Thanksgiving is a couple of days behind me, and I determine I’m going to make this year the Christmas season where I’m truly resting in the midst of the busy-ness of it all. I decide to cut back on activities and things I feel obligated to complete.
Each year I promise myself I’m going to come upon Christmas Day rested and worshiping my Savior, grateful for all that the Day represents.
And almost every year Christmas Day arrives and I am weary. I forget to give myself grace.
Have you ever lain in bed at night and found yourself praying for your children or another loved one in your life?
After a day filled with teen ‘tude from one boy and some extreme emotion that morphed into choices that left the other boy regretting how he’d handled himself, I felt unsettled. Part of me questioned when we would move beyond this stage of angst and grappling to our sons being at peace with who they are.
I suspect many of us wrestle with being at peace with who we are. Even in my fifties, I have days . . . But God.
Oh sure, I tell people to pray for their children, their husbands, and the heart needs they each have. I tell them God hears, and He answers each and every prayer. Sometimes, it’s with a “Yes.” Other times, the answer is, “No.” And then there’s the “Not yet,” answer.
I believe these truths with all my heart. I know that I know I am a daughter of the King . . . that He loves me completely, passionately, and perfectly. I know we must choose faith.
In May, I participated in a twelve-day Instagram writer’s challenge. It was both stretching and fun. We were given a different word each day and created posts about those words relating to our writer’s life.
As I contemplated each word, I discovered correlations between writing life and real-life. I’ve expanded on the original posts, and I’d love to read your thoughts on these words as they relate to your life as well.
Stories of the heart are built by adding word count. I belong to an online group for writing 1000 words in one hour. Not everyone does this, and not everyone who’s part of the group is adding word count to their manuscripts. But it’s a great community where we hold each other accountable to work on our projects. For any book to come to a place of completion, words must be added in the creating of said book.
As important as it is to build word count in a book, it’s even more essential that we make our real-life words count.
I was having “a day” with one of the boys. The other one was at baseball tryouts at his school.
You never know when something unexpected will alter your perspective.
The call interrupted me as I spoke with a pharmacist. I didn’t recognize the number, so I ignored it. After my conversation with the pharmacist ended, I listened to the message the other caller had left.
And my stomach tightened.
“Mom, I got hit in the face with a baseball…teeth came down. Possible broken jaw.”
A couple of weeks ago, Mary Geisen shared some thoughts about legacy in relation to a post about creating I wrote. Her words have begun to ruminate in me. This offering is my initial attempt to really consider what it means to leave a legacy.
Have you ever thought about different aspects of legacy?
My father, whom I am beyond blessed to call Dad, was left a legacy of brokenness. His father was an alcoholic who abandoned his family when my father was three. His mother worked hard and traveled for nursing jobs to keep my father and his sister fed and clothed. But she loved him well and instilled in him a character that nurtured a loyal, hardworking man, even into his eighties. I wonder, though, if there are still scars that never completely healed because of his father’s choices.
Have you ever read a passage in the bible—one you’ve read many times before—and God just speaks to you?
I don’t know how many times I’ve read about Saul’s and David’s lives. But this time? The Lord has shown me many things I never considered before. I noticed how differently Saul and David responded to fearful situations in our lives.
Maybe the stories of these two men spoke so deeply to my heart because I, too, have dealt with fear. I discovered some valuable, timeless lessons to take away from their examples.
This is the fourth and final post in this series. If you’ve missed past posts, you can find them here. Thank you so much for joining me on this journey to better understanding fear and how deal with it when it tests our faith.
A few years back, one of the boys and I went through a difficult season. The hard-heartedness, back-talk, stubbornness, unwillingness to yield . . . had me on my knees in prayer and praying throughout each day.
The “rebellious force” was strong with this one. He had his agenda, and it didn’t match mine. One morning, I was driving somewhere talking with the Lord about this child. Fear had dug in, sprinkling in doubt and worry about the upcoming teen years. I couldn’t even handle him at nine.
A few years ago, one of the boys was having a hard time with his homework. We sat together, him working it through, me explaining as I could. It just so happened on this day that the other boy needed extra help with his math. Dinner needed cooking. And Hubs was out of the country.
I can manage all these things simultaneously . . . as long as everyone works with my plan.
On this particular day, the first boy went to his room for a break before he dug into more homework. I waited the ten minutes I gave him. And then fifteen.