31 Days: #27 Falling short as a mom

The other morning we got half-way to school and I noticed that #4's hair looked like a bird's nest. So if his hair was undone I figured other things were, too. I soon found out he didn't brush his teeth, either. I didn't check to see if he was wearing socks because I didn't even want to know.

Those what-kind-of-mother-am-I thoughts hit me hard during moments such as these, thoughts like how I've not taught my children great organizational skills. How I've not modeled wise time management. How I fear they'll grow up to freak out the in the same ways I do.

I worry when they grow up their houses will look like their rooms. And smell like their rooms. I cringe thinking their socks might be pink for the rest of their lives. And how when they think back to Sunday dinners they might only remember bowls of cereal.

But later in the day I read a prayer a mother prayed over her children and one line moved me to tears. May they be Your disciples.

And I realized then that this is all I really want for my kids. May they be His disciples. Even if I do fall short as their mother, what does it matter because all I really want is for them to know Jesus and to follow Him all the days of their lives. 

And by the grace of God they will, in spite of an imperfect upbringing filled with pink socks, bird-nest hair, and cereal for supper. Lord, may they all grow up to follow You.

*This post is part of a series running through the month of October 2011. Read from the beginning here.  Find the other 31-Dayers here.

31 Days: #21 Trash-talk

We were in a really bad car accident a few years ago. A drunk driver broadsided us and flipped us on our side and totaled my Tahoe. Eight of us were in the vehicle, but only one of the kids was taken by ambulance then released the same night.

So we all walked away with a few bruises, a couple of seatbelt burns, a little glass in one arm, two non-concussion head bumps, and lots of soreness. But no one died, and it was a miracle.

I was recounting the events to a friend a few days later and I said, "I saw that truck coming toward us and there was nothing we could do so I just said 'Lord, please protect us.'"

But my son heard me telling the story and goes, "No you didn't, Mama. You said 'Crap!'"

Oops.

I guess it could've been worse, but still. It's interesting what I actually said vs. what I thought I said. Or what I wish I'd said. I want to be known for calling upon God in those kinds of moments. Not uttering crude, pointless words.

Taming my tongue is an old battle of mine, not only in the context of speaking hurtful words, but also in uttering profanities that happen to slip out before something more constructive has a chance to. I have a feeling there's more trash-talk coming out of my mouth than I realize, especially in times of extreme emotion. Just the thought of that bothers me because I know it only takes mere seconds of a poor witness to ruin our testimony.

The only way I know to control this tongue of mine is to let Him control it. So I invite Him to do just that as I determine to forsake idle talk and seek to please Him in every word I utter.

But now you yourselves are to put off all these: anger, wrath, malice, blasphemy, filthy language out of your mouth. Do not lie to one another, since you have put off the old man with his deeds, and have put on the new man who is renewed in knowledge according to the image of Him who created him. Colossians 3:8-10

*This post is part of a series running through the month of October 2011. Read from the beginning here.  Find the other 31-Dayers here.

31 Days: #20 Morning grouchiness

It's not that I'm not a morning person. I like to get up early and have some time to myself while it's still quiet, and I'm usually relaxed and in an okay mood at first. But once the house wakes up and the rush is on, all my peace flies out the window.

This morning I actually got irritated at the twins for growing. I was unprepared for this Texas cold snap since I never watch the news, so we're just now realizing that none of their jacket sleeves are long enough. And when they showed me, I rolled my eyes and clenched my teeth a little.

So a few minutes later we all scrambled to the car in hopes that we had everything we needed, but I was still in a tizzy because we were late. As I drove through a school zone, a crossing guard waved at me (as she does every single day) and it irritated me that anyone would be so happy that early in the morning.

Then we got out of the car and Twin B realized he'd forgotten his P.E. clothes for the third day in a row. He's already lost so many points for not dressing out that his coach says he's in danger of failing (yes, P.E.), so I told him I guessed he'd just have to repeat sixth grade since he can't remember to bring his clothes. He got a little frantic until Twin A offered him her clothes since she had health instead of P.E. today and didn't need to wear them. He gladly agreed to borrow her feminine athletic apparel, dried up girl sweat and all.

I was impressed at how sweet she was being to her brother, and it tugged at my heartstrings a little (since after all, I'm the mom who's too scattered to make sure her ADD child remembers to bring everything he needs for school). And suddenly I felt really bad about my terrible mood.

I guess I'm not a morning person after all. How is it that I can step right out of the presence of the Lord and into a bad attitude with the closing of my Bible? So many daily struggles go right back to that old battle of flesh vs. Spirit. As I spend time in the Word each morning, I think I'll make my prayer to soak up more Jesus so I'll spread less morning ick.

Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not.They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23

*This post is part of a series running through the month of October 2011. Read from the beginning here.  Find the other 31-Dayers here.

31 Days: #13 A fondness for junk-food

When I'm going through something horrible, it's easy for me to lose weight because I can't eat when I'm upset. But when I'm happy, it's time to pull out the fat clothes. And since I'm pretty happy these days, I'm to the point where I can barely button my very fattest jeans.

