A Description of What It Felt Like When I Wandered



The sound of sirens screamed above my head warning me that something dreadful was approaching. Like many times before, I walked along a narrow path in the wood. There were no signs of a storm. No wind. No dark clouds billowing in the distance.  The sun, warm and yellow, filtered through the trees.

“Probably just a test,”  I said aloud to the peace in front of me.  There was no one in my way. I was carefree and glad to be wandering on my own. The birds dashed, dived and called to one another overhead. The flowers seemed to radiate colors never seen before. It was an exquisite afternoon and I was drawing in every quiet moment.

“There is no way there’s a storm coming. Not when the sky is immeasurable blue.”

I ignored the warning and continued on my way.  If I had really been in danger I thought it would have been obvious. The sirens would have kept going or rain would have begun to fall. But the noise calmed itself and seemed to fold away, and with it any thoughts I might have had of being harmed.

And that’s when I saw it. Like something out of storybooks a different and more alluring path was suddenly revealed to me. In all my years of following this same path never had I noticed the tiny segue tucked under the vines and underbrush. I stopped and looked around to see if there was anyone else who noticed this sudden revelation. This secret garden filled with enchantment. But it seemed as though it was just for me.

A wave of excitement took me over. It was something that looked so inviting and promised to offer adventure that my usual way never had. I was full of curiosity and time seemed to stretch like a sleepy cat, so I chose to wander away from the things I knew. I told myself I wouldn’t stray for too long. I’d just walk a little ways down the path and turn back to my familiar surroundings in a few minutes.  I just had to see if I could find something better heading a different way. I took a deep breath and began my journey down a path that lead to anywhere. It felt so good. It felt like an adventure. Doing something different than what I have always done. Going a different way. There was no telling what I might find!

It seemed to smell sweeter. The earth dark and fresh with life. It felt soft beneath my feet. Comfortable. New. I was alone but felt like the whole world needed me to do this. The whole world needed me to discover promises of something better.

Suddenly, a cool breeze rustled through the canopy of branches and gathered around my shoulders. I shivered at the dramatic change in temperature and thought it would be best if I turned around to head back to my old faithful path. But I could see a clearing up ahead and I let the temptation of the rush of freedom under an open sky overwhelm me. So, I walked even farther down the unfamiliar path. Twisting and turning my way into satiated oblivion.

High on exploration, suddenly I stopped dead in my tracks.  An eery darkness fell and I could feel something lurking. Something so perfectly intriguing. Something obscure. Something heavy and powerful. Magnetic and inhuman. Something was watching me.

I wasn’t alone.

Rolls of thunder began to call in the distance begging me to turn back. I looked over my shoulder to see how far I had walked down this unmarked road and my stomach lurched. It was dark behind me like a curtain had been pulled. A veil shielding any light that may have once been there. Panic shot up my veins when I realized I had wandered too far.

I was lost.

What I had thought was a path was simply a fabrication in my mind. All of it’s beauty and allure suddenly vanished and I couldn’t believe I walked that far and never realized there was nothing special about it at all. I felt empty and foolish. Hopeless. There was nothing to show me where I had come from. Nothing to indicate how to get back to what I knew was safe and would lead me home. Fear sped through my spirit like a freight train. I didn’t know where to go, or which way to turn. Frantic and scared I began to run back in the direction where I thought I had come.

Straight into the storm I had denied was building.

I kept running blind just hoping that whatever force that had been minding my steps was not continuing to follow my every move. I knew I was wrong to have wandered off the road marked before me and I was desperate to be back on that path. I didn’t care what it took to get me there, but I didn’t know where to turn and there was no one around to help me. The distress over my isolation crashed with the streaks of lightening in the sky.

There was nothing left for me to do but to fall to my knees and endure the heartache of weathering a storm. I cried out for someone, anyone to save me. I begged for shelter and mercy from the unrelenting rain. Wind tore through me and I feared it would rip me apart. Lightening struck a tree and firey fingers fell around me like darts. It looked like a war zone. It felt like an attack. Angry at myself for not heading the warnings. In disbelief that I had allowed something to pull me away from my straight and narrow path I yelled through the unforgiving downpour.

“Lord, save me! Fight this storm for me, Lord! Forgive me for my wandering and rescue me from myself!”

