God Sees the Little Tears

A few weeks after my son was born, my sweet little cat died.  I cried, but I mostly hid those tears.  In light of all the suffering going on in the world, it didn't feel right to be sad about a cat.  I grieved, but silently.

A few weeks ago, one of our beloved dogs passed away quite suddenly and unexpectedly.  Again, I found myself stifling my emotions.  With people fighting cancer and babies in the NICU, it didn't seem right to blubber about a pet.  Blubber I did, however.

Now I find myself on day 8 of bed rest.  On day 3 I found myself back at the hospital with contractions, silently begging God to make them the real thing...for Baby Girl to really, truly be coming.  As much as I wanted to keep her in longer for her sake, I was done on my part.  The unknowns, the contractions, the feeling terrible, and the being stuck in bed, unable to care for myself, let alone my family--all these were killing me inside.

Baby Girl did not come that day, and she's still healthy and cooking inside of me.  As we drove home from that second hospital visit, I found myself blinking back tears.  Once again, they seemed so silly, so futile.  I should be happy that my baby girl was still safe and healthy.  I should be thanking the Lord for each day more with her inside of me, knowing that that was one day more for her to grow and for her lungs to develop.

I took my frustrations and fears to the Lord and, to my surprise, was not met with condemnation and ridicule.  Instead, I felt the most overwhelming peace flood over me.  In my lack of control I found the most amazing strength.

Sometimes it takes the smallest things to make us feel forgotten by God.  The glorious truth, however, is that He will never leave us or forsake us.  It's okay to grieve, to be sad, even in the little things.  No tear is too insignificant for God to miss.  He sees and He cares.  So often, it is in these little tears that we need Him the most.  For, in our grief and hurt, no matter how small, we find the One True Balm...the Source of radical, inexplicable Love and Peace.

Take heart, dear one.  He sees even the little tears.  

9 Reasons Why I’m Glad I Married Young

When you marry young, a certain stigma hangs over your head.  People seem to be just waiting for you to have troubles and split, or at least regret your “rash” decision.  Getting married young can be incredibly hard and frustrating, but it can also be wonderfully sweet.   

I have a lot of friends who are older and single who no longer have any hope of marrying young.  This post is not for them.  It’s for those whom God did call to marry young, and for those who are contemplating it.  It’s for those who question the wiseness of marrying young.  It’s for my husband, my best friend, the man I want to grow old with.  It’s also, in many ways, for myself.

So, without further ado, here are the 9 reasons why I’m glad I married young:

1. We get to grow up together.  Notice I say “get to” instead of “got to”.  We’re still growing up and maturing.  God is still molding us into the man and woman He has created us to be.  The best part is that we get to go through this process together, while making sure that we grow together instead of apart.

2. We weren’t set in our ways.  We didn’t have a lot of time to get set in our ways.  I didn’t have an opinion on what brand of toothpaste was best, and he didn’t have an unchangeable Saturday morning routine.  Granted, we each came into marriage with our own set of opinions and methods, but we’ve also had more of an opportunity to develop habits together.

3. I didn’t have to discover who God created me to be alone.  I’m not the same young woman I was when I got married, nor am I the woman that I thought I would be back then.  The past four years I’ve gone through a lot of self-discovery and growth.  If anything, my husband has furthered this growth as he’s encouraged me to stretch myself, challenged my thinking, and supported me in my pursuits.  He gives me the freedom to become the woman God created me to be, but I haven’t had to do it alone.  He’s been by my side every step of the way.

4. We rely on each other.  When I got married, I had never lived outside of my parents home.  One week after our wedding day, I found my naive newlywed self one thousand miles away in a completely new place.  We didn’t have many friends, and we had to rely on each other for everything.  We also had to learn to depend on each other financially.  We didn’t start out with firm career paths and tons of savings in the bank.  We were both still in school and had next to nothing.  Any worldly success we’ve had since then has been completely dependent on our marriage and on each other.

5. We fit in better with the culture we live in. God chose to plant us in a place where marrying young is the norm instead of the exception.  In our circles, we are far from being the youngest to get married, or even the youngest to have a baby.  I believe God knew that when he put us together.  My husband and I feel more able to reach those in the community because we can relate to the many who married young as well. 