We're always on the go and it's way too easy to hit the drive-thrus around town (which we do several times a week). I try not to keep too much junk in my house, but if I gave into temptation I'd load the cupboard up with Ding Dongs, Twinkies, Cheetos, Doritos, every other kind of chip under the sun, every other sweet known to man, and almost all other varieties of junk food. And for meals I would fix nothing but spaghetti, fettucini alfredo, pizza, tacos, mac and cheese, and whatever other full-of-carbs meal you can think of.

So as busy as we are and as much as I crave the wrong foods, then when you throw in my disorganization and poor meal-planning habits, unhealthy eating is a real battle. And it's been heavy on my heart to do better--and to somehow try to undo the damage I've done in not teaching my kids to eat healthier foods. One of them has actually said to me before, "Mom, why do we have to be so healthy around here?!" (What do you do with that?)

I read somewhere recently about a girl who totally gave up sugar. She said she asked the Lord for help and then leaned into Him during times of temptation rather than running toward that which tempted her. So I decided to try the same thing, and this is my new prayer:

Lord, my body is Your temple, so help me treat it as such. Create a desire in me to eat the foods You've given me in their wholest form possible. Please repulse me with the things that are bad for me. Seriously, Lord, make them seem completely gross and disgusting to me. Also, please put a desire in the hearts of my kids to want to eat more healthfully. I don't want them complaining every time I fix a healthy meal.

And you know what? I'm starting to feel differently about what I put into my body. The yucky stuff (even the good-tasting yucky stuff) isn't as appealing to me all of the sudden. In the last week I've crossed paths with three different people who have talked about going all organic and how much healthier it is. They've told stories of unexplained illnesses that disappeared after cutting out all the processed stuff and eating natural foods. 

Yesterday I had a friend ask me if I've ever eaten an organic apple. I said I hadn't. She said, "If you ever do, you'll never want the other kind again!"

So I went shopping last night, and today I had my first-ever organic apple. And it was delicious. As I was checking out at the store, I added one more line to my prayer: Lord, help me somehow pay for this expensive food. But I have a feeling I'd be able to afford a better diet if I abandoned buying the bad stuff in favor of the good.

And here's the biggest miracle of all. My fifteen-year-old son who's 6'2" and the hungriest in the house (the one who hates being "healthy" all the time), came to me the other day and said he wants to start eating healthier and to please not let him have junk anymore, even if he asks for it. Thank You, Lord.

So these are my guidelines:

• Skip processed foods
• Get enough protein
• Eat as many colors as possible
• Don't overcook the vegetables
• Go organic as much as I can afford (dairy and fruit, at the very least)
• Stick with the true serving sizes
• Buy only all-natural, no hormone meat (I'd love to do wild-caught fish and free-range chicken, but it's crazy-expensive)
• Get out and move more (this could be a post in itself) 

Just seeing it in print makes me feel better. I'll let you know how it goes. :)

{p.s. This is my 100th post!}

*This post is part of a series running through the month of October 2011. Read from the beginning here.  Find the other 31-Dayers here.

31 Days: #7 Hiding my mess-ups

Big Brother came into the room and asked Little Brother, "Did you take the batteries out of my remote?". His "no" came a little too quickly, and I smelled a rat. Batteries are a precious commodity around our house, especially to my video game-loving boys.

So I went to questioning. "Did you take them? Think hard before you answer. It's better to admit what you did and then say you're sorry."

He paused and I stared harder, and then came his barely audible "Yes" ... and off he went to set things right. It's comical sometimes, seeing what they try to get away with. Still, stealing isn't funny, and neither is lying about it.

Why is it so hard to admit it when we mess up? Why do we scramble to hide the truth when the agony of trying to cover our mistakes is such a poor substitute for the benefit gained in saying "I'm wrong"? Burying things can make us miserable.

I was ten years old and a friend and I were in a K-mart restroom stall together when she took a marker out of her purse and went to writing on the stall door. I couldn't believe it! I was scared to death and should've run, but I stayed. And helped out a little. I don't remember what we wrote, but I do remember it was quite thrilling despite the butterflies in my stomach.

But the thrill came to a halt when we saw a K-mart worker approaching us a few minutes later. As it turned out, she'd been only a few stalls down and heard the "squeak" of our marker moving across the wall. So she walked right up to my friend's mother and accused us of vandelism. I wanted to die a thousand deaths on the spot. But then I looked over at my friend and her response dumbfounded me. She simply said, "Nope, it wasn't us." She sounded so innocent, and again, I couldn't believe it.

So moments later I followed her into the suitcase department and watched her glance both ways then poke that marker between two bags so we wouldn't get caught with the evidence. And somehow or another, we got away with the whole thing.

But I didn't, really, because I worried about it for years. I'm sure I told the Lord I was sorry, but I definitely didn't tell another human soul. And I lived in terror that my friend would. So I learned even then that there is no peace in burying our mistakes.

Something supernatural happens when we admit we're wrong. Somehow it helps us make peace with the consequences we're likely to suffer, and it releases us from the turmoil of hiding our mess-ups.

