That’s How the Cookie Crumbles

If I’d had one of those fancy interrogation rooms and a bright light, I would have used them. But I didn’t, so sitting my three-year-old daughter in a kitchen chair across from me was the best I could do. I wasn’t about to let her big blue eyes and blonde pigtails fool me. This kid was guilty. And she was going down for it.

Today Mommy was playing prosecutor, judge and jury. Court was in session.

The crime? Oh, it may sound trifle… and yes, it really was. But that wasn’t the point. I didn’t care about the Hershey Kiss that had disappeared off the top of the peanut butter cookie. I cared about the truth. All I wanted was a confession so that this kid could learn her lesson, be forgiven, and move on toward better obedience.

DSC_1682The gavel had been banging in my brain and the evidence lay nearby on the counter. The container of cookies was mostly full, but when I had lifted the lid, one of the chocolate kisses was gone, leaving a little round dent in the sugary peanut butter dough.

The defendant sat swinging her little legs as I paced the kitchen floor. I began to present my case.

I had clearly instructed Karly to stay out of the cookies. She had asked, she’d been given an answer, and she had defiantly disobeyed by taking that little chocolate morsel. And she thought she’d get away with it too.

Karly kept claiming that she was innocent. But, oh… she was not.

Had she been able to read and write I would have, at this point, slid a piece of paper and a pen in front of her and asked her to write out her confession. But I was going to have to settle for a verbal explanation. So I sat down and waited.

And did I ever hear a story.

In her sweet, high-pitched little voice, Karly told me that I had it all wrong. She was being framed. It wasn’t her that took the candy, but instead a bird.

A bird?!

Her plea continued as she explained that a bird had, in fact, flown into the kitchen through the window over the sink, taken the Hershey Kiss, apparently put the lid back on the cookie tub and then had proceeded to fly out the same way it entered.

Mind you this was in the middle of winter when that window hadn’t been opened in weeks.

That’s it!! The jury has made their decision and you, my dear little one, are guilty! You are guilty of disobeying and now lying to mommy. I sighed deeply to show my frustration and disappointment.

It was at this point that my husband entered the crime scene and was given a recap of events. He then walked over to the cookie tub and lifted the lid. After looking at the cookies for a moment he picked up the container and walked over to me. We looked inside together and there, stuck to the bottom of the another cookie, was the missing Hershey Kiss.

The bird had been exonerated.

I looked over at the adorable little defendant. Apparently she had been proven innocent as well.

What had I done? I had been so focused on getting what I thought was the truth from her that she had made up a story to appease me.

Nancy Grace is going to love this one.

Case dismissed. Court was over. But now I was the one who had some explaining to do.

I sat down across from Karly and told her that we had found the missing piece of candy. I told her that I knew a bird hadn’t flown in and taken it, and that I now knew that she hadn’t disobeyed and taken it either.

I admitted to her that Mommy was wrong. And I told her that I was really sorry.

She shrugged in that toddler way and accepted my apology faster than she’d conjured up the bird story. She forgave me without a second thought and off she skipped without a care in her mind.

I stayed in that chair for awhile. Though the jury box and the courtroom was emptying out in my mind, I felt full of regret. Why had I gotten so riled up over a Hershey Kiss? Why had I pushed Karly so hard for a confession that she had to make one up to calm me down? And how had she been able to forgive me so quickly and easily when she could have easily pointed an accusing finger right back in my face?

She forgave me because she’s a little child. In her toddler mind she wasn’t out to get me or seek revenge. She could forget the offense in the blink of an eye and never bring it up again.

Apparently I took her to court that day, but she took me to school. I had been shown a great lesson in how to forgive and forget.

To this day, I can’t look at a peanut butter cookie adorned with a Hershey Kiss without laughing about that crazy bird story. And believe me, though Karly has forgiven and forgotten, my husband delights in bringing up my interrogation blunder. That’s ok. It’s good for me to be reminded now and then. I’m reminded that I’m not always right, even when I think I am. And that sometimes I have to confess my mistakes and accept the forgiveness of others.

I hope I can forgive and forget in the same way Karly forgave me. I want to experience forgiveness and give forgiveness completely… skipping away, as free as a bird!

One of my Worst Moments

It is one of the worst moments of my life.

I was six days shy of my eleventh birthday and, as my six-year-old brother would say later, though the day was called Good Friday, it wasn’t a very good day for us.

Instead, there we stood in a sterile hospital room with our dad. We had just taken an awful ride in a police car as we followed an ambulance carrying our mother to the Emergency Room. Our mom had collapsed suddenly and shockingly at the kitchen table that evening and we had just been told by the doctor that she had died of a heart arrhythmia.

The pain I felt was indescribable.

