It’s Sunday morning. Everyone’s up and bustling around pouring milk into cereal bowls, digging in the dryer to find matching socks and the tee-shirt without holes or stains on it.
But for Adam and I, it’s not working. We are running late, can’t find anything to wear, and frankly don’t have a good attitude about the day. We keep going through the motions though, hoping our want to will get the message and catch up. When I’m still in my pajamas with 15 minutes before time to leave, we decide to call it.
“Kids, we’re not going to make it to church today.”
Of course, this was the one week they were ready early, so our statement met with disappointed faces. The week had been too full and Adam and I couldn’t go. Any. More.
The ultimate paradox of childhood is that boys and girls want to be led by their parents but insist that their mothers and fathers earn the right to lead them.
~Dr. James Dobson
Right about the time my first baby was born, Dr. James Dobson released his updated version of The Strong-Willed Child. The title intrigued me because I’d overheard my mother reference me as a strong-willed child once or twice and figured there was a high probability of passing that gene on to my son. By the time my newborn was two weeks old, it was obvious I needed Dr. Dobson’s book! Forget the child part, I had a strong-willed infant!
As I’ve been a mom to that firstborn for going on 15 years, I’ve realized raising a strong-willed child takes being a strong-willed mom. Actually, raising kids in general no matter their temperament takes strong-willed parenting.
One essential quality of a strong-willed parent is setting and upholding firm boundaries.
In other words, doing what you said you would do.
Kids push. And push and push and push. You draw a line, and a strong-willed child wants to cross it one way or another.
Driving home one day I came to the light about 2 miles from my house. As I sat there waiting to turn right I stared into the back of an 18 wheeler. Expecting to see the reflection of my homely, tan minivan in the somewhat warped metal, you can imagine my surprise when instead, I saw a massive yellow Mack truck. I sorta gasped and mumbled, Whoa, where did that come from? When did my minivan turn into a big yellow truck?
I almost caused traffic to pile up as I ignored the light for a minute and glanced in the rear-view mirror to see if the Mack truck was a figment of my imagination or actually behind me. In this instance I wasn’t seeing things. There was a yellow Mack truck towering behind me, hogging all the mirror space of the truck in front of me.
It was like I had looked in my bathroom mirror and instead of seeing my petite 5’2” frame, I saw this 6’7” body-builder-muscle-woman who could scoop up the couch with one hand.
Uh-huh, I may be a simple minivan but I’ve got a Mack truck behind me. Don’t be messing with me!
I woke up this morning to the words It’s not supposed to be easy running through my head. It made me think of the P90X guy saying in the arm circle warm up…“We’re going to be here awhile. It’s going to burn. It’s supposed to.”
Life this side of Heaven: We’re here for an appointed time. It’s going to burn. It’s supposed to.
I know this, but somehow the creep happens. The comfort creep. I grow weary of fighting the same battles over and over again, so I start hunting for the cruise control button to make life easier.
But I forget ease and comfort are not the goal here. Life takes tenacity, endurance, perseverance. All those words you hear in cross country training and insinuate it’s going to be hard!
At 2 a.m., Dorie’s phone rang. “Your house is on fire!” said her best friend on the other end. “I gotta go.”
Dorie was in the horse breeding business and thankfully was at a horse show in Atlanta, Texas when the call came. A drunk driver had plowed into her house, setting it a blaze.
Dorie’s friend let the fire department know no one was inside and hurried over to the scene . Then she called Dorie back and said, “You’re free.”
It’s amazing how God prepares you for things. This friend had been praying with Dorie for 2 years about whether or not she should move. Dorie couldn’t bring herself leave the place she and her then, new husband had moved into 20 years ago. Six years into their marriage he had left, leaving her the house and the all bills to pay.
Click HERE to go to Thread of Redemption and finish Dorie’s story!
A few months ago I made a cake for a friend who turned 40. I had in mind this beautiful, elegant, tall, black fondant cake with the number 40 placed on top.
Simple and beautiful, just like my friend.