I wish I could go back and make amends for the the countless apologies I should've made but didn't. And I'd love to have back even a fraction of the energy I've wasted trying to cover it all up. But what relief it is to know I don't have to hide from the One who sees all, knows all, and whose Grace freely flows into the deepest recesses of my shame-filled heart.

So I can't go back, but from now on I can make it my mission to say "I did it, and I'm sorry". It's just easier.

*This post is part of a series running through the month of October 2011. Read from the beginning here.  Find the other 31-Dayers here.

31 Days: #2 Impatience

She had a little scratch on her hand, and she came in to show me and wanted me to look right now. But I was in a rush trying to put on mascara.

You know how it is. Once you take the brush out of the bottle you only have so much time before the air dries it out too much. So I had my face all up in the mirror doing my lashes in deep concentration, but she pressed and her urgency made me go ahead and look. And when I did, I saw an "injury" so microscopic I could barely see it without glasses.

I sighed, irritated at her impatience. And as I went back to my now-clumpy lashes and my gunked-up brush, I realized that I'm just as impatient as she is. Probably more so.

For me, waiting for something is like having my hands tied together. Depending on how long I have to wait, the rope can seem quite knotted up. And the undoing of those knots is out of my control, hence my many impatience-induced freak-outs (or at the very least, sighs of irritation).

Oftentimes the circumstance will eventually unknot itself, but with the bigger, more complicated knots in life, I need the Lord to undo them for me. It's never fun to wait, and most of the time it frustrates me that He won't just cut those knots loose and let me continue on my way with my hands free. Instead He chooses to pick them out slowly, like a mama picking knots out of her little child's shoes.

I know He has His reasons for doing things the longer way. And maybe one of His reasons is as simple as growing my patience. Maybe He's teaching me to just pause and breathe in Jesus so I won't huff out irritation. After all, how important is mascara, really?

But You, O Lord, are a God full of compassion, and gracious, longsuffering and abundant in mercy and truth.  Psalm 86:15

*This post is part of a series running through the month of October 2011. Read from the beginning here.  Find the other 31-Dayers here.

When tears fall

It's been two and a half years, and she hasn't really cried at all. She's stubborn and strong and able to accomplish things far beyond what her years would make you think she should or could.

But she was only nine when she lost him, and how can it be healthy to never cry over him?

I spend much of my life trying not to cry over all kinds of things, depending on where I am or what time it is or what I'm wanting to cry about. But still, there comes a point when I just can't hold it back and the tears have to fall.

I heard a preacher say once that tears are one of the best gifts God gives us when it comes time to grieve. That's good news for a crier like me. But it's bad news when you see someone you love refusing to let those stir-crazy tears out of prison.

So I've talked to her and I've prayed for her and I've shed endless tears myself, yet countless times I've looked at her and seen the tears rising up and all but spilling over, and then I've seen her stubborn self just stuffing them right back down again.

That is, until last night. She finally cried, praise God--and just because she misses him. And so the healing begins.

And He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:4

Tardy slips, redneck lockers, and other 6th grade woes

This year my twins are in sixth grade and I am their school librarian. Thing One was in last week with her class, and during a little talk I was giving I looked over and she had both her index fingertips on her eyeballs, moving her contacts back and forth. I slipped a "STOP" in as I was speaking and she did while the other kids just looked around trying to figure out who I was talking to. And she's my germ-a-phobe! Silly girl.

Thing Two's class came in the next day, and all he could do was sit there and giggle during my entire lesson with an embarrassed look on his face. I guess he thought it was funny his mom was talking to his class. But when I was finished giving my spiel, he walked over and gave me a big hug, so I guess he wasn't too embarrassed after all.

Life's gotten interesting lately, not just because they're at my school, but because it's middle school. They even have lockers. I think I win the "Redneck Mother of the Year" award for the way we decorated their lockers with pieced-together, taped up wrapping paper and homemade signs. I wasn't aware of the sophisticated pre-cut locker paper you can get nowadays. And did you realize you can even get chandeliers for locker ceilings?? Who knew? I wish I didn't.

Thing Two is having a hard time in school already. Today I got a couple of emails from his teachers saying he's been tardy too much and he's coming to class unprepared. He's forgotten his homework so many times that now he has to serve detention. I've seen his redneck locker for myself and it's already a disaster.

Sometimes in the mornings I watch him walk away from me and into his day and my heart just aches. I see things like him dropping his books in the hallway and having to pick them up with the kids all rushing past and I want to rush out myself and help him, yet I know he needs to make it without me. Most mornings for me lately are "Lord, let him make it okay" mornings. Sometimes the only way we can (or should) help our kids is by praying for them.

So I was feeling a little discouraged about it all until my sweet, disorganized mess of a boy gave me the biggest hug ever after school. It was a hug that made me know that somehow it'll all be okay.

I'm thankful for caring teachers who want success and independence for him as much as I do. I know he'll make it even if he has a tougher time than most. Even though his earthly father is gone, I know his Heavenly Father loves him even more than I do, and he's in good hands.