Now the four of us were in a room alone together for the last time. My dad, even in the deepest grief of his life, had the wisdom to ask the doctor if we could see our mom’s body and so there we stood around her. And though it may sound morbid or scary, it was actually just the opposite. It was helpful.

My dad, my little brother and I were able to say goodbye, although my dad reminded us that what we saw was just my mom’s body and not really Mom. We held hands and prayed together, and my dad told us that even though we were heartbroken and we didn’t understand this, he believed God was still in control.

To say that the evening of March 24th, 1989 impacted my life is a gross understatement. The loss of a mom to a preteen girl is full of impact. I was so very sad.

Yet, I had hope.

The conversation with my dad in that horrible room where my mom’s body lay changed me as well. I was taught a deeply profound lesson in a few minutes’ time, and it has helped me in the days, months, and years since that night.

By pointing me to a God who is unchanging in a moment when my entire world had just been completely thrown off its axis, my dad gave me hope that God could not only handle the change, but was in control of it.

By reminding me that God is sovereign in a moment where everything seemed so utterly unfair, my dad gave me hope that I can trust that God not only knew about my mom’s death, but that He was still in perfect control of her death and my life.

By leading me in prayer around the bed where my dead mother lay, my dad reminded me that I can always turn to my Heavenly Father for comfort, hope and love.

It has been 24 years since that night. I’ve grown in stature, maturity and faith. I’m now a wife and a mom and have now lived longer on this earth than my own mother did. I’ve had other hard moments since that night too, and I know I’ll have more to come.

Yet, I have hope.

When I graduated from college and was in a season of life where everything was changing and there was so much unknown…

When I desperately prayed for a godly husband and didn’t know where I would meet this guy or when…

I was able to trust in an unchanging God who knew my desires and needs and was able to faithfully provide for me what He knew I needed and when.

When I miscarried two babies and struggled with surgeries and issues that caused me to not get pregnant…

When I was told by a doctor that because of these issues I would most likely have a small family…

I was able to turn to my God who I believe is sovereign and I cried out to Him for his comfort, love, hope and mercy. He was faithful. …and He not only blessed us with hope and peace, but has blessed us with children.

When our two-year-old son was diagnosed with leukemia and we struggled through three-and-a-half years of chemotherapy and treatment…

When my days were full of dark moments of seeing my son suffer…

I was able to turn in prayer to a God whom I believe is real and not only knows my pain but also cares deeply for both my son, and me. And just like his Word says, He gave me a peace that passes all understanding.

The evening of March 24th, 1989 was one of my worst moments. And yet, through the pain and darkness I was reminded of a sovereign, loving God who offers hope and peace.

And even out of one of my worst moments of my life, God was able to bring good.

And I trust He’ll be faithful to do the same in every moment of my future.

(It’s a good thing) It takes a village.

This morning, I had a meeting with a group of ladies from my church. We all serve together in a ministry and we meet quarterly to discuss how things are going, as well as to plan for the future months. Today we met in the church building, and specifically, in the nursery so that my two preschool daughters, who were tagging along, could play while we talked.

Okay, and so that we could all sit in the cushioned glider rockers that are in there.

The meeting was productive, and as it ended, all but one of the women trickled out to move on with their day. I stayed a bit longer to help clean up the nursery with my 5 and 3-year-old girls. The other lady who stuck around is on staff at the church as a counselor. She is constantly meeting with others to help encourage them and bring validation to their needs, struggles and situations.

And I don’t want to brag, but I was able to give this counselor and friend a feeling of validation, as well as encourage her very soul. And I don’t even have a counseling degree.

I’ve just got two really tired kids who had a meltdown.

By meltdown, I mean that there was crying, screaming, clenching of fists, and mild hyperventilation. And that was just me. The girls were acting horrible!

DSC_0673No really. The girls, who had been doing pretty well during the actual meeting, completely lost all good social and behavioral skills in a moment’s notice as we were cleaning up the toys. One of them thought the other one had her drink. And heaven forbid you EVER share a drink of water with your sister. Ever.

And so the meltdown began and then it escalated until both of my daughters were being so dramatic and acting so ugly that it was almost funny.

I said almost.

And that’s when my friend, the counselor, told me that she felt so validated. You see, she’s also a mom, and she also has two daughters, and at that moment I was graciously (and embarrassingly) allowing her to see that my children are far from perfect. She was also able to witness my discipline “techniques” and could tell that I was frustrated, angry, and confused.

And I wasn’t about to pretend that I was feeling happy and under control. I wanted to be honest with my emotions. This, my friend, is real life.

And when my counselor friend and fellow mother told me she felt validated, it actually made me feel a little validated too! That means she must have been here at some point with her daughters as well. And seriously, who hasn’t!

They say it takes a village to raise a child. I think it takes a village to keep the parents alive and sane too! Thank goodness for my village!!