Black icing is a pain to make because it takes so much food coloring and even then has a purple hue to it. So I thought fondant would be easier and solve both of those problems.
Now, I haven’t used fondant much. My biggest undertaking would be this cake I made for my daughter’s 10th birthday party.
Notice the whole cake is not covered with fondant. Only the duct tape is fondant.
Nevertheless, I barreled ahead full steam. I bought 3 packages of fondant and set to work baking the cakes. Cake #1 was from my Betty Crocker cookbook called Best Chocolate Cake, and cake #2 was a vanilla flavor called Best Party Cake Ever from my Family Fun cookbook. Only the best for my friend!
Back in October life hit an unexpected bump which changed the trajectory of my plans for the fall. After a week in Kenya and then 10 days later speaking at the Hutto Bible Ladies Retreat, I was hoping for some peace and quiet and old fashion R-E-S-T. The kind where you zone out with a couple seasons of a Netflix show.
But apparently God had other plans.
The day I unpacked my suitcase from the retreat, Adam packed his. For the next two months, he had to work away from home for three to four days a week.
Not exactly snuggling on the couch watching Netflix together.
Since I couldn’t control the circumstances around me, this need for something to go as I planned bubbled up inside me. All of a sudden, I needed to sew something, paint something or rearrange something in my house to funnel the energy bouncing around within me and not take it out on the people around me.
As the leaves fall in layers outside my window, crunch beneath my shoes and swirl behind the cars, it reminds me summer is over and winter is coming. This little season we call fall prepares the way for holidays like Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. It ushers in chilly mornings, darker evenings and pumpkin spice smells in the kitchen.
I’ve often said that if I was a deciduous tree in fall, I would be the one to look around and say, “You know what, I’ve decided I’m keeping my leaves this year! I mean these are my favorite set! What’s the point of dropping my leaves now just to get them back again in a few months? Winter isn’t too bad here, can’t I just keep them?!”
What’s going to happen to me?
I’m probably going to freeze to death because if trees don’t drop their leaves in fall, they’ll die in winter from lack of food. Winter is not the time for nourishing extra things like leaves.
In an old Cosby TV show, Clair Huxtable is sporadically speaking Spanish to a colleague, while Cliff Huxtable stands off to the side, staring at them, because he doesn’t understand what’s being said. The two banter back and forth while Cliff’s face contorts into half a dozen classic Bill Cosby expressions. When the Spanish speaking pair looks back at Cliff he responds, “I’m just listening for my name!” That’s the one thing he understands and can respond to in a paragraph of fast flying foreign words.
This past month has been like a blur of fast flying foreign words. It’s been a series of packing and unpacking suitcases, preparing and speaking sessions, and eating lunch when I can. Between a Kenyan ladies conference, a Hutto Bible ladies retreat and my cousin’s wedding, I have spoken in a microphone more in the pat 45 days than in my entire life!
So many times after we return from Kenya, my heart is on fire with passionate future dreams. I usually hit the ground running in a flurry of activity, praying for clarity and trying to attain to the vision, before I wear a hole in the carpet.
Except all that changed about two years ago when God told us to “go home” from Kenya. We weren’t sure if we’d ever go back – not because anything bad happened but because it felt like the same cherubim and flaming sword God placed to guard the Garden of Eden from being re-entered was also guarding us against returning west.
I used to think I wasn’t the type that struggled with depression. During some deep personal struggles, I remember thinking I’m so glad I don’t struggle with depression, for this would be a really dark time.
Normally I would describe myself as an upbeat, passionate person who thinks deeply, sees life realistically and bustles about with high energy.
But as I look back over my 36 years on this earth, I see some mountain top experiences paired with some equally low valley seasons that were longer and darker than I gave them credit for. It’s hard to understand life as you walk it forward. It’s not until you look back that events make sense, yet time and circumstances don’t often allow you the luxury of looking back and reflecting.
Since my grandfather passed away, and even right after he took a dramatic turn for the worse, I have struggled off and on with this darkness.