded great to me. Just hang out here, let God take care of your needs.

    But, as they were waiting on the Lord to move, He said to Moses "Why are you crying out to me? Tell the people to get moving!" It was only then that Moses raised his staff and the Red Sea parted. It was only after their action, their part in the plan, that this miraculous work of God took place.

    I love this part of the story. It shakes me up. It makes me realize that although God loves us and has promised to take care of us, our relationship with him is not passive. He calls us to play a part in His plan. "Why are you crying out to me?" He says. "Tell the people to get moving!" Get a move on, so His work can be completed.

    The "being still" isn't so much that He wants us to physically still our bodies, as He wants us to still our racing minds, our need for control, our unending to-do list that not only can distract us from what He is trying to do, but can keep us from taking our part in His plan for us.  We are directed to "Be still, and know that I am God" because it is only in our stillness that we can see that what is being accomplished in our lives is not of our own doing. Though we play a part in His plan, we can not control it, or manipulate it, or delegate it to a list.

    God is honored when we allow Him to work His will in our lives. When we allow Him to do the things for us that meet His agenda, not our own. When we let Him use us in the way He wants to, rather than to just sit back and hope that He acts on our behalf.

    Yes. The Isralites needed to still themselves from the probable chaos that was going on in their camp. Yes, they needed to refocus and realize that they were God's people and that He was with them. BUT. They had to take action in His plan. They had to get up and move!
.
    As the holidays draw nearer and your calendar gets squeezed, don't forget to be still. Don't forget the purpose of this season or the miracle that God has laid before us through the story of Christ.  Take part in His story this Christmas. Be a blessing to others. Show the love of God to someone in need. Not because it's on your list. Not because you feel pressure. But, because God has placed you somewhere in the wilderness of life, poised to take part in His plan like no one else can. Be still enough to realize it when your turn comes. Then... get moving!

Election Hope?

2008-11-05T15:30:00Z

Last night, as I watched the results pour in from the 2008 election, I was stunned. Not that McCain was obviously losing, but that so many people were chosing a candidate who went against so many of my personal beliefs. Was I alone? I sat in silence (which doesn't happen often at our house) and wondered how our country had wandered so far away from the belief system on which it was built. Beliefs that are at their core, good things. Moral things. Things built upon the laws of God.

I went to bed despondent and wondering if God was turning His back on us after all the many times we have gone against Him in this country. If he was "turning His face against us" as the Psalmist says?

I tossed and turned all night. I awoke more than once by the cheers and screams of victory of Obama supporters as my husband continued to watch in the other room. I felt hopeless. I felt isolated. And I felt very far from God.

This morning I prayed as I got ready, drove my children to school, and then home to work. I listened to the radio hoping to be inspired. I looked through the clouds overhead hoping for a glimmer of something. Hoping for some sign of well, hope.

When I got to my desk I reluctantly checked my email knowing that there would be many comments on the various loops I subscribe to that I wouldn't want to read. But of course, I was compelled to.

There were many elated comments. There were equally as many deflated. There were comments about racism. There were comments about gender bias. Many angered me. Several made me profoundly sad. None made me feel any better. But, I began to realize that if nothing else, this election motivated. Motivated many of us who have sat back for too long watching from the sideline.

Slowly... a glimmer flitted across my mind. One word kept coming to the forefront: trust. Trust.

A new energy began to build in me as I tried to look at it from someone who is called to trust God with everything. And I thought: maybe this is as it should be. Maybe the very best thing that could happen to a follower at this point in our history is to be shaken to the core. To be slapped with the reality of what is truly at stake before us. And to see that we can't continue to glide by hoping that "someone else" will stand up for our beliefs. For God's commands.

In the next four years, beliefs that Christians hold deepest in their hearts will be challenged under this president. The right to life. The protection of marriage. Freedom of speech. Freedom of beliefs. And we are ALL on call. Not just the leaders of our communities or nation. It is under our watch this time. And we must stand and act.

It reminded me of David as he positioned himself to stand up against Goliath.

"I can't go in these," David protested. "I'm not use to them" he said as he turned away the offer of solidiers armor that he was not accustomed to.