I know there are some horrible influences and “village idiots” out there that we don’t want anywhere near our children, but we parents are not dummies. We know how to try our best to provide a good representation of our respective villages. And overall, I’m so thankful for family and friends in my personal village who are helping to shape my children and even more, to encourage me when I feel clueless as a parent!

And believe me, there are times when I’m clueless. There are also times when I’m overjoyed, heartbroken, stunned, laughing hysterically and sobbing in my bathroom. We all have real emotions, joys, and struggles as parents. This is real life we’re talking about.

Parenting is not always pretty, but the process as a whole is beautiful. Sometimes it’s breathtaking. Other times, I feel as if it’s about to take my last breath.

Just the other night I was so frustrated from being interrupted by my kiddos repeatedly while trying to tell my husband a story that I actually used the phrase, “For the love of Mike!” As in, “For the love of Mike I’m trying to tell your Daddy something!!” To which I was greeted by blank stares as all of us wondered who Mike was. I’ve never said that phrase in my entire life until then. I don’t know what it means, but I felt it was warranted in this situation.

This is what parenting can do to a person.

And so, I must say today, that it’s a good thing that it takes a village. And as a part of my village, I can’t afford wasting moments like this morning’s meltdown because I’m pretending it’s not real. I don’t wish to sugarcoat my ups and downs in parenting, because life in this village is real. I’m so thankful when other parents keep it real too. The validation and support our honestly brings is unmeasurable.

It takes a village to raise a child, and I think it takes a village to help the parents raising those children. And sometimes, it doesn’t hurt to have a counselor available too!

My Bermuda Triangle

I’m fairly confident that if you blindfolded me, put me in your car (preferably not the trunk) took me to a shopping mall that I’d been in at least one time, dropped me in the center of the mall and asked me to direct you to the food court, The Gap, or the nearest restroom, I’d be able to give you clear directions. However, if you stood me outside and asked me to point North, there is only a 25% chance that I’d point in the correct direction.

What can I say, outside of shopping malls, I’m directionally challenged.

I drive about 50 minutes once a year to go see my eye doctor. You may wonder why I drive so far to have my eyes checked, but it’s because my eye doctor and his family have been friends of ours for years and I enjoy visiting with them after my appointments. I’ve gone to see this eye doctor, who has an office in a quaint little town, since I was probably in middle school. Many years have I traveled to this quaint little town nearly an hour away from my  home. And many years have I gotten lost.

The thing is, you can basically take two roads from my house and drive directly to the quaint little town. It’s not complicated, but it’s mysteriously difficult for me. I call it my “Bermuda Triangle.” You know that place in the Atlantic Ocean where people have mysteriously disappeared. Yeah, that’s what happens to me on my way to have my eyes examined.

One year, before I had children (so about 9 years ago) I got particularly lost and called my husband in a panic. I was so lost that I think I may have left the Midwest and may actually have been near the Atlantic Ocean. When my husband finally answered his phone during a meeting because he saw I’d called so many times, he incredulously asked how I could possibly be in a city close to an hour away from where I was supposed to be.

I’m telling you, it’s not my fault. Bermuda Triangle, people.

That day I was an hour and a half late for my appointment. Yes you read that right. As in ninety minutes late. They still squeezed me in that afternoon mostly because I think they felt sorry for me and didn’t know if I’d ever make it back again.

Last week I had to go back to have not only my eyes checked but two of my kiddo’s eyes as well (well, technically 4 eyes on two kids…anyway). With all three kids in the car we set out through the treacherous triangle with very specific instructions from my eye doctor’s wife (who has pretty much given up on my directional abilities at this point) as well as a map on my iPhone. My eight-year-old son has found the blue bouncy ball on the iPhone maps program to be marvelous. He therefore sat behind me telling me exactly where to go including helpful information he could glean from the phone such as “we are now passing a field,” or “there is a pond on our right.”

But I still missed our turn.

So now, the list of those who mock me about my Bermuda Triangle pain has grown from just my husband and Mrs. Eye Doctor to now my son saying, “Mom you missed it!”, “Mom you missed it!”, “Mom you missed it!”, “Mom you missed it!” …”Mom,  how did you not see that road?!”, “Mom, the BLUE DOT IS GOING THE WRONG WAY!!!”

Maybe those people in the Atlantic Ocean disappeared on purpose because of backseat drivers like this?

So seriously, who wants to go to the mall?!

The Dash

April, 2016
This month I will receive my first paycheck in almost 12 years. I started working part-time as a grant writer for a non-profit (FCA.) I’m excited to be able to use writing to help raise money for a ministry that I care about, all while working mostly from home.
 