6. We had the opportunity to start a family young.  We waited a year and a half before feeling God leading us to try for a baby, and we’d been married over two years before Miles was born.  Not a long stretch of time by any means, but we still had a good chunk of time to ourselves.  The great thing about having married young, however, was that we were still very young when we became parents.  We appreciate the extra energy that comes with youth…and we also look forward to being young empty-nesters and still having the energy to travel and explore.

7. The sexual freedom. I won’t go into a lot of detail here.  Suffice it to say, sex within the bonds of marriage is a very beautiful and freeing thing.  We didn’t have to wait a long time to experience that.  Not that marriage is a cure-all for sexual struggles, nor is married sex the hot-and-steamy passion it is depicted in movies and books.  Yet, sex within marriage can be unbelievably fulfilling, especially when you've gone from the tension of “waiting” and not crossing a line, even though you really want to.  Having the freedom to enjoy all that God created sex to be is incredibly liberating.  

8. Marriage is fun.  Marriage is a lot of work, and it’s far from easy.  It can also be really fun.  Enjoying life with the person who knows you better than anyone else is an unfathomable blessing.  Laughing together, doing spontaneous things, fixing up your house, not being afraid to be yourself...need I say more?  

9. More time with my soul mate. Life is short and goes by all too quickly.  You never know what day will be your last.  I don't have any clue what the future may bring, but I’m so thankful for these extra years I’ve had with my man.  I'm so glad that I didn't wait to marry him.

Getting married young has had its challenges, but I don’t regret it for one single minute.  I know without a doubt that I married the man God created for me, and I’m so glad that I didn’t put off the wonderful blessing that marriage is and has been because of my age, or because I hadn’t yet “experienced” the world.  Yes, I was young and unsure of myself, but marriage has not stifled my growth.  Far from it.  Marriage has been the best and sweetest adventure I’ve ever known.  I’m so glad I was young when I embarked upon it.

Dear Single Girl: Would You Follow Him?

Dear Single Girl Who’s Wondering if He’s “The One”:
When I was twenty years old I did something crazy: I got married and moved a thousand miles away to the hills of rural Arkansas.  My husband and I didn’t have much to our name and I was still in school.  To top it off, I had never lived away from home before. 
Four years later, I look back and am shocked by that bold step.  Yet, I’ve never once regretted that decision.  Our marriage has had its ups and downs, just as any marriage does, but we are very, very happy.  I do miss my family and the endless sunny days in Arizona, but I have never once cried from homesickness.  In all honesty, that move from Arizona to Arkansas was not terribly hard for me. 
I get asked almost daily why it wasn’t that hard.  I’ve come up with all sorts of answers.  My personality.  I was ready to have my own home.  I was raised to be independent.  Modern technology makes staying-in-touch easy.  All true reasons, but not enough in and of themselves.  The real truth is that it wasn’t all that hard because of Andy.
When I was a young teenager, I got it in my head that I wanted to marry a man that I could follow.  For a stubborn, bossy first-born such as myself, that was not an easy requirement.  Yet, in my heart I knew that that criteria would be the make-or-break factor for my marriage.  “Would You Go With Me?” by Josh Turner became my anthem.  I longed for a man who would ask me if I’d go with him “to the ends of the sea”, and with whom I knew that I would.
I thought I knew what such a man would look like.  He’d have to be loud and outgoing to balance out my quiet side.  He’d have to be a good speaker, but a poor writer, so that I could be his helpmeet and write for him.  Oh how wrong I was!
Thankfully, I would indeed follow my husband to the end of the sea.  Yet, this man of mine is not what I thought he would be.  He is quiet and reserved and gentle.  When describing him, his grandmother once told me that still water runs deep.  He has a tender heart, yet he can be sarcastic.  He’s a good speaker, but he doesn’t like to be the center of attention.  And he’s a wonderful writer.
When I married Andy, I knew I was marrying a man I could follow.  I have come to realize that it is for this reason primarily that moving away from everyone and everything I ever knew wasn’t so very difficult.  You see, when you marry a man that you can follow, actually following him isn’t all that bad.
You may never follow your man to the ends of the sea.  You may end up getting married and never living farther away than the house next door to your parents.  But I can promise that the time will come when you will have to follow him, and you will be asked to give up or move away from something or someone that you love.  The question is, will you be able to do it? 
And so, as you look for a man to marry, I encourage you to not settle for anything less than a man you can follow.  Don’t look for a man who is good looking, or well off, or charismatic, or seems to have to have it all together.  Don’t look for a man that you will always agree with or that will go along with anything you want.  Instead, look for a man you can follow. 
I know all too well how important that is.