You won’t believe me when I tell you but all of it is true. My sweet savior came to me immediately and quieted the storm swirling around me. He lifted me out of my own muck and mire and set me down on dry ground among the path marked out just for me. He took my hand in his and said, “My child, I have heard you. Now come. Follow me.”

With tears streaming down my face and my heart bursting with gratitude I looked at him and said:

“Lead the way.”

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The Warning Signs of Motherhood

They warned me. I have no one to blame but myself for this.

They may not have been able to warn me about the time my 3-year-old pitched a fit so enormous it woke the entire childcare center at naptime. As if suddenly possessed with a burning passion for furry monsters, she screamed and kicked all the way down the endless hallway over my old Elmo doll.  It was mine from my high school days and she never paid any attention to it. Until I started a new teaching job and tried to leave it for other children to play with. They don’t warn you when you’re snuggled in a hospital bed with your sweet cooing baby how they will one day be the cause of your life’s most embarrassing moments.

And they never mentioned the amount of patience it would take to help my 1st grader with her homework as she struggled with undiagnosed ADD.  The agony and frustration we both felt while my six-year-old would spend hours at our kitchen table just trying to do one ‘simple’ worksheet. She’d have to turn the neighbor kids away when they came to the door to play because she was still doing her homework. How could someone so smart struggle so much with school work? No one warns you of the feelings of inadequacy and concern when you can’t teach your own child but you can command a room full of three-year olds. “She’s so smart,” they’d say. “She’s got a bright future!” They don’t tell you about the times when the house falls silent and all those doubts begin to creep into your mind. Any confident strides you may have made that very afternoon with time managing the homework demons sink deep with sorrowful sighs into your pillow.

But this? Seems even strangers warned me about this:

“They grow up so fast.”

But when you’re in the trenches it’s hard to see the horizon.

“Don’t blink. Before you know it they’ll be grown and gone.”

It’s hard to hear that over your kicking, screaming, Elmo-obsessed three-year-old.

“Cherish the time you have with them now. Soon they won’t want anything to do with you.”

Somehow cherishing doesn’t seem to fit in the same realm as crying over 1st grade math.

And yet here I am wishing I had listened to them.

Both of my girls have milestones this Spring.  I am not sure how I missed this when I signed up to be their mom. Abby Faith finishes middle school, and Lucy will be spreading her wings and flying from the safety of her elementary school nest. This year they stacked the deck against me. I should have seen it coming.

They warned me after all.

I find myself weeping over the most common of scenarios. Like when my tiny baby girl forgets her English book after school. And this time she doesn’t need me to go with her back into the school to get it. I literally sobbed in the car while I waited for her to return. She looked so grown up! But I wiped my tears and gathered my composure before she returned. She wouldn’t understand. And if I warned her now about how this whole Mothering gig goes down, she wouldn’t listen. Just like her mom.

Or when my sweetest baby-faced child suddenly wants to trade in her Disney princess dress-up dress and go shopping for a dress to wear to her school semi-formal dance I lock myself in the bathroom for several minutes and just pray for time to stand still. Tomorrow she’ll ask to go shopping for a wedding dress. That will be an entire tear-stained blog post in itself!

Some days I feel like I just won’t make it. Some days I just feel like it’s not fair at all the way this life works. You pour every ounce of love from the very essence of yourself into someone just to give them away. And you pray that whomever you give them to will love them as much as you do or more.  I want to believe that’s true. There’s got to be some hope in that. But, I really don’t think there’s any love deeper, stronger or more poignant than that of a mother for her child. We loved them first after all. Before a name, a face and a birthday. We loved them first.

So excuse me if I get emotional over high school registration forms and 5th grade ceremonies. Because the time I have with them to do their hair and talk about boys will one day come to an end.

But my love for them goes on forever.






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Seasons: Trusting The Process

“Is it just me or does Summer seem like it’s taking forever to get here?”  I said this aloud to myself as if I actually expected an answer.

I love Summer! I love the long days. The heat. And the sound of children laughing as they play outside. I love bare feet. Swimming. I love popscicles and sticky fingers. Ice cold glasses of lemonade. Ahhh.

I love eating outside every night and the fragrance of the grill. And lazy afternoons reading on the porch. I love the magic of lightening bugs and the cadence of cicadas screaming through the trees. I even love how down here in the South the air is so heavy sometimes it feels like a cloak. I know I am in the minority with that one.