The decision for me to start working again was not one Kraig and I made lightly. For a dozen years we’ve intentionally chosen for me to stay home full-time with our three kids. Now our youngest will begin Kindergarten this fall and the timing seems good for me to start this job as well as pursue some other opportunities as/if they arise.
 
A few years ago I wrote a blog post called “The Dash” about my thoughts on being a stay-at-home mom and how when a financial planner summarized my contributions to our family with a little black line (meaning I didn’t earn any money) I struggled to see what value I added to our home. After confessing my feelings to my husband, he started to say “There’s your dash,” to encourage me each time he saw a way my life had impacted our home, family, or others.
 
There’s Your Dash.
 
We moms have an impact on our homes that goes well beyond an amount of money brought home on a paycheck, if there even is a paycheck, and whether the amount be zero or six-figures. In fact, my amazing friends who have juggled working and having little children tell me they often feel as if they’re failing in at least one area (home or work). So apparently, even if your “dash” is a dollar amount, it doesn’t automatically make you feel like you’ve succeeded in being a “good mom.” I had to be reminded of all of this, and today I repost “The Dash” and hope more than anything it will encourage and remind someone else – what you do matters.
 
There’s Your Dash.
———————
July, 2013

The three of us sat at our kitchen table for the second time in a matter of months. My husband and I were on one side and a trusted financial advisor was on the other. Our first meeting had included the collection of our personal financial information as well as some survey-type questions about our goals, plans, dreams, and risk tolerance.

Now we sat at this second meeting to discuss what all of this amounted to. Our financial advisor had our life neatly arranged into a nifty blue three-ring binder, complete with fancy dividers and witty quotes.

And if I’m going to be honest here (which I am) I have to tell you that I thought it was all pretty boring. I’m not much for statistics or finances… or even numbers for that matter. I like words and creativity and things that don’t require long division or carrying numbers. But, I was a good girl and I paid close attention at both of the meetings. I do like to be organized, so I didn’t want to miss the point, which was for my husband and I to have a plan for how we want to steward our money for the rest of our lives.

So, as a good student and wife, I was watching intently as the advisor opened to a page in the blue binder that gave an overall summary of the information he’d collected at our first meeting. The page was neatly divided into boxes so that anyone (even non-number people like me) could see where all our money came from and where it was being spent. I actually understood the numbers on the page.

Surprisingly, one thing in particular really caught my attention. I didn’t expect to care. But I did. Maybe a little too much.

On that page listing an overview of our finances, there was a little box labeled “Income.” In the box was my husband’s name and my name. Beside my husband’s name it listed an amount of money indicating how much he brings home each year. Then, under that was my name.  As I moved my eyes to the right, I saw what I contribute financially to the family in one year.

–

Yeah. A dash.

It signified that I contribute Zip. Zero. Nada. Nothin’.DSC_0263

We moved on with our meeting and with our week. I didn’t mention my thoughts or feelings about the dash to my husband for several days. I guess I needed time to think about my own reaction. I was surprised that I felt such a disdain toward that little black line.

The thing is, I know I don’t get paid for being a full time stay-at-home mom. I have never once received payment for anything. Well, that’s not true. I’ve been given many “gifts in kind” and several have been pieces of paper, but they’ve mostly been adorned with glitter glue, stickers and crayon. I treasure each of these, but my banker does not see any value in them.

I also know that this stay-at-home mom gig wasn’t thrown at me as a surprise. I chose this job. It’s actually my dream job. I’ve wanted this position since I can remember. I LOVE what I do and my husband and I planned for me to stay home even before we had actual children. For the first two years of our marriage I worked full time but we “practiced” by trying to live off of my husband’s income in preparation for me to stay at home once we had our first baby. And, three weeks before our little guy entered the world, I resigned and I’ve been home ever since.

Basically, I’m livin’ the dream.

So why did that crazy little dash bother me so much?

After about a week of mulling it over, I finally brought it up with my husband. I told him how much that dash was bothering me. I explained that I felt like it was just signifying that I contribute nothing to our household. All I feel like I actually do is spend our money because no matter how many times I feed our three kids they still want to eat again. And I can’t let us walk around naked, so I have to buy clothes and do laundry too. LOTS of laundry. And dishes. And cleaning. And none of these jobs are ever done. They just need to be repeated in a few minutes or hours or days. I feel like I am always working to keep our home running and fed and clean and happy.

And yet, all I was given is a dash.

My husband listened to me lament that little black line and he put up with my sobs and pity party for awhile. Then he did that thing he does where he starts to help me put everything back into perspective. Honestly, it kind of irks me at first, but once I give in and realize he’s right, things do seem a bit rosier.

Do you want to go get a job right now? No.

Do you like being a stay-at-home Mom? Love it.

Do we have enough to live comfortably with the money that I make? We are blessed beyond measure.