Like David, we may not be accustomed to the methods of battle that will be used against us. But it shouldn't keep us from getting in the fight. We must face our giants as he did. Not by meandering around in the hopes that someone else might get to them first. But by rushing to them! Just as when Goliath moved into attack, David quickly ran out to greet him! Quickly! Wholeheartedly. Shouting with confidence that he came "in the name of the Lord- the God whom you have defied".

He didn't let the taunts of Goliath stop him. He didn't let the rumors of failure stop him. He didn't even allow his own family to stop him as his brother tried to send him home.

No! He rushed to greet him! Even as Goliath taunted "Why are you coming to fight? I am the Philistine champion, but you are only the servants of Saul."

We are only the servants of God. We are ONLY the servants of God. We are only the servants of GOD.

SERVE him with honor. SERVE him with joy. Rush to greet what is coming before us.

In David's day as it is in ours: "This is the Lord's battle, and He will give you to us!"

God will prevail. We must stand with confidence as His own knowing that if we show up to the battle in His name, He will be there to fight with us.

We will have to do that. We will have to take a stand. We will be forced to face the giant moral questions being posed by our nation. Rush to greet what is coming before us. Be ready. And trust. Trust.

Mini Matisse

2008-10-03T19:23:00Z

When my daughter was still a toddler, I watched one day as she took a pink magic marker and drew a big squiggle on a piece of paper I had given her. To me, the squiggle looked like a giant S - her first initial. I was amazed at her ability to accomplish that at such a young age. I had her draw on paper after paper, making sure that it was not an accident. It wasn't.

Being someone who loves to draw and paint, I began to wonder if she might have a gift. I went out and bought new magic markers and crayons as excited as if it were my own first box. At following holidays and special occasions, I gave her gifts that would help her explore her artistic side. I even bought a huge art table, complete with a little lamp that would shed the light she needed to create her masterpieces.

The only problem was: she didn't want to.

Not willing to give in so easily, I tried to encourage her in other ways. We would sit together at the kitchen table and draw as a team. Well, I would draw while holding her hand and pencil together in mine. That's the same thing...right? OK, not exactly. Which is why I often would get frustrated, throw the pencil down and let her move on.

As much as I longed to have a child that shared my passion, she simply was not interested any further than most children her age. She preferred to cut the hair off of her Barbie dolls and dress up with every item hanging in her closet. The art table was used more often to change baby doll diapers than to channel new art. And, as it turns out, that squiggle expressed the mainstay of her talent for quite a while.

I hate to admit it, but I was totally disappointed when she was not interested in pursuing my passion. Not only that, but my feelings were hurt. A hurt that I couldn't really explain and certainly was not her fault. But it was there.

Eventually, her true gifts did begin to surface. Like most things about her, they were nothing like mine. I realized that nothing I might do could sway her to my way of thinking. I had to let my hope for an artist go as I let her become who she was meant to be. It was hard for me to give up that control.

Through the years I've found myself in similar situations with friends and acquaintances. Over, I'm embarrassed to say:God. I've seen friends take a mild interest in a conversation we were having and assumed that they needed more information than they ever wanted to hear. I've given out books that were probably never read. I've offered up open doors in hopes that someone would come knocking.

The problem was: too often, no one did.

As much as I've sometimes longed for certain people in my life to understand and share my passion for my faith in God, they are not always able to meet me there. Sometimes they are not ready. Other times maybe not willing to take a risk at that particular point in life.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I've been completely disappointed by more than one person who was not interested in pursuing my passion. Not only that, but my feelings have been hurt. A hurt that I often can not explain and know that it is not the other persons fault. Yet it remains.

Recently, another wonderful friend of mine pointed out to me that when it comes to bringing others along in our passion for God, our duty is to be the sower. To throw some seeds out and then let God do the work of helping them to take root and grow.

As much as we may want to push them in, water them, or even bring a little light overhead if need be, we can't. And we aren't supposed to. It is our duty to sow the seed. That's it. The rest is up to God in His own time and according to His own perfect will.

Each in their own time. Each with their own gifts. People will discover their calling and who calls them on their own. It is not for us to decide. It is not something that we can control.