Not In Control

I'm one of those people that likes to make lists and schedules.  I like to feel like I have it all together.  In all honesty, I want others to think that as well.  I want them to think I'm great at juggling being a wife and mom.  I want them to believe that my house is always clean, and that I always have a delicious meal ready at supper time.  

You want to know the truth, though?  I have never felt so disorganized in my whole life as in these seven months since Miles was born.  There have days when my house has looked like a complete pig-sty and my only "accomplishment" for the day was getting my makeup on.  I can't tell you how many nights Andy has come home from work to find dinner not even close to being ready, and me asking if we can just go out somewhere....again.  I've had to drop a lot of my outside commitments.  Hey, blogging, something that I truly love to do, has even fallen through the cracks.  The weird part, however, is that I've become surprisingly okay with all of that.

As I've written about before, Miles is no easy baby.  These days he's mostly happy during the day, and I can breathe a little bit easier.  But he's still not one to happily play in a bouncer seat or spend hours on his playmat.  Usually, me trying to tackle the pile of dishes in the sink consists of Miles sitting on the floor at my feet, with me giving him something new to play with every minute or so.  Even then, that might last 10 minutes and he's bored.  He is thoroughly unpredictable.  I'm not even going to tell you how many times he was up last night.

Miles has challenged almost every pre-conceived notion I had about motherhood, babies, and parenting.  I found that a lot of my time and research during pregnancy went out the window within days of his birth (okay, hours).  And yet, through it all, I've felt that Still, Small, Voice consistently telling me to "let go, and let God".  I have been learning to daily let go of my need for control, and instead surrend everything to the One Who is Able.  I've been laying down that image I have of what it means to be the "perfect" wife and mother, and instead letting Him mold me into the wife and mother He wants me to be.  Through it all, I have found the most amazing peace.  There is so much joy in not being in control...in not even thinking you need to be!

Recently, I heard another new mom described as "having it all together".  Her baby was sleeping well at night and was on a good schedule.  She seemed to be effortlessly keeping up with all the demands of life.

For a minute, I felt a twinge of jealousy.  I wanted to be the mom that everyone described as "having it all together".  I began plotting ways of "proving" how truly on top of things I was.  But then that Still, Small Voice tapped quietly on the door of my heart.  

"Remember," It said, "that's not who I'm calling you to be.  That's not the kind of mom Miles needs, or the kind of wife Andy wants.  That's not the woman I want you to be."

I realized that in not being that mom,  I was taking the path that God was calling me, specifically, to.

We all have areas of our life that He is refining us in.  For me, it has been a slow, steady chipping away at my need for control.  I could never have dreamed that God would use one sweet baby boy to change me so much.  Yet, I know that every refining moment, no matter how difficult, is all a part of His plan.  It's all a part of His process of shaping me into the woman of God He wants me to be.

Today my house is fairly tidy.  Dinner is cooking in the crock pot, and the floor doesn't look like a muddy bear invaded.  But there are still dirty dishes in the sink.  There's still laundry waiting to be folded, a checkbook that needs to be balanced, and a toilet that needs a good scrubbing.  I couldn't imagine having free time to work outside of the home, or get busy on a sewing project.  I certainly don't have everything together, and I'm far from in control of my daily life.  And that's okay.     

Bridging the Divide

I’m sure you’ve all seen and experienced it.  That separation of churches (and within churches) of the generations.  On the one hand are the older folk, who’ve been in church forever.  Since they’ve been children, church has meant hymns and potlucks, choirs and Wednesday night services.  It’s the way it’s always been, and for the most part it works.

Then there’s the other group: the young people.  They prefer their music loud and their churches more edgy.  They question the basic “traditions” of the church, and the way things have “always been done”.  Instead of dresses and suits, they don their usual jeans and t-shirts to attend services on Sunday mornings.  In every way, they are so very different from the “older” crowd.  Because of this, we see many churches almost completely filled with one group or the other, but not both.  Those that mix the two seem to struggle with an almost constant tension over power and how things should be done. 

There’s nothing wrong with having a preference, or reaching out to one group of people or the other.  Yet sometimes I wonder if this segregation is really right.  Is this the way church is really supposed to be?