Then the dash is perfect. You contribute to this family exactly what we need.

In the weeks that followed, when one of our children would make a good decision my husband would look at me and say, “There’s your dash.”

When he’d come home from work to a home-cooked meal and joyful children laughing around the table my husband would say, “There’s your dash.”

When we’d talk about a Bible story or lesson that our children were learning and they’d say, “Mommy told me that…” Yes, you guessed it, he’d say, “There’s your dash.”

There’s no monetary value after my name in that blue three-ringed binder. Maybe someday there will be if I do get a job after our little ones are all in school. Maybe not. We haven’t set that in stone in our financial plan as of yet. But, although it took me an embarrassing pity party and sob fest to be reminded, I do know that there IS much value in that dash.

The financial advisor may never allow me to roll my dash over into our 401K. That’s all right. I think I’ve come to like that little dash now. I think I’ll keep it. Own it even.

The dash is a short and sweet reminder that the return on my investments are far greater than anything my financial planner could ever offer.

I Don’t Want To Let Go!

DSC_0459

Hi. My name is Christy and I struggle with letting go.

Hi, Christy.

I mean, I get excited about new things, but I don’t like having to let go of what is familiar and comfortable and safe. Change can be scary, particularly if there are unknowns ahead. Like, if I can’t picture what my routine will look like in the next stage or what my purpose will be in a new season of life, I start to fret.

Please… tell us more.

 I guess, well, I mean… I feel like I don’t want to let go of what is certain because what if I don’t like the next step as much as I like this one. How can I be sure it’s safe to let go? But yet, as time marches on, I’m simply forced to let go of some things.

(Christy starts biting her nails.)

 ——————————————————————-

All right, I don’t actually have a support group. But, I do have a husband, whom I asked one day why he thinks I feel sad during times of change, like on my kids’ birthdays or last days of school. He said it’s because I have issues. Maybe I should get a support group. They’d probably be nicer.

But although my husband is somewhat right to so kindly point out that I have issues with change, I don’t think I’m the only one who feels this way. Women tend to agree with me. At least I think they do. Please, someone tell me (or at least tell my husband) that I’m not alone.

We ladies can sometimes struggle with change… and in particular, the changes that force us to let go. The act of letting go of a season of life, comfortable routine, or familiar territory is hard. We’d prefer to keep a white-knuckled grip on our children, dreams, schedules, plans, hopes and security. Trading the familiar for the unknown can be a bit unnerving.

This time of year always makes me feel sentimental too. Another school year has come to an end and I’ve seen kids that I used to babysit wear caps and gowns. I am feeling nostalgic as my own son reaches a grade I can clearly remember being in myself (and not that long ago, either)! I am once again slapped with the reminder that time marches on more quickly than I’d like it to. I’m forced to let go of this stage and phase and usher in the new.

And that kind of scares me.

But, wouldn’t you know, I’ve found comfort and reassurance. Not from my husband or my imaginary support group, but from my Heavenly Father through a wonderful hymn reminding me of His truth.

As I stood with a group of ladies in a Bible study that I attend, we recently sang the hymn, Praise to the Lord, the Almighty*, and one of the lines struck a deep chord in me.

Hast thou not seen how thy desires e’er have been

Granted in what He ordaineth

I’ve thought about those lyrics countless times in the last few weeks. It’s two short lines with a lot of meaning. In other words, it’s saying:

“Hey! Haven’t you noticed that God has provided peace and joy for you in every stage of your life, good and bad, up until this moment? He has basically made your desires fit with his will. What makes you think He won’t be faithful to guide you and give you peace and joy in the next stage of life? Let go and move on, dummy!”

(You can see why my translation hasn’t made it into the hymnal just yet.)

And so, as I continue to replay that wonderful hymn and it’s truth in my mind I’ve found comfort and been reminded of God’s faithfulness. It’s hard to let go and to take steps into the unknown, but I trust that my God will go before me. He will lead me with His loving hand.

Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

Psalm 139:23-24

—————————————————————————————–

So, let me ask you something, Christy.

(Imaginary Support Group leader leans back in their chair and crosses their legs. The rest of the imaginary group members lean in close to listen…)

 Christy, hast thou not seen how they desires e’er have been granted in what He ordaineth?!

 Yes.

Yes, I have seen. And with that in mind, may I look forward to the days ahead with joy and anticipation, as I trust in Him who leads me.

*Words: Jo­ach­im Ne­an­der (Stras­lund: 1680); trans­lat­ed from Ger­man to Eng­lish by Cath­er­ine Wink­worth, 1863. Music: Lobe den Her­ren, An­der Theil des Er­neu­er­ten Ge­sang­buch, se­cond edi­tion (Bre­men, Ger­ma­ny: 1665)

Daddy Loves You

IMG_4051 2My memory of the moment is both crystal clear and fuzzy at the same time. It’s hard to explain, but yet if you’ve ever been in shock, you’ll understand.