The best we can do for them is throw. Just throw.

The First Year

2008-08-27T17:22:00Z

When you are still in the young years of raising children, wanting to go through the first year all over again is akin to wanting to suffer through the teenage angst of high school once more. NO one wants to go there again! You are glad to be rid of bottles and diapers and multiple changings of clothes in a day. No more sleepless nights. (Well, fewer anyway.) You look back on it all with a sigh of relief and a boost in your parenting ego that you made it through.

The first year is tough on everyone. And I'm starting to think that it is why no one REALLY tells you about how parenting will be, until you are one. I mean, we hear about the sleep deprivation, the messiness of it all, the way it has of attacking your bank account. But, we tend not to divulge that this tiny person will swoop in and complete consume your every waking moment for the next year. A monopoly of time that will actually cause you to sweep through entire months without truly remembering what happened in them. Except of course, when you had to buy "fleets". NO ONE EVER FORGETS THAT. If you don't know what I'm talking about here, you are a very, very lucky parent.

Still, as my youngest reaches his second birthday, I'm starting to miss those baby days. What used to be he and I tackling our days in tandem is edging more towards him pushing off ever so slightly on his own. With our oldest now nine, I can see more than ever how quickly he will grow. And it makes me miss that first year. It makes me think that I wouldn't mind going back to 2 am feedings. That boiling bottles might not be so bad. That baby crying (which is different from toddler and certainly tween crying) sounds so sweet.

It makes me miss those days. And yet, I know I have wonderful things to look forward to.

Our middle child just started Kindergarten this week. By day two, he would not let me walk him inside. That's not what you do at big school. I love that the thing that impressed him the most was the cafeteria...which is also the gym. Priceless.

My daughter is coming into her own sense of self as she begins to stand up for things she believes in. I love watching her grow in this way. Confident. Unsteady at times, but growing more sure every day. She and I are starting to have the kind of talks I always wanted with my daughter.

All of these are beautiful things in the lives of parents and children. Gifts. Gifts to be enjoyed and cherished at every stage.

If you are struggling through the first year (for the first time, or for another round), try to remember the small things. The way a child finds that perfect fit between your shoulder and neck. The way they smell after a bath. The slope of their tiny necks. The way their eyes flutter in their sleep. The feel of little fingers holding onto yours. The wide eyed glances at everything new.

You will miss it. You will want it back. Really. I do.

Finding Joy in the Midst of Sorrow

2008-08-04T18:16:00Z

    This weekend we attended the funeral of my husband's great aunt, an event that was both tearful and filled with moments of joy. It's funny how funeral's can be that way.

    On the one hand, there was the obvious loss: a wonderful wife, mother, aunt, sister and friend taken from our midst. On the other hand, there was a feeling of longing to be in her place: meeting Jesus for the first time. But mostly it seemed a hardship to those of us remaining here without her. Her husband, who is terminally ill, was stunned that she was taken from him. Her boys (grown men) still longed for their mother. And the rest of the family missed what had become our matriarch. It can be quite sad and quite lovely all at the same time.

    Of course, sprinkled in with all of these people were small children who always mingle in large families. Children who were almost totally unaware of what was going on before them. Happy to be surrounded by so many people making such a fuss over them. Giggling with joy as countless family members went on and on about how cute their toes were, what sweet smiles they had, and what a blessing it was to have them there. They could not comprehend the great sadness that surrounded them.  Nor did they understand why we were gathered. They just knew that they were surrounded by loved ones, and were happy to be so.

    When someone nearby was in tears, you were more likely to hear an "uh-oh!" from the little ones than an "I'm so sorry". The beautiful rendition of "How Great Thou Art" that was sung at the ceremony was met with a loud "Yea!" and even louder clapping by one joyous young attendee. And later, at the house of our beloved aunt, the children were more interested in being with their cousins and enjoying their family than mourning. And truly, I believe that this is how God intends it.

   There is something precious in childlike faith and understanding. Just as Jesus points us towards becoming more like children in order to enter the Kingdom of God (Mark 10:14), , I think He often uses children around us to gently teach us that there is joy in the midst of our sadness.  There is hope when things feel hopeless. And, there are people who love you completely no matter what you are going through.