My husband and I are blessed to be a part of a multi-generational church.  The nursery is full, yet so is the senior choir on Tuesday mornings.  We sing both hymns and contemporary songs.  You’ll see some dressed in nice “church” dresses and some in holey jeans and messy buns.  Our pastor encourages this, and on more than one occasion has rebuked those that put their personal preferences above what God wants…a unified body of Christ.  I appreciate that and respect that more than you can know.


And yet, I still see the tension.  I see it on the strained faces of the seniors when the youth group leads worship with :gasp: a drum set.  I see it in the bored faces of the youth when we sing another hymn on Sunday morning. 

In some ways, it’s natural.  We all have preferences, and it’s easy to feel that our preferences are the right way when they are steeped in tradition.  More-and-more, though, I find myself questioning my own “preferences” and how they affect my view of the church.  I find that a lot of my own opinions are, at best, superficial and unfounded.  Many times, I wonder if I should not be learning about other’s preferences and embracing them just as I would my own. 

I’m not advocating subjectivism.  I firmly believe that truth is objective.  However, there are many things in the modern church that have nothing to do with truth, or what is right and wrong.  Take music worship, for example.  I know as well as anyone that this is an area of heated debate.  And yet, I cannot help but question that.  Some of people’s favorite hymns started out as drinking songs in bars, whereas I’ve seen contemporary worship songs literally bring people to their knees.  On the flip side, there are many contemporary songs that are unfounded in biblical truths, or flippant and best, whereas there are many hymns that speak the truth solidly.  What makes one style better than the other?  Does it not depend on the truth (or untruth) that they contain?  So why do we make it an area of contention, instead of joyfully embracing the good and true songs from every style? 

We waste a lot of energy and time on petty disputes which have no eternal significance.  Surely this must make God sad, to see His church divided so!  I know it makes me sad.

So what are we to do?  My dream is to one day see the body of Christ united across cultures, across generations, and across traditions.  I may not be able to do this all myself, or change how other people feel, think, or act.  However, I can do my own small part.  How many times do I, as a young wife, reach out to those older or younger than me?  How many times do I reach out to those from different cultures or backgrounds?  What about those in different economic classes?  The truth is, not often.  In my lack of doing anything, in my own lack of getting myself out of the “rut” of my preferences, I am only perpetuating the division that is so rampant and that so burdens my heart.

There are men and women working to change this.  I’ve seen them, and experienced their love across barriers…across preferences.  I see it every time our pastor preaches against holding fast to man-made traditions.  I see it every time the older women in the church spend countless hours and dollars to throw a wedding or baby shower for one of the younger women.  I see it every time Andy and I go to pay for our meal at a restaurant, only to find that one of the older couples (I say older, I mean middle-aged…just older than us) has already paid for us.  I see it every time a certain older woman in our church takes the time to rock babies in the nursery, even though her own have long been grown. 

I see it every time the youth joyfully serve lunch the the church.  I see it in how they faithfully thank those that have given time, money, and energy to help them go on a mission trip or to church camp.  I see it when our college students aren’t afraid to spend the day with older men and women.  I see it when the teenagers are quick to help at VBS.  I see it when my Andy serves on the finance committee, when every other member is almost twice his age (or more). 

You see, there is hope.  And yet, we have a long way to go. May it begin with me.  

Of Snake Bites and Adoration

Last week was a long week, to say the least.  Andy and I were both exhausted by the end of it.  So, we enjoyed a quiet dinner at the Mexican restaurant, then came home to watch a movie we had been wanting to see.  As you can imagine, our peaceful little evening didn’t last long. 

Out in the yard, one of the dogs yelped, and then both of them started barking incessantly.  I stuck my head out of the door, and it was quickly apparent that there was something on or under the back porch.  Thankfully, it was still light to see that much. 

Andy headed to get a rifle, thinking it might be a possum or something.  As it turned out, it was not a possum, or anything of the sort.  It was a lovely little copperhead, coiled up on our back porch.  The dogs were barking at it, but holding their ground.  Little Elsa, our fearless cat (who, by the way, is a very small little cat), was up right next to it batting it.  Apparently she wanted to show the dogs how it was done. 