But I still wonder sometimes ... why did God choose me to be his mother when I'm such a mess myself? Whatever His reason(s), I'm glad He did.

A sad goodnight

It's something he really wanted to achieve, something he worked hard for. "Will you pray for me, mom?" he asked just this afternoon. And of course I already had been and then did again, right then.

But I also talked to him about how God's plans don't always line up with our plans. Sometimes He keeps things from happening for us because He knows a better way. I said that when God says no, we have to trust in the big picture.

Much of the time His ways are past finding out, and sometimes the biggest disappointments in life turn out to be the greatest blessings. As it turns out, he gets the chance to see if this is one of those times.

He said he was okay when I went in to say goodnight, but my heart was heavy as I walked out of his room and away from that great big boy who's still a precious baby to me. Sometimes life seems like one big let-down, and I want more than anything to take his hurt away.

And I thought, how much more must my Heavenly Father desire to take my pain? How must He long for me to know that His way is best, that this is all for my good and His glory? It's a lesson I, too, needed reminding of right about now. And though I hurt for my child, I pray that before long he'll see that this was for the best. That God has it all under control.

That He's always working. Always.

121. lessons learned in times of heartache
122. she made cookies again, this time snicker-doodle
123. Jesus Culture
124. payday finally came around
125. a great first week of school
126. roast, carrots, and potatoes for Sunday dinner
127. the puppy can jump on the bed now
128. that thing I've been wanting to end for over two years is almost over, praise God
129. when He gives us glimpses of the big picture
130. I'm a grad student again ... can't believe it worked out for this semester!
131. a fun night out with good friends and great music
132. he marched in his first show and made me so proud
133. she sings in her room and doesn't know I stand outside and listen, and it's just beautiful
134. a clean house
135. surely only a few more days of 100°-plus weather
136. a visit from my Daddy
137. fun people to work with
138. he actually wears his new glasses
139. chord charts
140. knowing that despite how things appear, He's still on the throne ... Amen.

5-minute Friday: "Older"

Older. At twenty, it was all I wanted to be.

Then just before my thirtieth birthday, I looked at a teenager's hands one day and then looked at my own hands and it cratered me. I headed straight for the store for anti-wrinkle cream for my hands and whatever else.

Older means more wrinkles.

I'm turning forty soon, but to my amazement, it's no big deal. It is what it is. I don't think age will ever matter to me again, and I've decided it's because I wouldn't go back if I could. I wouldn't give up the wisdom I've gained in exchange for a chance to repeat my youth. This life is just too hard to want to do it over again.

Older means growing wiser

Yesterday I was walking in a parking lot and I looked over and saw an elderly woman sitting in a car, waiting. She was stunningly beautiful. She was just so charming, kind of like a beautiful old Victorian house or a well-weathered, well-read Bible. I thought, she's an old lady, and she's beautiful. And probably wise as all get-out. I hope to be that kind of beautiful some day.

Older means growing more beautiful.

I think older people just get it. They know this life is hard. They've earned their reward, and they know they are closer to going Home. Surely there's a peace that comes with that.

Older brings us closer to the time when we'll meet Him face to face.

So older is a good thing. All it really means is becoming wiser. More beautiful. More at peace.  And I'll take those things along with the wrinkles any day.

Linking up with the Gypsy Mama today! Do it with me! Just write for five minutes and don't worry whether it's just right or not. Okay, I admit it. It might've been six or seven this time, but I had a few thoughts to complete. Have a fun Friday!

What is normal, anyway?

Over the weekend I saw a mother with her disabled child by her side. I watched her for a moment and noticed how she cheerfully dealt with her business, and it struck me how it was all so normal for her.

I thought about how different her "normal" is from my "normal". I thought about how she has to get her big boy in and out of the car in the 106° heat and bring him inside. I thought of how she has to do that everywhere she goes, all summer long during these miserable, scorching-hot days. 

And she keeps on going, all year long, even in the rain. Even when the temperature drops down into the bitter-cold teens. I wondered ... does she find her circumstances bitter? And would I?

And then I find myself thanking God that I don't know. But if I did, would I be able to accept it? Would I be so cheerful about it?  I do have a child with some mild challenges (I've written a little about him here), and just this week I found myself asking his new PE coach to please watch out for him this year, and to protect him from the bullies and the cruel remarks. 

And as I articulated my request, I cried like a baby. It tears me up to think about others being cruel to him. In fact, it hurts me far more than it bothers him. The other day I asked him if the other kids make fun of him for the way he walks, and he said "I walk normally."

And I praised God because for the most part, he does. He can run and play and think and do his school work. He speaks perfectly and figures things out and is gifted in so many ways. But I could have been that mother I saw over the weekend. Why can my child run and play when hers can't? And why can she accept her "normal", but I don't want to accept mine and I just keep on praying for something different?

And what is "normal", really?

So many things in this life are beyond our understanding. But one thing I know: we cannot see the big picture. We are blind to the endless ways God receives glory through the circumstances we so despise. 