My body felt numb and weak and apparently that was obvious to those around me because a nurse pushed a stool underneath my legs and helped me sit down beside my son’s hospital bed. I hadn’t even realized until I sat just how much I needed that support.

My two-year-old son, Karson, was laying on the bed along with Lyle the Lamb, his stuffed companion. My husband, Kraig, stood on the opposite side of the bed and rubbed Karson’s little back. Our heads were reeling with the news we’d received just mere hours before. Doctors were telling us that our toddler had cancer. Now we were crammed in a small procedure room at a children’s hospital watching them prep our son for a bone marrow biopsy.

I was experiencing feelings of denial and shock. Our son had been limping for a week and he presented only mild cold symptoms. Why were they suddenly throwing around words like, “leukemia,” and “chemotherapy?” Wasn’t this just a virus that would pass on its own? Do we really need to do this procedure?

But deep down I reasoned that if these trained medical professionals thought there was enough evidence of cancer from a small bit of blood work, then I must allow them to proceed with further testing of Karson’s bone marrow. They had explained that leukemia starts in the marrow and they must take a look to find out what type of leukemia we were fighting.

And so, in what was literally half a day, we went from a normal morning routine to that dreaded procedure room in a hospital two hours from our house. I can still smell that moment and feel the sterility and darkness of that room. It was awful.

To be completely honest, I’m not even sure I want to draw up those memories or that emotion ever again. I wrestle sometimes with the watershed moments that were burned into my mind in the coming three-and-a-half years of my son’s chemotherapy and treatment. Some memories can bring the sting of tears in a matter of seconds. I used to see them often when I closed my eyes at night. Now it’s much less frequent, but the pain is just as raw. It hurts. So you may ask why I write about it or even bother to relive it at all?

I guess I don’t want to waste it.

As awful as Karson’s cancer was, there was so much good that came from it as well. Most of that good came in the form of God’s gentle presence in the midst of the rough storm. Kraig and I learned so much and felt like we were matured in our faith in a way that would otherwise not have been possible.

And on February 9th, 2007, as we took the first shaky steps into that journey, my husband… my son’s father, told me of how he now understood the love of our Heavenly Father in a deeper way. It was the first of many things we would learn along the way.

Kraig recounted the horrible moments of having to physically pin Karson down on that hospital bed as doctors used a large and painful needle and tools to extract bone marrow from our little boy’s hip. Karson was awake and acutely aware of the intense pain. As he lay there on his stomach, his face was turned toward his daddy who was firmly holding him still and talking to him. Karson was screaming and crying for the pain to stop and looking at Kraig with questioning eyes as if saying,

“Why, Daddy?”

“Why are you letting them hurt me?”

“Please make it stop!”

And oh, how we wanted to!

Kraig and I would have crawled onto that bed in a heartbeat and taken that pain instead of watching our son have to experience it. But we couldn’t. We knew that we had to allow to the doctors to proceed. We had to allow them to extract bone marrow so that they could determine what course of treatment would be most effective for fighting this cancer. But we couldn’t explain all of that to a two-year-old. Even if we had, he wouldn’t have understood.

And so as Karson screamed and pleaded with his Daddy, all that Kraig could say in response was,

“I love you, Karson.”

“I love you, buddy.”

“Oh, Karson! Daddy loves you so much!”

It was heartbreaking and profound.

And as Kraig shared with me later, he thought about how many times in life our Heavenly Father has had to hold us down through pain, trial, sin and ugliness. And we don’t understand it. And perhaps even if He told us, it wouldn’t matter. All we need to do is look into his eyes and hear His words.

Daddy loves you.

1 John 3:1 says,
“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!”

I don’t get it. I can’t mentally grasp it or figure it out. I don’t know why my Heavenly Father has allowed pain in my life or my child’s life. I simply don’t know.

Yet the lesson Kraig learned in that moment, I continue to learn as well. I submit to my Father’s hands holding me firmly through the pains of this life, and listen to his almighty and loving voice reminding me of His unconditional love.

I know my Father’s love. And that’s all I really need to know.

A Delicate Balancing Act

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There has been something on my mind lately. I feel as if I’ve been performing a mental balance beam routine with my thoughts. My virtual ankles are starting to ache. I’m striving to find the rest that comes with steadiness and control, but it seems I continue to wobble, even if only in my mind’s eye.

I don’t do well with balance beams. In first grade, I hopped off the end of a balance beam and ended up on my back with a dislocated elbow and broken arm. Ouch. Maybe that’s why I’m sticking with the mental balancing act for now… but it’s been almost as painful.