Andy was afraid of hitting the dogs or the cat, so he went in got his old BB gun instead.  Thankfully, once he got out there, the dogs and cat decided to let him take care of it.  And so, take care of it he did. :)

Only thing was, it was soon obvious that all was not right with my little beagle, Sam.  She was acting very drowsy and lethargic, and Andy discovered fang marks right on her nose.  Poor girl, she probably didn’t know what hit her.

By now it was nine o’clock, and we had no idea what to do.  We tried to get a hold of someone who could get a hold of the vet, but to no avail.  Andy called an emergency vet clinic in Little Rock, who told him to bring the dog in quickly. 

“Um, ma’am, I really can’t do that.”


“Why not, Sir?”


“My wife is nine-months pregnant and Little Rock is over two hours away.”


In the back of my mind was the thought that I could quite easily go into labor right then, and here was poor little Sam with her snout swelling by the minute. 

My man is a persistent one, though, and he finally found out that he should squirt children’s Benadryl down her throat.  Since we had none, he drove into town to get some.  Then, when we finally did get a hold of the vet, Andy took Sam over to see him at 10 pm.

Thankfully, Sam is doing fine now.  You can’t even tell where she got bit, although she’s definitely a little slower than normal.  The funniest thing has happened, though.  She suddenly adores Andy. 


Now, don’t get me wrong, she always liked him before, but she was never really his dog.  Suddenly, when she sees him her tail starts wagging like crazy and she comes running up eager for a pat on the head.  Apparently he is now her hero.

It got me thinking about how much we are like little Sam.  Our heavenly Father has the ability all along to take care of us and do wondrous things for us, but rarely do we recognize and adore Him until He really does.  Yet, how many times is He working and we just don’t see it?  How many times are we missing out on His goodness and majesty, or forgetting to remember the wondrous things He’s done for us?

May it not take a snake bite on my nose for me to learn to love and worship Him as He deserves.

Pregnancy, Weakness, and Pride

The other day I was reading my journal from earlier in this pregnancy.  I laughed as I realized that, way back in January, I was working out in the yard right alongside Andy and hauling rocks.  I’d never be able to do that in my current state.  Right now, even carrying the laundry to the laundry room has become a chore.  I get tired more easily, the excessive heat wears me out like crazy, and I can’t seem to walk anywhere without waddling. 

Can I be honest with you?  This has been very hard for me. 

For some reason I had it in my head that I would be the pregnant woman who broke the mold.  I wouldn’t complain about things, I’d stay active, and I’d work right up until I gave birth to Baby B.  For the most part, that’s a goal I’ve kept.  I tried my very hardest to stay regular with working out, even if it was just 30 minutes on the elliptical.  I did everything I could do, wanting to avoid at all costs using the excuse that “I’m pregnant”.  When the older lady checking me out at Walmart said I shouldn’t lift the bag containing milk in it, I scoffed.  When someone said I needed to sit down for awhile, I smiled and said I was fine.  For the most part, I was.

And then came the past few weeks.  My body just started to slow.  I was tired more, and bending down to pick something up become quite the task.  When I was out working in my garden too long, I started having regular Braxton Hicks.  I had to stay hydrated and stay cool, or else a headache would creep in.  I needed to start slowing down with my body, but I had a hard time admitting it.

It wasn’t until the other day that I realized why it was so hard for me: it had to do with my pride.  I was so prideful about staying active and healthy, so prideful about what my body could do, that I couldn’t let myself slow down. 

I’ve always felt strong.  I’m not very consistent about exercising regularly, but I’ve never had a problem with weight.  I try my best to eat healthy.  I’ve always been able to do anything I put my mind to.  And you know what?  I liked it that way.

And then I suddenly found myself less than able.  I found that I couldn’t do everything I wanted to.  In my pride, I thought that I was becoming weak.  The reality is, however, that I am far from that.  My body is preparing itself for the big task of bringing a child into this world.  It’s slowing because it’s spending the last bit of energy to finish “baking” my little one, and saving up everything extra for birthing him. 

Yes, I may feel less able, and I may be able to do less.  But why fight it?  Why not embrace these last few weeks for all that they are, as I rest and prepare to meet my precious little baby? 

I’m reminded of a scene in Father of the Bride II, where the pregnant mother and daughter are both lying on the couch, late in their pregnancies.  They have the house so cold that the father has to wear a ski parka inside…even though there’s record heat outside.  He’s running back-and-forth like a chicken with its head cut off getting them food, fixing their pillows, and helping them stay comfortable. 