I pray my son will be healed and free of his struggles some day. But maybe God has different plans, and if that's the case, I want to be at peace with it. When we look around and see others bearing life's burdens with joy, I would venture to guess that we can't even fathom the eternal reward waiting for them, if they are Christians. 

So, instead of looking at that person who's worse off than me and whispering "Thank You, Lord that that isn't me", I now resolve to pray differently. 

Now my prayer will be "Please give them strength and sustain them with Your amazing grace. May their eternal reward be infinitely wonderful, beyond anything their earthly minds can imagine." 

Or something to that effect. 

For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal.  2 Cor. 4:17-18 NKJV

#101-120

101. ice cream

102. we're almost totally ready for school to start

103. seeing good friends after the long break

104. God's mercies, and they are new every morning

105. seeing them jump up and down over new shoes

106. laughing over stupid stuff in Target

107. he barks to go outside now

108. getting more organized at work

109. the fun of seeing all the 80s trends coming back around

110. migraine medicine

111. a wonderful message at church

112. those times when my kids hang out together by choice and laugh their heads off

113. the wide array of Tex-Mex restaurants in our area

114. the yard's getting greener all the time

115. she makes the best peanut butter cookies ever

116. how proud they make me when they perform

117. they can open their lockers just fine, even though I worried quite a bit

118. they're about to go to a new school

119. I really do love being a librarian

120. he brought me roses again just because, and they are beautiful. Amen.

Gloria Vanderbilts {be still, my 80s heart}

I wanted them so badly, but my parents thought spending crazy amounts of money on designer brands was ridiculous. I was only in the 7th grade, though, and everyone else had them. Everyone. I was the only uncool kid in the school. I didn't have Calvin Kleins or Jordaches, either, but I was willing to bypass those lesser names in pursuit of the ultimate.

Ah, Gloria Vanderbilt designer jeans. The 1983 edition. I salivated just daydreaming of owning a pair. The little handwriting on the back pocket ... the little duck on the front pocket ... being twins with every other girl in school ... so many beautiful benefits! I knew my life would be complete if I could just have them.

My beloved jeans! 1983

So after I saved my money up for half a lifetime, my mom took me uptown to Ann's Dress Shop to make the purchase of the decade. My patient mother must've been sick watching me spend $40-some-odd dollars on something that ridiculous. I can still see her shaking her head in silence as Ann rung me up and I eagerly unwadded my bills. I couldn't get home fast enough. I needed to get those new jeans on ASAP!

I'm sure I wore them every day for a month. I think the back problems I've had in my adult life originated from those jeans because for days I walked around with my torso twisted so I could stare at the embroidered handwriting on my back pocket. Would you believe someone actually snapped a picture of it? That's me to the right, in my Granny's house with my new jeans on. --->

I wish I could remember how long it took for the new to wear off and the buyer's remorse to settle in. It was a whole lot of money to spend on something so frivolous, especially for a junior high kid.

The Lord showed me even then that possessions can't make us happy. Unfortunately, He has to keep on teaching me the same lesson because even as adults we want what everyone else has. And then each new thing we acquire only fuels a desire for more things. This is why buying superficial things to satisfy the yearning of our hearts never works in the long run. One of my friends never lets herself make even a $50-purchase without thinking it over for a day (and praying about it first). I think it's a practice I need to adopt.

I know the Lord loves to bless us abundantly with things we enjoy. But He also wants us to be good stewards of all He's given us, and He longs for us exercise a little self-control now and then and find our treasure in Him.

Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.  Matthew 6:19-21

And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.  Romans 12:2

But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.  Matthew 6:33 

For all that is in the world--the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life--is not of the Father but is of the world.  1 John 2:16

By the way, I'm proud to say that today I wouldn't dream of buying my kids a pair of designer jeans. In fact, I despise spending lots of money on apparel of any kind. I have four kids to clothe--sweet, reasonable kids who don't bug me for the equivalent of 1980s Gloria Vanderbilts. We're more just your every-day Target and Old Navy kinda people. :)

It's 109°F outside, but merry Christmas anyway!

I looked into his bedroom the other day, expecting I would have to reprimand him for whatever questionable Netflix movie he was watching this time. But instead, one glance at the screen showed me that he was glued to a scene with characters from Bible times. This intrigued me, so I went in and sat on the bed beside him. He told me it was a movie about Mary.

I immediately recognized the scene from Luke 1. I watched as Mary arrived at the house of Zacharias. I watched her greet her hostess, and I saw how the baby in Elizabeth's barren womb leapt for joy at Mary's presence (really, His presence). I saw Elizabeth be filled with the Holy Spirit and begin to prophecy about the virgin birth. I watched as Joseph stood by Mary's side during a time when unwed pregnant women were subject to being stoned to death.

I watched the birth of John the Baptist, and I saw elderly Zacharias's tears of joy and heard his prayers of thanks once his speech was restored. I saw Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem and reaching the inn just in time for her to give birth. I saw how they were reduced to taking shelter in a barn since there was no room in the inn. I saw the Lord Jesus being born among the animals, and I saw how the shepherds came to worship Him there.