I just want to be a good mom.

I have goals for my children. And hopes. And dreams. And love. I want to do an excellent job at raising them. I really do. But there are two schools of thought encouraging me, as if two little weighted coaches are on each of my shoulders causing me to tip to and fro.

As I read some blogs, articles, books, or talk to other parents, I mentally lean in one direction while trying to keep my feet on the beam. These voices tell me that I should not miss a moment of my child’s precious life. Dare I look at Facebook or spend an evening out of the house when I might miss a moment that I’ll never get back again? I’m told good parents involve their children in higher learning opportunities, athletic training and intense, intentional intentionality.

Should I be involving my children in more activities? Am I doing enough intentional training? Gasp! I paid more attention to the laundry today at one point than I did my kids. I didn’t even play Barbies with them today at all. Oh great, I forgot to seize the day and make the most of every single moment with them! Have I failed and messed them up for life?!

Deep Breath.

I need to lean back the other way or I’m going to fall off of this beam. So I tune in to the voices that are on the other side. They are telling me that we are raising a generation of spoiled brats. This side reminds me that the world does not revolve around my kids and I need to stop acting as if it does. Stop coddling your children. Don’t give them so much “stuff.” We need to give our children more responsibility and less technology. Our children are not our trophies or our vehicles to accomplish things we wish we’d done in our own lives.
Oh no! I’ve failed on this side too. Maybe I’ve spoiled my kids and not given them enough responsibility. I don’t have a chore chart with stickers hanging on my refrigerator. My preschoolers don’t even have chores yet! Maybe it’s good that I didn’t play Barbies with them today because perhaps I’ve already played with them too much and they are going to grow up to be spoiled, irresponsible narcissists!

Deeper Breath. I’ve really got to relax.

So let me go back to the beginning of this balancing routine. I have goals for my children. And hopes. And dreams. And love.

I’m pretty sure that loving them is allowed and even encouraged, so I can cross that one off my worry list. Hopes and dreams and goals are alright too. But for me, when I truly start to define what those things are specifically for my children… well, that’s when I start to find my rest.

All I truly want for my children is for them to love the Lord with all of their heart, soul, mind and strength, and to serve Him however He leads them each individually for His glory.

And there it is. I’m steady. I’m resting in the truth that nothing else really matters.

Is it ok if I sometimes play hide-and-seek and giggle with my kids at bedtime and stare into their eyes as I marvel at the preciousness of their beautiful faces? Sure.

Is it ok if I sometimes ask them to entertain themselves while I work hard at the task I must accomplish that has nothing to do with them? Yep.

Is it ok if they are in sports and being intentionally trained to be one of the top in their class? Fine.

And is it ok if I sometimes allow my child to struggle through a hard decision without any of my assistance so that they can learn to “sink or swim” on their own? Absolutely.

That stuff doesn’t really matter. I can lean one way and I can lean the other. They are both fine but neither way is all right or all wrong.

My feet are planted firmly on the beam. I lift my eyes and my heart in worship to my Creator who also created my children and gave them to me. All I truly want is for my children to do the same.

And as the voices on either side fade away, I find my balance, my steadiness, my control. I am focused on the God who loves me and who loves my children. I desire to honor Him and teach my children to do the same, whatever that may look like.

And it’s there that I’ve finally found my place of rest.

What Terry Bradshaw Taught Me About Parenting

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I’ve been a parent now for over eight years. I’m starting to catch on to how things work. My husband and I aren’t experts, by any stretch of the imagination, but we’ve done some things right. We’ve also made some mistakes and hopefully have learned from them as we’ve grown and tweaked our parenting style.  I’m feeling pretty comfortable and confident as a parent to my own three children.

But wouldn’t you know, this week I was thrown a curveball.

Or maybe I should say a perfect spiral.

All three of our children have loved pacifiers. Pacifiers are a staple in our home during the baby and toddler phases as much as diapers, Lysol, and onesies. The way things went down with the older two kids was like this. They could have the pacifier anytime of the day or night until they were two-years-old, at which point they could only have the pacifier in bed. When they turned three, bye-bye paci! It really worked quite nicely with the older two kiddos.

And then there’s the third one.

Our youngest is approaching her third birthday this Spring and so her pacifier days are coming to a close. I honestly haven’t even given it much thought. I’ve been so laid back with our littlest daughter that I haven’t pushed much of any kind of intentional training. I should probably get on that. But anyway, she has been sleeping with her pacifier every night in squeaky, soothed bliss. Until Thursday.

Thursday night she decides that she wants to trade her pacifier in for a toy instead. Oh really?! This is nice. She’s training herself and is even ahead of schedule. The toy of choice? A small plastic figurine of Terry Bradshaw.

Excuse me… WHAT?!