Living in Alabama most of my life I’ve been spoiled. My favorite season always seems to last the longest of them all, usually showing up the end of March and fighting to hold on till the very end of September. The heat is always the first to show up and always the last to go. But this year, it seems as though it’s been cooler longer than normal. I’m still hanging on to my sweatshirt.

So when I asked myself that question I didn’t really expect an answer. But, I should know that I am never alone and Jesus can whisper at anytime.

“Why do you always do that? Wish your seasons away? Why don’t you ever stop and enjoy the season you are in right now?”

Ok, so those were more questions than they were an answer.

I didn’t have an answer for Him at all. I just shrugged and pulled my blanket up higher around my shoulders.


I don’t know why I always seem to rush away the spaces I’m in. I have yet to figure out why I am always in such a hurry for my girls to grow up so they can move out of the house, or so I don’t have to keep shuttling them from all their activities or friends houses. And yet, the sight of their beauty as they emerge into women makes me weep. I’m clinging to the last days of elementary school with white knuckles while wishing my eleven -year-old would just grow up and be responsible already!

I’m a paradox.

So I sat there with my blankie around my shoulders and thought of the seasons in my life. So many of them I wouldn’t want to come back around, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

There was the season of job loss and a brand new baby. Young-married and broke. I was far from my family and desperately lonely. But it was in that season that I turned back to Jesus and leaned on Him for the first time in years.

There was the season of a lost relationship that I cried over and suffered the heartbreak of realizing that someone I loved with all my heart would never be a part of my life. But in my weakness I found His strength to move on and find lasting godly relationships that push me and don’t hold me back.

There was the season of financial struggle from personal injury. It was so hard to be patient and wait for healing and redemption. But I found it in that season. I also found joy in how creative He is with his provision for my family.

Each one of the seasons in my life I didn’t like always turned over into something better. Something I could never have imagine for myself or my family. It was during each one of those seasons that He was refining me and all for His glory and for my benefit.

Winter must happen in order for me to appreciate Summer.

Right now I feel like I am in a season of growth through obedience. There are things I want in my life that God doesn’t seem to think is right for me. I am trying to learn to let go of those things to make room for what God has in store for me. I feel out of my comfort zone a lot these days. And I’m learning that it’s not about what I want at all. It’s all about living out His purpose for my life. And even at nearly 40 I am still unsure what that is.

I can’t see the end of the season I am in right now. And I find myself wishing it away like I do a chilly evening. I have to trust through obedience that He’s got something even better for me as this season changes. I have to trust that the stuff I think is a pain to deal with is just preparing my path to a sweet Summer day filled with laughter and joy.

Because it is.

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The Things Jesus Doesn’t Know About Me

RepentenceLately I’ve been wrestling with a question that I felt was pretty stupid. I often don’t ask questions like that except to my husband who is always so gracious with my naive spirit.  But even this one I kept close to my wandering heart. I just felt awkward even having the thought. Finally, one night this week I had to try to quiet the rattling in my brain,

“If Jesus was perfect and never sinned, how can he relate to me, a sinner, struggling with repentance?”

In other words, how is it possible that he understands why I do the things I do when I don’t want to do them? (Romans 7:15) How does He have any clue what it’s like to be entangled in sin and not want to be there?

How can He understand my gossip? My lies? My deceit? Insecurities? Doubt? How does He know what it’s like to wrestle thoughts I shouldn’t have or desires that don’t line up with His? I know I shouldn’t. I don’t want to do any of those things. My true desire is to become as Christ-like as I can. But I am human. And so was He. But He is also God.

I can’t compete with that!

Yes, Jesus was tempted with the same things that tempts me and you. Yes, He has felt the sting of betrayal and loss. He took on my sins to save me. But how can He understand remorse? How can He understand true sorrow over things done and left undone?

How can my savior fully understand repentance when He never had to go through it Himself? Wasn’t that the point of Him being sent here to Earth? So that He could understand my every heartbreak?

The conversation with my husband didn’t help me at all. (Sorry, babe!) He didn’t have an answer to soothe my worn out soul. In fact I became a little angry with the idea and started to feel alone in picking up my cross daily. I didn’t want to do it anymore. Pride began to creep in and I started entertaining thoughts of how much easier it seemed to do things my way.