Up until a few weeks ago, I would have thought that scene was a tad ridiculous.  Now, it seems all to real.  And you know what?  That’s okay!  In truth, my only “weakness” is my pride.  These last few days, I’ve been learning to lay my pride aside and find my strength in God, for only in Him does true strength lies.

And so, I’m going to stop fighting my body and let it do the work it was created to do.  I’m going to enjoy these last few weeks of having my baby inside of me, instead of pushing myself so hard that I’m miserable.  After all, it’s only for a season. 

Puppy Kisses

I didn't get around to counting up my one thousand gifts yesterday.  I haven't gotten around to it a lot lately, sad to say.  Our life has just been so busy!  I keep thinking it will slow down, but it doesn't.

And then, if busyness wasn't enough, there's all the ruts and bumps that keep seeming to crop up on this road called life.  Things don't turn out as expected.  Unexpected bills keep cropping up.  A fellow Christian lets you down, and the wound cuts deep.  Sometimes it can even be as simple as your A/C going out in 90 degree weather...when you're 27 weeks pregnant and already sweating like a race horse.

It's so easy to get frustrated...so easy to let these things get me down.  But then I'm reminded of those little gifts...those things I've been "too busy" to count.

Like the sweet faces who are so happy to see me when I get home.  And who love to give me kisses...no matter what.

Or getting to ride down to the creek with my man in our awesome CJ 7 Jeep.

Or getting new pictures of the most beautiful little girls in the world.

Or watching the first hummingbird of the year light on my feeder.

Or watching my seeds sprout and grow.

Or getting to hold a sweet baby at church.

Or savoring a bright pink sunset ending a sunny day.

Oh, and there's this little guy...

  
...who kicks harder and stronger every day.  Whom I already love with a love so fierce I can hardly breathe sometimes.  Whom I would do anything for.

Despite all the bumps in the road, my life truly is blessed.  All I have to do is learn to look up from the road and see the beauty before my very eyes.

How’s Your February?

As I’ve mentioned before, last winter was a bleak one for me.  Not that my life was bleak…I was just severely missing the sun.  Before I knew it, I found myself in a depressive state.  Last February, I was right in the thick of it.  I remember one day in particular when I was waiting for my husband to finish work (where I’d been all day too, cramped in a windowless office that I hated).  The blacksmiths had long since gone home for the day, and I found myself running up and down the plant aisles, frustrated, tired, and with a splitting headache…just trying to feel better.


Thankfully, Spring came and I learned to combat my depression better.  All the same, I dreaded this winter…dreading the same thing happening.  I took precautionary measures, but I still feared slipping into that pit once again.

Now, here I am, with February almost over.  Yes, life is very different for me this year.  I’m no longer stuck in that windowless office all day, we have a house to call our own, and a sweet life grows within me.  To me, this winter has even seemed milder…with more sunny days.  But still, the grey days come.  The gloom makes me teeter on the edge of that precipice…dangerously close to falling in. 

One day last week I was feeling like that.  It had been grey and wet for several days.  That day, in fact, it had been pouring cold rain.  Mid-morning, however, the rain slacked and I took the opportunity to take Sam out for a walk…knowing I needed that time. 

At first, it didn’t seem to help.  I took them camera with me, hoping that capturing some of the beauty of the day would cast aside the gloom.  Instead, I became frustrated.  There were beautiful clouds rolling by, but somehow I couldn’t capture it.  I looked out at the hills, barren, grey, empty, and they became bleaker and bleaker in my eyes.  Lord, I prayed, show me the beauty.  And He did.


To my surprise, it wasn’t in the sky or on a far away hill.  Instead, it was right under my own nose.  You see, as my walking path descends into a valley, large rocks line the sides…rocks I rarely notice.  But today I did.  And on these rocks were beautiful mosses, in all different shades.  Water dripped from them slowly, deliberately, peacefully.

On my way back, I found a little rock with some moss on it.  I picked it up and took it home, guarding it carefully each step.  It now sits in a glass vase in my windowsill.  And each time I see it, I’m reminded of what He showed me: that the beauty in winter, the beauty of February, is found in the little things.  All too often, we miss them altogether. 