I watched it all, and I cried. Actually, I bawled so much I almost got a headache. The miracle of it all still amazes me, and I'm thankful for the things it brought to mind. I was in need of a reminder ....

... of how desperately I want the same kind of faith Mary had. Of how I want to hear from God the way she did. Of how brave I want to be, even when life is scary.  I remembered how important it is to keep my eyes open to the miracles happening around me, and how thankful I am to be His maidservant, His chosen one. And most of all, I remembered how much I long to please Him.

Lord, please make me a Mary.

#51 - #75

51. old barns
52. shepherds
53. mangers

54. Oak trees
55. pancakes with way too much syrup
56. my Kindle

57. two more days of summer

58. my thriving little white crape myrtle tree

59. school supply shopping is DONE (for the most part)

60. e-books

61. lunch with hilarious friends at Mexican Inn

62. the end of a summer cold

63. friends who know how to fix cars

64. it was his own idea to get a haircut this time

65. the grass is dead, but at least it's not growing!

66. I still have a job

67. he took out the trash without being asked

68. she makes wonderful pancakes

69. time to read

70. time to write

71. the ease of school clothes shopping thanks to standardized dress

72. the neighborhood is finally almost full of homes

73. yummy candles

74. strawberries

75. weeping for joy over the miracle of Christmas, even in the summertime. Amen.

Grace that covers my messes

The other day my younger daughter got in trouble because of her messy room. It was a catastrophe in there, and things got even worse once she started cleaning. At one point, when I looked in to find that the chaos had multiplied, I almost blew a gasket. Just seeing it sent my blood pressure soaring.

But she really does have an affinity for organization (if rarely tapped into), so after working on it for awhile, she cleared a lot of the clutter away, and things started looking pretty good. The next time I walked by, I saw quite a lot of improvement, so I let it go.

Sometimes I look at my life and see that the mess I've made of things is pretty unbelievable, too. One poorly made decision can lead us down a path of untold heartache. Then we try to fix our mess the best we know how, but we make things worse instead of better. Maybe we don't seek the Lord's help, for whatever reason (shame, pride, ignorance, etc.). In fact, I've known a lot of people who've actually been mad at God because of their circumstances. I empathize with irrational thinking of various types, but so far I haven't gotten mad at God.

The person I blame for my mess is me. I'm the one who didn't always seek His will for my life. I'm the one who failed to choose the route leading me to a life of His very best for me. I really have messed up in a big way, and it overwhelms me often. Sometimes the consequences of an ill-chosen path are enough to chasten us into doing better next time, because it's never fun to clean up a mess.

But I serve a gracious God. I can go to Him with my catastrophes and beg Him to help me fix things. And He shows me His abounding grace time after time and leads me out of the mayhem. He clears away my clutter, He helps me figure out how to go about reorganizing and prioritizing things, and He gets me back on track (His track).

Thinking back, I wish I'd shown my daughter grace the other day. I wish I'd helped her clean up the mess instead of getting upset about all the bad choices she'd made to let things get to that point. What would my life be like if the Lord came down as hard on me for my bad decisions?

I'm definitely not my children's best example of how not to make messes, nor am I skilled at cleaning them up. But my Gracious God accomplishes His purposes in me anyway--in spite of me.

And He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness...."   2 Corinthians 12:9a

No, it does NOT smell like sunscreen...

It was one of those rare times when I had a few hours to myself and was able to meander in and out of fun little shops at random. I found some expensive lotion that I really loved, but I didn't want to pay the price for it. So being the cheap-wad that I am, I decided to go home and look for a discount online ...

A few evenings later, I was beside myself as I tore into my package, just dying to get my hands on my brand new, high-fallutin' lotion. I couldn't wait to smell it! I ripped off the plastic and started slathering....I felt like I would never tire of inhaling the aroma! In all my rapture, I even considered abandoning my perfume-wearing habit to make this luxurious lotion my new signature scent....

After a bit more delightful sniffing, I went in to kiss my younger son goodnight. I hugged him and told him I loved him. And he said, "I love you, too ... but Mom? Why do you have on sunscreen?".

Sunscreen.

Sunscreen. I couldn't believe it. My beautiful new lotion. The nicest, most expensive lotion I've ever had, and he thought it smelled like sunscreen! It did NOT smell like sunscreen. It really didn't! It smelled delicious!

What a disappointment. But life is like that sometimes. We have our own ideas and expectations of how things are supposed to be, and so often it just doesn't turn out the way we thought it would. And it usually involves something much more life-altering than the smell of fancy new lotion. Maybe we didn't get that job we were hoping for ... or someone we love dies ... or the house doesn't sell in time to save our credit ... or our marriage fails ... or a child wanders off course ... or tragedy strikes and changes our lives forever ....

The only thing to do in the midst of disappointment is run to the One Who does not disappoint. Look to His promises. His word is living and active, and it applies to us today, no matter what's happening in our lives. It's amazing how He speaks to us through His word, in all situations.