That’s a dangerous place to be. And when you find yourself in a battle like that the best and only solution is to drop everything and sit quietly at the feet of Jesus. Oh, how I can’t wait to be able to do that for all eternity!

Because He does know exactly what I’m feeling. He’s God after all! Omniscient God! He knows every last emotion and thought. He knows my struggles and my pain. He catches every single tear and patches up the rips in my heart. The heart He made and gave to me. The heart He dwells within and calls His own.

It’s when I’m remorseful and sorrowful for the things I’ve done that He ushers up beside me, sits quietly, and lets me weep. He lets me pour out my heart without hesitations and He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t need to. He knows.

And when I am too weak to pick up my cross, He carries it for me.



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Living Without Regret: Or Being Obedient

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My morning routine has been anything but these days. With my husband out of town these last three weeks I’ve been the one to get both of my girls out the door on time and in one piece. So, let me just stop right here and publicly thank my husband for his awesomeness in the morning and how much he helps me on a daily basis. I can do it without you. But I really don’t wanna! On top of getting our girls up and moving, he makes me breakfast each morning. I’m spoiled and I don’t even know it.

It had been about 2 weeks since I had eaten a decent breakfast. I could have waited until I got to my office and made me a bowl of the instant oatmeal that has been in my desk for months.  I am sure starving children in China would have been happy to have it, but I just needed some Chick-Fil-A. We all need some Chick-Fil-A. Little did I know that I had a divine appointment waiting for me there.

I drove passed the church where I work and a few miles out of my way to the closest Chick-Fil-A restaurant. I will never understand how that place gets people in and out so quickly. The line is always wrapped around the building. So I drove around the building to find my place in line. As I did, I managed to accidentally cut someone off resulting in them needing to take their place in line behind me. I cringed because my car has a vinyl cross affixed to the back window. Christian’s aren’t perfect, but somehow we have gotten a bad rap for thinking we are. I was hoping the guy behind me wasn’t muttering something ugly to himself about me, or worse, something ugly about Christians in general.

That’s when God suddenly showed up in my front seat and made me real uncomfortable.

I’ve been struggling with obedience lately. Ok. I always struggle with obedience. But here lately God has really been working on me. And not just with being obedient in the big things like moral issues, although He’s pressing hard on me there too. But the little things I’ve really noticed. Like, when my husband asks me to get the oil changed in the car on Tuesday. Tuesday is ladies day and we can save $5. Tuesday it was raining and I really didn’t want to have to go out in the rain to have that done. Plus, I always feel like an idiot because I can’t find the stupid lever to open the hood. I end up having to have the mechanic do it for me. They are always so polite to me, but I know as soon as I pull out of the bay they start talking about how much they hate Tuesdays because they have to deal with mechanically ignorant women like me. But, my husband asked me to do it. We can save money. So I went.

That morning at Chik-Fil-A wasn’t much different. I could feel the Spirit telling me to buy the meal for the guy behind me. No matter what he ordered or how much it would be. He wanted me to bless him. Ok! I can do that! But wait…there’s more!

“And I want you to give him one of those Gospel tracts you found when you cleaned out your car this weekend.”

I already cut the guy off and now you want me to go all Jesus-freak?

I didn’t want to do that. But then I remembered that moment in my bedroom when I was in the 7th grade. I found a tract in my Bible that I must have pulled from church somewhere. I had a million questions about life after death because a good friend of mine had just lost her mom to cancer. I read the tract right there on my bed and met Jesus for the first time even though I had been to church all my life.

My heart started to pound as I pulled up to the window. I was making up excuses why I didn’t need to do what had been asked of me. Maybe I could just pay for his meal and have the girl tell him to have a nice day. Maybe she could just tell him I was sorry for cutting him off. Maybe she didn’t need to tell him anything and I didn’t need to pay for his meal at all.

What if the person at the window thinks I’m crazy? Or what if she’s inspired by my actions and it changes her for the better even if just a little bit?

Or what if the guy behind rejects it or it upsets him? That’s not my concern. I am to be obedient when God asks me to do anything and not ask questions.

But what if he’s already a Christian and could share the Gospel with me? Wouldn’t that be a waste? Then maybe he might be encouraged by my actions to do the same thing for someone else later. Someone else who really needs to hear the Gospel.