So, how’s my February?  Good, I’d say.  I’m delighting in the little things, like a hot bowl of chili, a good book, and a soft, cozy blanket.  I’m trying not to miss out on any of the antics of my pets, any time spent with my husband, or any excellent blog posts.  On those precious, sunny days, I set everything aside and go outside.  Spring is spreading her first warm fingers, but this year I don’t reach for her as my only hope.  I can’t wait for her to arrive, yes, but right now I’m delighting in the season I’m in.  I’m cherishing the moss on my rock…a gift from the Balm of Gilead.

How’s your February going?  Are the winter blues getting you down?

A Word To Single Girls On Valentine’s Day

Waiting.  We’re always waiting.  Waiting to graduate.  Waiting for summer.  Waiting for the “perfect” job.  Yet, no one knows about waiting more than a single girl on Valentine’s Day.

I remember how it was.  The ache deep in your soul…the longing to have your own special someone.  Many a Valentine’s Day I’d sit and mope, checking the mailbox for a Valentine that never came, looking longingly at the beautiful roses at the store. 

Now I am married.  I am no longer alone on Valentine’s Day.  Looking back, I see how I squandered the single days I had.

I married young, I’ll admit it.  That was simply God’s plan for me.  And yet, it pains me each time a single girl compares herself to me.  “When you were my age, you were already engaged”…”how old were you when you met Andy?”  Don’t you see the folly in comparing yourself to others?  God’s path for their life is NEVER His path for your own!


I look at my sweet sister, Hilary, a recent college graduate and, quite contently, single.  Yes, she longs for the day when she’ll meet “Mr. Right”.  She waits patiently for God to craft her love story.  But she doesn’t mope or feel sorry for herself.  Instead, she delights in this time.  She lives each single moment to the very fullest, following God wherever He leads.  Can anyone feel sorry for someone like that?

It’s true, you may never be “single and content”.  Sometimes it’s hard to trust that God has a plan and that He’s crafting your love story in His own timing and way.  And sometimes it’s hard to be happy on Valentine’s Day.  The real question is not “are you feeling blue?”, but “what are you doing with the time given to you?”.

My advice for a single girl on Valentine’s Day?  Seek out your First Love and His will for you, here-and-now, and do it with all that you are.  The more you do before you’re married, the more you’ll benefit your husband after.  Money, skills, knowledge, experiences…none of these are brought to a marriage in vain.  Look for ways to serve others, while you have so much free time.  Go to college, take an art class, get a job, start a home business…just do something. 

God did not intend for us to waste the years before we’re married.  He doesn’t want us to just sit around waiting for a man to come so “life will start”.  Stop answering the question “what are you called to be?” as “a wife and mother” when that’s not where God has put you right now! Yes, that may be where your heart longs to be eventually, but that’s obviously not how He wants to use you right now.

A girl who’s using all of her time and energies to the fullest has no time to mope or cry.  Yes, there may still be an ache in her heart, but she does not dwell on it.  Instead, she uses the time given to her to the fullest. For a true man of God, that kind is a very attractive thing.  


This Valentine’s Day, if you have no Valentine to love, don’t sit around feeling sorry for yourself.  Take the longing in your heart and turn it into something productive.  Show love to others.  Bake someone cookies or go visit people at an assisted living home.  The less you focus on yourself, the easier the ache will be. 

Love and marriage are very good things.  I am so incredibly thankful for the blessing of my husband.  Yes, it’s worth the wait.  Bless your future husband by delighting in the now.

Passion 2012

I know, it’s been almost a month, but I’m finally getting around to writing about Passion 2012 in Atlanta.  Not that it wasn’t amazing or exciting…I’ve just been busy!

A little over a year ago, my husband and I felt led to start working with the college ministry at our church.  Most of the college students in the class were kids that had grown up here and either stayed here to go to college, or left but came back for breaks.  Since neither of us grew up around here, we didn’t know the majority of them.  The big trip to Passion 2011, an amazing college conference in Atlanta, was coming up and we thought that it would be a great opportunity to get on board.  One of my sisters from Arizona was also signed up to go with us (no one she knew was going).

A couple of days before we left, however, Andy decided that, with work and all, he really couldn’t go.  So, I went with out him and took my sister.  It was an amazing four days, and learned a ton, but something was missing…Andy.  Not only was I lonely without him, it was just plain hard to take back what I had learned and share it with him in a way that would have had the same meaning had he gone himself!

A wonderful year passed, in which the college ministry was growing and we were loving working with the kids.  Passion 2012 came up and, this time, Andy got to go!  So, at the beginning of January we loaded up three vans and headed east. 