    Though it is entirely too difficult to describe losing someone you love, it is befitting I think, to surround yourself with those who are more able to celebrate in the midst of sorrow. It is a celebration, to think of someone we love finally, FINALLY, reaching home.

    And, I have a feeling she may have been doing some clapping and "Yeas" of her own.

Raising a Wild Child

2008-07-25T17:22:00Z

Raising a wild child can be tough on a mom. The constant fear of their safety. The sneaking feeling that everyone within fifty feet of said child is secretly glancing at you in disapproval. The plethora of comments made by others all too ready to point you in the proper direction of a taming session. It's enough to wear you down.   To a nub. I've been there.

I've sat in horror as my little wild man has knocked over a presentation screen in a room full (did I say FULL) of adults waiting for the presentation to start. I've listened  as his always-at-full-volume comments about the large people in front of us made me want to back quietly out of the supermarket and never return. I've panicked as his lack of fear for his own little life has led him out into parking lots, busy streets, and yes on one very bad day - oncoming traffic.

I've wondered more than once if there was something wrong with him. I've considered even more often that there might be something wrong with me and my mothering. I've prayed that God help me keep this uncontrollable child safe. And I've secretly asked if He realized that I was the mommy He accidentally dropped this bomb on. Surely this gift was wrapped for another.

The difficult thing about raising a wild child is that when they are in action, you are on trial. Every passerby, onlooker and mother in the midst seems to have an eye out for you when the action revs up. Then, when your little one has reached the third tier of the Walmart toy aisle after you telling him over and over again to get down, someone pops out from behind you to slap a "GUILTY" sign on your back. Well, OK, maybe not...but it often feels that way!

There is nothing like a child you can not control to make you feel like a failure as a parent.

What I've learned over the five years (Yes! We made it to five!) with my little wild man has changed me forever. And changed me for the better. The uncontrollable passion that often leads him into trouble, is the same passion that carries out in unexpectedly wonderful ways in other aspects of his life.

My little guy is incapable of holding back. Not a thought. Not an action. He sees nothing wrong with speaking his mind (very loudly) with whatever is bothering him about his world and whatever injustice is being inflicted on him (usually by his sister). He can not contain his energy as he runs at me, full tackle speed, down the church aisle after children's time. He sees nothing unusual in going up and talking to, or hugging, or just standing beside a complete stranger if he is drawn to them in some way.

Actions that at first I want to stop. Actions that I'm quick to be embarrassed by. Actions that if I think about them...should be carried out by myself as well.

How wonderful the world would be if more adults acted like my child. To speak up for the wrongs. To love with wild abandon. To find those in our midst most in need of our love and attention.

Things that I don't want to stop about him. Things that I'm embarrassed have made me wonder what others thought. Things I want to emulate more.

You see, not only did God realize the child he was giving me, I am convinced that he specifically and strategically planned it. God is using this child in my life to teach me. And teach me he has, I'm a different person than I was five years ago. I take more chances. I love more openly.  I see the world, and other mothers with similar children, quite differently.

If you are blessed with a wild child, you are just that: blessed. God has placed this child in your life for a reason. He chose you for this specific task. With this specific child.

I think it takes a special kind of mother to raise a wild child whether they are wild in action, or wild in emotion. If handled in the right way, I truly believe that these are the children that can make the most difference in the world. If they are encouraged instead of contained. If they are built up instead of held back. If they are blessed to be raised by an advocate instead of an opponent. And the choice, like many things in their little lives, is up to you.

It's gonna' be the ride of your life, so hold on. But pay attention. Sometimes the most wonderful gifts come to us packed in such a way that we wonder who in the world wrapped such a thing... a wild animal?

A Wise Grandmother

2008-06-25T21:50:00Z

A few years ago as I sat across from my eighty-something grandmother holding my new baby girl in my arms, I looked up to see her studying me intently with a sad look on her face.

"Grandma, are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes," she said looking as if she'd been caught in a daydream "I miss my babies."