None of my excuses were getting me out of the task set before me. So, I told the sweet southern girl at the window that I wanted to pay for the guy behind me and asked her to give him the tract. She didn’t blink. Well, at least that settled one of my fears. She didn’t seem to think I was crazy.

She gave me my breakfast after I paid for both of us and I went on my way. I thought to myself that I’ll probably never see that guy again.

But what if I do and it’s in Heaven? What if my obedience that day shaped his eternity?

Being obedient isn’t always easy and a lot of times it doesn’t feel good. But I read something today that makes it just a little bit easier for me.

“Obedience to Jesus is the only path to no regrets.” -Billy Graham

I have yet to disprove that statement.

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Perfect Love: Why Do You Think You Don’t Deserve It?

I love Jesus Religious Words isolated on whiteValentine’s Day is always a day I look forward to. A perpetual lover of love, it’s a day perfectly designed for me to reflect on not just who I love, but the love I receive from others. Especially the love I receive from Jesus.

I was preparing the preschool lessons for my church this week. The children were to learn about Jesus and Matthew. You’ll remember that Matthew was a tax collector, which back then were hated by the Jewish people. They were often dishonest, but they were also employed by the despised Roman government. Not a very popular bunch. Despite his lack of social appeal, Jesus hand-picked Matthew to be one of his closest friends. A disciple.

What an amazing love! Jesus doesn’t care if you are the most popular one in your group, the best dressed or even if you have it all together. He’s not waiting for you to become something better. Something cleaner. Something more devoted. If he was waiting for any of us to be perfect before he showered his extravagant love on us, none of us would ever receive it! We can never be good enough for Jesus. But we also can never be bad enough for him to reject us. If we wander off, he still seeks us. He always wants us. What JOY we can have in that!

Stop waiting to be perfect in order to allow yourself to be perfectly loved.

Jesus can handle your sin. Remember, he overcame it on the cross. Jesus doesn’t care about your past. He’s only interested in your future with him in Heaven. Doubts? Fears? Addictions? Strongholds? None of it is a surprise to him and none of it is something he can’t handle. None of it is something he doesn’t want to hold for you. I think the bigger disappointment for Jesus is not our sin, but our thoughts that our sins should hold us back from him. This negates the cross all-together. This makes sin greater than the one who overcame it on your behalf. This belittles his abundant love for us and grieves his heart. It’s a toxic and dangerous lie we buy into all the time. Our mess is never something Jesus can’t clean up.

It’s so vital to remember that we were not created in order to be anything. We weren’t created to be tax collectors. We aren’t here to be moms. Or a spouse. Our greatest calling is not teaching, or crunching numbers, selling real-estate or managing a business. We need to realize we were made for the soul purpose of being loved by our Creator. Perfectly.  That’s all. That’s it!

Why do we complicate it so?

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Observations At The Traffic Light

Cold Traffic Light


I wasn’t looking for a lesson or asking God to speak to me, He just showed up. What a crazy God we serve. Showing up in the every day like that. He’s so conspicious sometimes. It’s like He made the universe and loves each detail of my life or something.  Gotta love a God like that!

It’s no secret that I do not appreciate cold weather. I try to embrace it, really I do. It’s just that it’s so, well, cold! I’ve really been leaning on God this Winter and praying to find ways to appreciate it. So maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise when I woke up that morning, the sun was shining and I just marveled at the frost patterns on the door of my car. Such delicate handiwork! I stood in awe over the way the sun filtered it’s way through the leafless trees clinging to the cold stoney mountain by my house. I was breathtaken at the way the mist rose silently from the creek as I drove over the bridge taking my girls to school. It was a freezing cold morning and I was enjoying every cold thing about it.

Those are the moments. Those moments when our hearts are open and we can appreciate His goodness. Those are the moments God waits for! It’s then that He takes his chance and speaks.

I was sitting at the stoplight among all the other frazzled and hurried drivers. All of us waiting on the light to change so we could continue to be busy at our jobs. I had my music on and was enjoying the moment, glad to be appreciating the wonder of the cold instead of cursing it. And I thought to my self, “Even the exhaust from the cars around me is beautiful in the cold.”

Have you ever noticed that? Have you ever noticed that when you’re sitting still at a stoplight the vapor just rises and almost seems to envelope everything around it. The mystery is when the light changes and we are able to move again. That’s when the mist disappears.

