Lesson(s) Learned

This weekend, I was blessed to have a couple days to spend with my husband, & my sweet girls got to spend some time with their grandparents. My husband and I went to see a marriage counselor yesterday, and one thing I noticed most that she did effectively was ask really good questions. Good questions are like sturdy buckets in a well. Depending on the question, the answers can go deep. Sometimes, instead of asking really well-crafted questions and going deep, we can get tripped up on questions that will lead us to empty wells every time. Here's an example and some scattered thoughts that came to my mind this morning: So many times in life, things happen & we ask, "Why?" "Why" isn't a bad question. It's normal. It's natural. And sometimes, it's necessary to examine in order to move forward. But oftentimes, "why" can be one of those questions that leave us sticking our empty buckets into the same old dried-up wells. Over and over ...

This blog is entirely impromptu, off-the-cuff, and written as a reaction to a text-versation I had with a super close friend (who happens to live super far away!) this morning. It somewhat boiled down to this: Mom Guilt We have it about EVERYTHING. and we carry it EVERYWHERE. It affects EVERYONE we come into contact with. And it pesters and annoys and burdens us EVERY SINGLE DAY. The areas to have guilt in our lives are ENDLESS. (kind of like the laundry pile you're probably avoiding in order to read this blog... haha) I struggle with it, and I bet you probably do from time to time (or all the time!) as well.  Every time I think on this subject, I am left with this lingering question: Why do I feel guilty for being human? (Good question, mom. Thanks for asking.) ^----So I totally just wrote out what I do in real life... You know, where you ask a question and clearly no one in your house is listening, so then you just answer the question yourself (aloud, nonetheless)... Does anyone ...

I love to read. As far back as I can remember, I've always loved to read. I remember learning to read rather well and quite quickly. As it is with most things we excel in, we attach enjoyment to those things and want to do them over and over and over again. The same is how it goes with me and reading. (Although, I would be remiss if I failed to mention that I participated hard in the PizzaHut BookIt! Club/Program back in the 90's... You know, in looking back, I can't quite decipher if my love for reading was for reading alone, or if it was just a mask for the massive love of the pepperoni pizza I had and all the pizzas got to eat when I finished reading -yet another- book.) Any way you look at it, since that time, I continued reading, eventually began a teaching career and started helping other kids read, and finished my graduate work in Reading Specialization. I now have the walls of my house lined with shelves and shelves of books {I blame this on the fact that a reading ...

This morning, I was reading Luke 1:39-45. Here, the story picks up with Elizabeth who is pregnant 6 months with John the Baptist. In this passage, she meets Mary who is already pregnant with Jesus. Two things I noticed about Elizabeth in this passage. One, in verse 43, Elizabeth says, "And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me?" Notice her humility. Notice how overwhelmed with joy and thankfulness that she has at getting this opportunity. That said, Elizabeth knows her place before God. She knows herself in relationship to God. She knows she's not worthy to be chosen for this, and her only response is one filled with joy and thankfulness. Two, in verse 45, Elizabeth blesses Mary for believing in what was told to her from the Lord. She blesses Mary for her faith. Notice Elizabeth was able to bless Mary out of the abundance of thankfulness of her own heart towards God. Elizabeth knew God. She knew herself in relationship to God....

(Note: This is a delayed post. This article was originally written in mid-March 2020.) So this week has taken a huge turn of events from what-was-planned, both in my little blog world and my little sliver of the real world. Just a week or two ago, I was sitting at my breakfast table, looking at our dry erase calendar on the fridge, and telling my husband how March looked so-thankfully-slow compared to previous months because we didn't have anything scheduled. Well - while still true that we have no place to be - it's easy to long to be anywhere else right now instead of a in house with two sick toddlers. Hope has an ear infection, and poor sweet Hannah has an ear infection, conjunctivitis of the eyes, and Flu type A that the doctor said has almost gone into pneumonia. Add on to that all the mommy guilt I have for not taking her to the doctor faster than when I did, and the nagging thought, "Would she be better off if I had taken her sooner?" Sigh. I know, I know, ...

So today's #ThessalonianThursday #ThankfulThursday goes out to our husbands. You know, the men who stole our hearts, changed our last names, made us mommies, sometimes make us mad, and at the end of the day, steady us as they lead us in Christ-likeness. For some reason, this may be the most difficult blog I've written. Usually, I just write and post and that's it. But this topic has weighed heavily on my mind and heart, especially this week. I've found myself writing and rewriting this blog over and over again. Why? I'm not quite sure. I do know this: I have a lot to say, don't quite know how to say it, and my husband reads my blog. So no pressure or accountability for proving in real life what I'm typing on a screen or anything, right?! With that said.... let's get started on being thankful for our husbands. Bear with me as I stumble along with this topic... let's start with this story: So I attended Bible college here in town, and then I deci...

I remember when I was in elementary school that "your momma" jokes were a big thing. They often went something like this... "Your momma.....(fill in the blank with something juvenile-yet-offensive about that person's momma)" The next kid replies, "oh yeah, well, your momma...(fill in the blank with something equally as juvenile about that person'a momma)" And then the crowd surrounding the two kids would all be like, "OOOOO!" And well, that was about the end of it. So yeah. "Your momma" jokes were probably the most juvenile thing since the cootie shot, but for some reason, school-kids thought it was cool - unless they were referring to your momma, of course. So it makes me wonder, Why were "your momma" jokes even a thing? Like, why wasn't it "your daddy" jokes? Perhaps, it's because if someone made fun of our daddy's, we'd just be like "yeah that's not true, my dad can beat u...

Have you ever sat back and wondered, why is it called 'motherhood'? When I think of the word 'motherhood,' the only other word that readily comes to the top of my mind is 'neighborhood.' So what it is? Simply put, a neighborhood is a collection of neighbors all together. (Unless it's a neighborhood where the people are not-so-neighborly, then it's just more affectionately referred to as the 'hood. If you ever find yourself there, I have some advice: Proceed (ever-so-swiftly) with caution, girl.) I digress. If a neighborhood is simply a collection of neighbors, then why isn't motherhood a collection of mothers all together? And if it is supposed to be a collection of mothers all together, then why does it feel less neighborly than we possibly hoped or imagined, and it feels more like trying to survive a day in the 'hood? (Be serious. You know it sometimes does feel that way.) And all of this non-neighborly motherhood business starts day ...

So, it's been an incredibly long time since I've written anything. Most of the time, I'm busy with regular stay-at-home-mommy to-do lists, a silly amount of craft attempts, and two toddlers. I've often used this as my excuse for not "making time" to write. Oh. so. often. Oftentimes and very lately, I haven't written any blogs because I've briefly thought (and maybe even truly believed) that I had nothing to say, or at least, next to nothing interesting to say. Unless you want me to quote something from Daniel Tiger (or worse, Clifford), break out in  a word-for-word verbatim of a Disney song (almost. any. Disney. song.), give you a total count of laundry loads I've mastered or the amount of sibling-fights I've broken up, there's really not much left of major "report" to my days. I'm in no way demeaning or belittling the huge responsibility, overall importance, and beautiful gift of God through motherhood. I am, however, ackn...