First of all, you may ask why we even have a small plastic figurine of Terry Bradshaw in our house. I ask this same question and vaguely recall buying him at a garage sale years ago with intentions of giving him to my little nephew who is a big Steelers fan. But, my husband said that was a stupid waste of a quarter because what kid, Steeler fan or not, would want a figurine of a quarterback who played in the 1970’s?

I mean, really… what kid would want this little plastic man. I get it. What was I thinking? What a waste of money.

Yet, Terry remains in our home. He’s frozen here in a stance, ready to throw his little plastic football because I’ve never thrown him away or traded him to another team. I haven’t even given him a second thought. We’re not even Steeler fans.

But our two-year-old daughter wants to trade in her beloved pacifier in order to have Terry Bradshaw in her chubby little fist soothing her to sleep as he looks down field for an open receiver.

I’ve been blitzed. I’m still scratching my head trying to shake off the sack.

I didn’t see that one coming.

Two more nights have now passed and both nights she’s once again chosen Mr. Bradshaw. The toy I would have possibly voted as least likely to be of interest to my girlie, pigtailed daughter.

I don’t know if this relationship between girl and plastic quarterback is going to last, but I’m not even going to try to figure it out anymore.

If Terry Bradshaw has taught me anything, it’s this.

Sometimes in parenting you’ve just got to call an audible.

Famous Wise Sayings (Mommy Style)


I have great and utter respect for Benjamin Franklin, Albert Eisenstein, and Thomas Jefferson. The guys who wrote the Chinese proverbs and whoever thinks up the sayings on fortune cookie papers aren’t bad either. Some people just say some smart stuff. Ya know?

But today I’d like to keep things real. What if the famous wise sayings of old were written by a mommy who was still wearing her bath robe and slippers and was able to just say it like it is. I’m talking about Mommy Wisdom. Smart little nuggets for REAL, daily life.

This thought struck me as I cleaned up a spill on my kitchen table and floor for the third, yes third, time in one day. Thus leading me to my first Mommy wise saying amendment…

DSC_0301Don’t cry over spilled milk.

AMENDMENT: Don’t sob over spilled milk. Deep breaths and/or moderate sighing is encouraged. If more than one spill has occurred in a given day then deep frustration with an occasional sniffle is completely acceptable.

Early to bed and early to rise makes a man happy, healthy, and wise.

AMENDMENT: In bed for the majority of the night and not rising until absolutely necessary is pretty good.

A penny saved is a penny earned.

AMENDMENT: A penny spent to entertain your toddler on the mechanical horsey at the local grocery store is a penny well spent.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

AMENDMENT: If at first you do succeed in getting your child to promptly obey you in public while wearing a smile and without complaint, then you’d better hope somebody else saw it.

It’s always darkest right before dawn.

AMENDMENT: It’s always loudest right before bedtime.

As you make your bed, so you must lie in it.

AMENDMENT: If you make your bed, that’s awesome.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

AMENDMENT: Kuddos to you if you’ve ventured to the store by yourself with multiple kids in tow.

Too many cooks spoil the broth.

AMENDMENT: Help in the kitchen is always welcome.

Many hands make light work.

AMENDMENT: Many little hands make many little hand prints on glass doors, windows, mirrors and walls.DSC_0419

The early bird gets the worm.

AMENDMENT: The son who finds the worm scares his mother with it.

People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

AMENDMENT: People who live in glass houses shouldn’t have children. It would be impossible to keep up with all of those hand prints.DSC_0421

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.

AMENDMENT: You can lead a toddler to cooked cauliflower. You can even strongly encourage them to eat some… and if they do, count that as a win.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

AMENDMENT: Where’s there is a long period of silence coming from the room where the children are playing, there’s a problem.DSC_0261

When the cat’s away, the mice will play!

AMENDMENT: But when the cat gets home, believe me, you don’t want Mom to tell him what you did or else you’re in BIG trouble.

A rolling stone gathers no moss.

AMENDMENT: A rolling ball in the house gather’s Mom’s disapproval.

Rome wasn’t built in a day.

AMENDMENT: The tower of blocks built by your toddler was stacked in less than 30 seconds, but it’s toppling is heartbreaking and warrants many tears nonetheless.

A stitch in time saves nine.

AMENDMENT: Tying your child’s shoelace in a double-knot the first time will save you having to re-tie it every nine minutes.

A watched pot never boils. 

AMENDMENT: An unwatched tot will draw all over themselves with a marker.DSC_0256

Where there is smoke there’s fire.

AMENDMENT: Where’s there’s no public changing table, there’s a diaper blowout.

Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.

AMENDMENT: Do count your children before you leave the house without one.

Necessity is the mother of all invention.

AMENDMENT: Mothers are of great necessity!