I am sure there is some science behind all of this. No doubt you could sit down and explain it all to me. But I wouldn’t listen. I don’t care, really. That’s because the lesson I learned that morning is far more important to me.

When I am still. When I am waiting. When I’m not driving around from one thing to the next. That is when I can actually SEE the Spirit move. That’s when I can almost reach out and touch Him.

When the light turned green and we all began to move again, it was as if the mist was left behind. It couldn’t be seen anymore. It wasn’t obvious that it was there. Although, it had to be there or all those cars were not functioning properly. Just like me. I simply cannot function properly without the Spirit there with me.

What would happen if we all just stopped for awhile and took the chance to notice the Spirit and how He moves? What if we just allowed ourselves to become enveloped around and through us? What if we could just be still long enough to hear His voice. What if we cared less about the destination and more about what God is doing here and now?

I think the answers to those questions would change the world and how we live in it.


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This Little Light Of Theirs

Every morning is the same. Get up. Shower. Make the lunches. Search for lost permission forms. Argue over who needs to feed the helpless dog. Referee sister fights. Peck my family on their precious cheeks. Dash out the door and pray we all return home safely to play the same game tomorrow.

Sometimes after I drop my children off at school slivers of worry begin to creep into my thoughts. I worry about the things they will see and hear from their peers. I worry about things they might be asked to do. And sadly, I worry for their safety. It’s such a scary world. I wish I could always be there to guard them from it.

I always tell my kids that good grades are wonderful, and I always expect them to do their best academically. They are both great students. However, the subject I am most concerned about on their report cards is conduct. No one is going to remember a ‘D’ in the 5th grade as much as they will remember how you behaved. They know this. Before my children get out of the car each morning I tell them 3 little words that I hope they listen to more than anything else.

“Be a light!”

My words are generally met with, “Ok.” Sometimes I get an “I’ll try.” But most of the time I wonder if they ever really heard me at all. I get that what I  am asking them to do everyday is probably the hardest thing any mother could ask of her child. Stand up for Jesus! Be a light in this very dark world! Have you watched the news lately? They are fighting a fight I never even had to imagine as a child. It’s hard for me to do it as an adult! Surely my 10-year-old must feel defeated so many times. And I wonder if she even gets it. I wonder if any of what I am trying to teach her and her sister is sinking in at all. I wonder if her little light just gets hidden under that bushel because she’s so young and this world is so incredibly oppressive. And that mother’s worry turns to defeat in my own eyes when I think of all the things my children see and don’t even tell me. It’s enough for me to want to quit motivating them each morning.

But my God is a God of such delightful encouragement. He loves to wink at me and sneak little blessings across the table if only I will glance His way.

The other night I went to tuck Lucy into bed and kiss her goodnight. She was busy rewriting spelling words for her test the next morning, so I didn’t linger. I just kissed her forehead, told her I was proud of her for studying and reminded her not to stay up too late. That’s when I noticed the word she had written in the margin of her practice sheet.Lucy's List


She wrote it twice as if she had been meditating on His precious name and daydreaming of His sweet love. Perhaps she was praying and needed Him for something. Either way, He was on her mind and it was a precious gift to see it happen. I didn’t say a word to her about it and just left her room thankful for the fostering strength that maybe I might be doing something right. Maybe she does get it after all. Maybe she is listening.

Since God never stops working, and He is so gracious, He wasn’t finished reminding me not to give up on trying to instill faith in my children.

As you know from reading my last post, Abby Faith went on a youth trip last week. One of her sweet leaders sent me a picture of her during a worship time. To my knowledge she has never raised her arms in praise like that before and it brought tears to my eyes to see her lost in passion for the Lord. I mentioned it to a friend of mine and said I thought it was so great that she felt she could do that when she thought no one was watching. My friend’s wise response was, “Or that she didn’t care who was!”Abby Worship

Maybe you feel discouraged today. Maybe you haven’t noticed God winking at you in a long time. Maybe it seems like your kids just don’t care about anything you are trying to teach them. I just want to remind you that God never promised that raising your kids would be easy and it’s a life-long project. But he did promise in Proverbs 22:6 that if we are faithful about training up our children, even on the hard days and those days you think it’s not sinking in, when they are grown they will not depart from it.

And maybe one day they might even thank you.


I’d love to hear some of your stories about how your children inspire you. Let me know in the comments below.