People disappoint. Circumstances disappoint. But our Heavenly Father never, ever disappoints. We may feel disappointed in Him at times, but it's because we don't trust Him, or we become impatient. But the truth is, He will never fail us. Nothing is certain in this life except Him. He is real, He is solid, He never moves, He never changes. He loves us and has only His very best in mind for us.

Trust Him. He's worth waiting for. He knows what He's doing, and He will not disappoint.

Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out! Romans 11:33 

Say ANYTHING?

A friend of mine has the coolest mom. She's a mess! She's hilarious, wise, and down-to-earth, she often shocks you with what she says, and she is an amazing prayer warrior. She's a very unique package, indeed, and her name is Dannie Belle.

When I needed to send my older daughter off on a two-hour road trip for the first time several months ago, I was worried to death, so Dannie Belle advised me to pray over her, pray over her car, send the Holy Spirit ahead of her, then just let her go. So that's what I've done on every road trip since then, and so far I've managed to stay sane--and my daughter has remained safe.

We learn how to be good mothers in all sorts of ways...by watching our own mothers and grandmothers and aunts, and by watching our friends as they raise their own children alongside us. But I've also learned how to be a better mother just by hearing my friend talk about her memories of growing up as the daughter of Dannie Belle.

My friend tells of a time when she walked in and told her mom she hated her. Dannie Belle simply and matter-of-factly replied, "I know, but you'll get over it".

I want to be that kind of mother. The kind of mother my kids can say anything to. My younger daughter recently had something on her mind that she needed to say to me that was very, very hard for me to hear. She knew it would hurt me, but she needed to get it out. My friend shared that "I-hate-you" memory of Dannie Belle with me, and it made it all a little easier to bear. I want my kids to be comfortable saying anything to me.

I want to be like Dannie Belle.

Later I was thinking...isn't that how the Lord is with us? We can say anything to Him. Anything. We may as well share our hearts with Him because He already knows what we're thinking.

...for the Lord searches all hearts and understands all the intent of the thoughts.... 1 Chronicles 28:9

He sees inside of me and knows the good and bad, and He loves me anyway. I want to be that way with my kids, but He's far more perfect at it than I. He's the ultimate Good Listener, and He loves me unconditionally.

I want to be like Him.

Lord, help me to remember that You already know what's in my heart. And even though I forget You, You remain constantly waiting to converse with me. Help me remember that I can come to You at all times with my concerns, complaints, worries, and fears. Thank You that You listen to everything I have to say, good and bad, and thank You for loving me anyway.

A "hate" letter to my enemy

To the devil:

In light of recent events, I feel compelled to write you a letter. You know...a letter just to tell you how I feel about you....

I really do hate you---and oh, how well I know the feeling is mutual. I want you to know that I am completely sick of you, although I realize you won't ever go away. I love to imagine you fleeing in terror when I plead the Blood of Jesus. Someday I'll get to see it with my own eyes, and I can't wait. You coward.

Did I mention that I despise you?

Just know that with every passing day of your relentless badgering, I see you more clearly for what you really are. You are stupid. Stupid and predictable. I'm learning to recognize your wicked tactics. How could I not by now? I've had so much exposure to you and your antics lately. But you will not steal my joy. You absolutely will not kill, steal from, or destroy me or my family. The Lord God is on His throne, and you will never succeed in causing His plans to go awry. I know you know that. I love that you know that.

You think you are getting to me, but all the harm you seek to do me really only makes me stronger. Do you know that? You are driving me to Jesus! Keep devising your evil schemes if you must...I'll cling to Jesus all the more. The deeper I go with Him, the more absurdly stupid you look. Yes, you've caused us pain, but guess what? God Almighty is in control, and He's turning it all to good! So take that!

You might strike me down, perplex me, or trouble me...maybe you'll discourage me or make me feel stupid and unqualified...you will most certainly continue to hound me with incessant distraction and drop countless obstacles in my path...but my God will pick me up, dust me off, and help me stand again after each and every battle. So get ready because I'm not giving up. I take it as a compliment that you won't leave me alone. I must be a threat to you! I pray so. I pray so in the name of Jesus. Yes, JESUS!! Are you trembling? I know you are....

By the way, get out of my house, and stay out in the name of JESUS. Leave my kids alone, in the name of JESUS. I have my armor on and I'm ready to do battle. I reclaim the Peace that passes understanding. I plead the Blood of JESUS over my mind and my thoughts...I plead the Blood of JESUS over my children's futures, and I plead the Blood of JESUS over my home and my property. I know you have to leave now! Ha!

Hate me all you want. Hate my kids, even. You should, because they are going to do mighty things for their Lord Jesus Christ. I realize you'll keep assigning all your ridiculous demons to attack us and try to deter us. But it won't work, because we have authority over you through the Blood of Jesus. Oops! I mentioned the Blood again! Scared? You should be. You are defeated, loser, and your days are numbered. You remember that day at the cross, don't you? My Jesus shed His Blood for me. I am His, and He is mine...and you lose.

Jesus is Lord! I know you hate to hear that because it's the truth! His light illuminates and eliminates your darkness at all times and in every situation. I will overcome you, by the Blood of the Lamb and the word of my testimony.