At the time, I was struggling with being a new mother. And when I say struggling, I mean I was really wondering what God was thinking giving me something like this to take care of when clearly I wasn't ready or capable. I'd spent the previous four-and-a-half hours riding with my daughter in her car seat screaming non-stop as we made our way across North Carolina. I was coming home to feel like my mom's baby for a while, rather than the pink screaming bundle's harried mother.

The comment left me profoundly sad. Not that she seemed particularly saddened by the fact that her five children were now completely grown, with children and in some cases grandchildren of their own. But, as I looked down at the precious gift in my arms, the one that I'd longed for, the one that I was starting to begrudge, I realized what I had before me. And I was stunned.

As parents, it's often difficult to see the blessing as we become overwhelmed with the responsibility. Let's face it, parenthood is never what you expect it to be. It's exhausting. It's overwhelming. It's all-consuming. But it is a gift. And, as only someone who's experienced it can attest: there is simply nothing more wonderful.

Sure, with three children now, I have my bad days. My sticky finger in my hair days. My chocolate-mouth-wiped on my first new blouse in three months days. My I'm-going-to-literally-keel-over-and-die from the bickering days. But I also have my wonderful days. My blessed by God days. My these-are-the-best-years-of-my-life days.

Luckily, one of the latter tends to make up for many of the former. And, I have a sneaking suspicion that as I grow older...maybe even become a grandmother myself...I too will miss my babies.

Oh the Failings of a Mother...

2008-05-27T14:30:00Z

    This weekend, my daughter celebrated her ninth birthday with a gaggle of 16 giggling girls parading through our household for two days. This event, otherwise known as a slumber party, was both exhausting and eye opening as we got to peek into the world of these little ones in a way that we are normally not privy to.

    I was struck, more than once, by how lucky I am to have the exact child that I have. Though all the girls were as wonderful as a group that large can be while in our household, there were definite differences in the ways that these girls reacted to each other.

    Some, I would say, have spent an inordinate amount of time watching fast-to-respond-with-a-snappy-answer tv tweens on cable. Others, I would say, were unbelievably innocent and sweet. Thankfully, mine fell somewhere in between.

    In the weeks preceeding her party, my daughter was constantly being called down for being disrespectful to her parents. In the midst of her peers however, I began to realize that compared to some of them, she is actually VERY respectful.

    Is disrespect a sign of the times? Are other parents pushing their children to be respectful as we are pushing ours? I have to say, upon watching these girls, I wasn't sure.

    And the disrespect was not targeted to the adults. It was pointed to each other.

    I saw enough head snapping and finger waggling to hold me through to the next millenium. Simple questions were answered with smart remarks that would have crushed me as a young girl. Innocent misunderstandings were ganged up on in groups of two and three. It really was a sight to behold. And yet, they all acted as if this was perfectly normal. Par for the course.

    As you can imagine, I was growing weary of this as the night went on. During games, bad sports made snappy comments to winners. So, when my own daughter spoke up loudly after her team had won two consecutive rounds of pictionary, but then lost the third, I became very angry with her.

    "You can not be a bad sport about this!" I said. "Your team just won TWICE! You have to let the others win and not cry!"

    "But it's not FAIR!" she screamed at me and kept crying.

    Getting angrier by the minute, I said "Fine! If it's so unfair, we won't play any more games tonight. Is that fair?"

    "No mama!" she said. "It's not fair because Hannah is the only one who didn't get a turn to draw!"

    My heart sank. Sweet, quiet, little Hannah. The same Hannah that had helped me twice to clean up spills by other children. The same Hannah that came and told on herself when she spilled water on the bathroom floor. That Hannah was not about to speak up for herself.

    But in the madness of a roomful of girls playing pictionary: winning, losing, clapping, screaming... my daughter had noticed one in the shadows. One who didn't get her chance. And, was hurt by it.

   " What a bad mother!" I thought to myself. I'd been around so much attitude in the last hours, that I thought my daughter was just coming into her own. She was. But not in the way I expected.

    Hannah got her turn. Two to be exact. Due of course, to a "Mommy Mess Up", where I accidently gave her the wrong word.   She was happy. My daughter beamed. And I? Well, I learned a lesson in respect.