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5 Ways To Tell Your Child You Love Her Without Speaking A Word


Abby Faith is on a youth trip this weekend which gave Cooper and I extra time with Lucy to do whatever she wanted to do. I could have planned the whole day for her without asking her first. Shopping! Naturally. She wanted to go out to lunch at the mall and then hit the clearance racks at the local department store. It’s better than the movies, skating, bowling and ice-cream all on the same day to Lucy. So we piled in the car and headed to the mall. It was a really great day together and we were able to find some really nice things at really great prices. Always a win!

Lucy gives the best hugs. She gets it from her daddy. So after we got home I hugged her and asked her if she knew that I loved her. She said, “Yes, because you buy me things.” That may seem shallow to you, but I know my daughter and I know that her love language is gifts. This weekend I spoke her love language which filled up her love tank to where she felt the most loved by me.

Maybe you are familair with the concept of love languages with your significant other and maybe you speak it well. But each one of us has a love language and it’s important to learn what it is in our relationships so they will flourish. This is true even with our children. It would be a travesty for me to think I was conveying love to my child the entire 18 years she’s under my roof only to learn that she spoke a different language and never understood that I truly love her. So, I’ve honed in and asked questions to determine what language my children speak. Whenever I ask Abby Faith how she knows that I love her, the answer is always the same; “Because you do things with me and take the time to listen to me.” Her’s is quality time. So whenever she comes to me with a middle school issue I make sure to turn off all gadgets and focus only on her. We also schedule dates together just the two of us where she will talk. my. ear. off! That is generally the only time when she’ll open up that way to me. She knows I’m all her’s for a couple hours or so.

How can you figure out your child’s love language? It might be a little difficult to pinpoint. And keep in mind that she may speak more than one.  Below is a list of the 5 love languages and ways you can begin to determine which one your child speaks.

Quality Time:  If your child is always asking for your attention, wants to show you something or opens up the most when it’s just the two of you she might speak quality time.

  • Plan a date at least once a month and don’t let anything else interfere with it. Let your child choose where to go and what to do (within your budget). If your child likes surprises, plan something you think she’ll like and do it! Be flexible with this and have fun! You only get 18 years!
  • Spend at least 10 minutes each day alone with your child. Don’t have your phone with you or any other gadget unless she’s showing you the most hilarious YouTube video she’s ever seen over and over and over again. Not that I would know what that’s like!
  • Be prepared to drop whatever you are doing when she says, “Mom, can we talk?” Those moments are priceless and rare. But they do happen. Especially if you’ve been intentional with speaking her language in the passed. She’ll know she can come to you and you will listen.

Gifts: Birthdays, Christmas and what she’s getting for Valentine’s day really matter to her. Even more so, she loves to give gifts to others. She is thoughtful about her gift-giving and excited about what others are getting too. Even the smallest things mean a lot if it is heartfelt. It may seem materialistic, but spoken the right way it’s a very loving language.

  • Buy something your child has been needing, i.e. a new hairbrush, new jeans or a new pair of shoes and wrap them up for her to find on her bed when she gets home from school.
  • Items from the grocery store can be a gift if you announce, “Lucy, I bought Cheerios for you today because I know you love them.” (With cut up bananas! Mmm!)
  • Budget for small “I love you” gifts throughout the year. It doesn’t always have to be “no” when shopping at Target. (But it also shouldn’t always be “yes!” More on that in an upcoming post).

Acts of Service: Your child loves to do for others and she’s constantly thinking of ways to help you.

  • Do her laundry for her one day while she’s at school or let her out of doing the dishes one night. (Yes, your children should have these regular chores).
  • Help her clean her room one Saturday so she can hurry the process and move on to the fun part of the day.
  •  Set out her breakfast for her so it’s easier for her to make the next day. Help her pack her backpack when you see she’s running late. Ask her where she could use the most help and then do it.

Physical Touch: Your child is always hugging you, kissing you, and needing to be in your lap. She always wants her neck rubbed, back scratched, or just wants to hold your hand. They can’t ever seem to get enough of your touch. This one is easy.

  •  Hug your kid! Hug your kid a lot! Those 18 years are ticking away.

Words of Affirmation: She is always looking for your approval. Did she do a good job? Do you like it, Mom? What do you think about this or that? And she’s always telling you that she loves you.