Get thee behind me, Satan, in the name of JESUS!

Praying you lose countless battles today,
A devoted child of your Enemy

In the Potter's hands

We are nearing the end of a rough week, and I am thinking about clay pots.

There's an old Indian tale I love about a cracked pot. As the story goes, a water-bearer daily carries two water pots across his shoulders up to his master's house. One pot loses half its water on each journey because it is cracked. Miserable and ashamed of his imperfection, the flawed vessel apologizes one day to the water-bearer for only being able to do half what he was created to do. It is then revealed that with this imperfection in mind, the water-bearer has planted seeds on the cracked pot's side of the path to be watered so that flowers could grow to decorate the master's table and make it beautiful. 

I wept the first time I heard this story years ago because it made me think about my baby boy---a twin who lives with some consequences of a traumatic birth. He is a smart, funny, and gifted child whom the world might consider to be flawed because he limps slightly and doesn't have full use of his right hand. But God can do amazing things with a flawed vessel, and I have always known that my son will do something wonderful in this world to bring glory and honor to his Creator.

My baby boy is eleven now, and his name, appropriately, is Clay.

Early this morning, a friend of mine shared some thoughts with me on Jeremiah 18:1-6. In this story the Lord tells Jeremiah to go to the potter's house and wait for a word. Jeremiah gets there and watches the potter as he fashions a vessel, but the vessel is damaged. He notices that instead of throwing it away and starting over, the potter begins to shape that marred vessel into something new. And then the Lord speaks to Jeremiah...

Can I not do with you as this potter? Look, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are you in My hand...(v. 6).

And can He not do the same with me? 

I hate the fact that I am a flawed vessel. Recurring thoughts of regret from my past cause me to long for a do-over, and I know this longing is futile. But thankfully I am in the hands of the ultimate Potter, and He is reshaping me each day and through every trial. Even when I've fallen on the floor and been smashed to bits, in my brokenness He picks up the pieces and puts me back on the wheel. At this moment He is molding me into a new vessel that I pray can actually be used for something worthy. 

Lord, make me new. Do whatever You have to do to mold me into something You can use. May I be soft and pliable in Your hands.

I cry "mercy"

If you prayed for me yesterday, thank you so much. My speaking engagement went very well! The attendees were very gracious, and I pray the Lord spoke through me. I'm very grateful for the new doors that are opening in my life.

God places a calling on our lives, and then the enemy wants desperately to stop us from fulfilling that calling.  So I expected to experience some distraction as I prepared for yesterday's event. The devil really is so predictable. And since I've come through some difficult valleys thus far, I suppose I expect to successfully withstand whatever else lurks around the next corner. So I was surprised to find myself in tears as I drove to the luncheon yesterday. Last week was full of quite a few small and insignificant obstacles, but some bigger issues have surfaced lately that have had me flat sick to my stomach and begging God for mercy.

My younger daughter has never really grieved for her father. I've only seen her cry twice over him. Once was on the day he died, and the other time was at his funeral. She was a daddy's girl, but she almost never speaks of him. But in the last few months she has been experiencing some anger issues, and now she's beginning to show signs of depression. I assume this is due to delayed grief.  I am actively seeking help for her, but if you would pray for her, it would mean the world to me. Her name is Shay.

No one should have to lose their daddy at age nine, and it has occurred to me just this weekend that really the kids have lost even more than I have. A widowed person can move on and remarry, but you can't replace a biological parent. The Lord can fill that void for you with Himself or a perhaps with wonderful earthly substitute if he chooses, but you will never have that parent with you again for the duration of your time here on this earth. It's difficult for me to bear seeing my children endure a loss of this magnitude, with all the anger and pain that it entails.

As I drove tearfully toward my destination yesterday, I pondered my emotional state and thought once again about how God takes what the enemy means for bad and turns it to good. I cried out to Him...Lord, here I am, upset and at my weakest. What a perfect time for You to show up and be my Strength and do this through me. I need You, Lord. I cry" mercy". And just as He always does, He gave me peace and showed me His unending mercy and carried me through my first thirty minutes of a brand new speaking ministry. And He will carry me through the rest of this valley. I believe Him for that because He is faithful.


Psalm 116:1  I love the Lord, for He heard my voice; He heard my cry for mercy.  2  Because He turned His ear to me, I will call on Him as long as I live. 

I have a very talented friend who wrote a song years ago about the mercy of God. He will hardly sing it for me anymore because I bawl like a baby every single time he does. I'm amazed at how I am affected when I listen to those anointed words he sings so beautifully. His song takes me back to a day not so long ago when I stood in front of a mirror in my black funeral dress, red eyes, wet face, barely able to recognize my own reflection and wondering how this could even be happening to a regular person like me. I remember that horrible pit all too well. But I also remember how my God came to me and met me right where I was and showed me His profound mercy. Where would I be today if He hadn't done that for me?

No matter the bad choices I make, no matter what sin I commit, and no matter what catastrophe occurs, He bestows His incredible mercy upon me time and time again. When I call on Him, He answers---and I'm thankful His merciful supply is abundant and without end. Amen.