  • Tell her that you love her. It’s never too many times. I heard a woman at the mall this weekend telling her child in almost every sentence that she loved her. At first I thought it was kinda overkill, but then I thought, maybe that mom is clued in to her kid’s love language. She’d say, “I love you, but we have to go.” And her child would say, “But I love you better!”
  • Tell her that she looks beautiful today! Especially when she first wakes up. Tell. Her!
  • Even when she’s made you mad, give her a list of reasons why you think she’s fabulous. “I can’t believe you made an ‘F’ in Algebra! But what a good job you did in English!”

Keep in mind that even if your child mainly speaks one language she understands them all and still needs you to speak them all every now and then.

What is your child’s love language and how are some ways you speak it? I’d love to hear from you! Please leave a comment below.

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Memories Fall Like Tears


When I was a little girl I was lucky enough to be able to live at my Grandmother’s house for a year. My parents may have thought it was the most unlucky of days since we were living there because my Dad had been laid off. We were in limbo. But I didn’t care. What kid would? I got to live with my Grandma! And she was the best there was.

I can remember getting off the bus after school just in front of her tiny two bedroom house in Idaho and enjoying something delicious she had made for a snack. Almost always it was something chocolate. She loved chocolate! And I don’t know how she always managed to fit us all in her kitchen for dinner, but I always looked forward to whatever she was cooking. Her house may have been small, but her lot was HUGE. Countless days I’d wander all over that property playing Little House on the Prairie while feeding her chickens, climbing trees, or pulling fresh raspberries straight off the bushes and stuffing them in my mouth. Oh, how my mouth waters just thinking of all the berries I snuck out of her garden!

Summer nights were my favorite. Her little house did not have central air so it was more comfortable to eat dinner outside on the picnic table. Afterward, my brother and I would swing from the willow tree branches or ride our bikes until the sun went down. Exhausted from a long day of play, we didn’t argue about having to climb the stairs into her attic to sleep. We shared the space as a bedroom during that time and I can remember peering out the window pretending to be a princess locked in a castle many nights.

My grandmother was a musician too. Her baby grand piano took over her crowded living room. It was definitely not made for such a little space, but she was definitely made to play. I could listen to her play for hours. And she did. I would sit next to her on the bench while she played and I used to think that all she needed to do was glide her fingers over the keys and they would do as she commanded. She would never allow me to bang on the keys like many children do. I had to be intentional about what I was making up in my head. But she never turned me down if I asked to play it. Many afternoons when I got home from school she would give me a lesson and patiently wait as I tried to learn the notes. She taught me many things, but the appreciation of music is probably what I am most grateful for. To this day, I love a good piano piece and can’t help but think of her when I listen to it.

As with all good things, my time living with her came to an end. My dad got a job that moved us all the way to Alabama. I was only nine at the time. Old enough to protest. Too young for it to matter. My family would go visit most Summers. But it was never like being able to be spoiled rotten every single day. I wish I had held on a little more tightly to that time of my life. I wish I had appreciated my grandma’s cooking, her laugh and the way she loved the simple things.

She died two Summer’s ago while living with my aunt in upstate New York. She was 96 years old. And as was typical of her life there was little fanfare. No funeral. No memorial service. Her body was cremated and sent to be buried in her church cemetery in Idaho. Preceded in death by my grandfather, her home was cleaned out and most of it sold off. Including her piano.

I’m not really one who loves things, but I am pretty sentimental. And like my grandmother taught me, it’s the simple gestures, the thoughtful moments that fill up a life. So the other day when I got a small unexpected package from my aunt it piqued my interest. I hadn’t heard from my aunt in years. Anything could have been inside that envelope.

When I opened it up, I couldn’t believe how fast I could fall in love with something I didn’t even know I wanted. It was my Grandma’s handkerchief from the 1950’s. A friend of her’s had given it to her and even stitched her name in the corner. Helen.

The tears fell freely from my eyes. I blubbered like a baby. It was probably the sweetest gift anyone had ever thought to give me. Suddenly all the awkward piano lessons, raspberry-flavored summers,  and freshly baked cookies were set before me in my lap. I could feel my grandmother’s love wrap around my shoulders and I could smell her Avon perfume. It may have been just a hanky to my aunt who was cleaning out a box in her attic. But what she really gave me was one more moment with my grandma and a tangible way to remember that the smallest things in our lives mean the most.

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