There are so many things I could share with you about our trip.  If you’re not familiar with Passion, it doesn’t have an equal.  It’s chock full of inspiring speakers, music, and encouragement to step up and make a difference in this world…despite only being a college student.  Not that adults can’t get anything out of it too…it’s just geared for 18-25 year olds.

The overarching theme this year was “Do Something Now”…an aspect they’ve always had but that took center stage this year.  Did you know that there are over 27 million slaves in the world today?  Yes, 27 million!  And guess what, before you dog on college students, they were able to raise almost 3 million dollars at Passion this year to free these slaves.  3 million dollars!!!


What hit me the most about Passion was not that, yeah, it’s awesome that all these college students got together to give money and praise Jesus, but the thought of what am I supposed to do about what I’m learning? 

Most Christians in America live in a bubble.  Somehow we think that if we’re going to church twice a week, paying tithe, and leading a Sunday school class that we’re somehow serving the Lord…somehow living how Jesus wants us to live.  But is that what it’s all about?

Sure, it’s great to serve in the church and, yes, many of us work hard for our “easy” lives full of nice houses and clothes.  But people are dying each moment and going to hell, and there are 27 million slaves in this world needing the hope of Jesus.  So what are we going to do about it?

For Andy and I, we left Passion examining our lives and our goals.  We felt like much of our own lives and what they about is a waste.  We have so many opportunities around us to reach out and spread Christ’s name.  And yet, do we?  And, compared to so many in the world, we have been incredibly financially blessed.  But do we covet things and call them “needs”, or do we use the money God has blessed us with for His kingdom?

Before Passion, I had been really wanting some new brown riding boots.  I’d been looking everywhere for a good pair, and I’d been saving up my money.  At Passion, it seemed like every girl around me was wearing brown riding boots.  And yet, here I was, without them.  But as Passion progressed, I suddenly realized how foolish my coveting of those boots was.  I started thinking about how much the money I would spend on those boots could benefit someone in need…could help free someone from slavery…could help bring somebody to Christ.  All of a sudden, those boots seemed very insignificant. 

There’s nothing wrong with looking nice and getting new things.  I, myself, am a firm believer in representing Christ by dressing nicely and with thought.  But how many things do we really need?  How much could we actually go without?


One of the speakers, Francis Chan, spoke about taking the Bible literally.  One day he was reading the Word and stumbled upon the parable of the feast.  He realized that that’s what God wants us to do…and so he did.  He and his wife found poor, destitute people and invited them to an incredible feast.  His wife took them shopping and bought them new clothes, and they were thoroughly pampered for the occasion.  Everything was planned to a “t”…a dinner party nicer than many of us have come to.  And what an incredible witness?  Isn’t this how God wants us to live?


Dare we live boldly for Christ and reexamine our very lives and what they revolve around?  All the answers are not found in the traditions of the church.  They’re found solely in God’s Word. 

Just a little food for thought.   

Wet Toes

It’s 5:30 on Friday night.  Andy is later getting home than he usually is, trying to wrap up everything for the weekend. 

He ate a very late lunch at a work meeting, so I’m not starting dinner yet.  There’s no telling when he’ll be hungry.  Instead, I sit at my kitchen table, sipping a cup of hot chocolate and gazing out the window.  Gazing at the mist.

It’s been foggy all day.  When I woke up this morning, I looked out our bathroom window to the field beyond and watched a cloud of mystery descend from the mountain.  We never had days like this in Arizona.  No rain, no snow…just cold.  And everything is wet.  It’s the kind of day that could seep to your bones, making your eyes droop and body sag.  Winter in Arkansas.


Three times today I went out in our yard, training our dog with the new wireless fence.  Part of me wanted to just stay inside, but I knew the training was crucial.  So I pulled on my hat, my scarf, and my gloves, and trudged out to get Sam.  Since moving to Arkansas, I’ve acquired thick rain boots.  They would have been perfect for a day like this.  But, not wanting to take any extra time, I left on my brown cloth ones that I wore to work and ventured out.  I found myself involuntarily looking down, letting the grey day direct my emotions.  But something caused me to stop.  The toes of my boots were wet.


Instantly I was transported to a different time and place.  Can it really be four years ago now?  Can it be that long ago that my friend and I went to England in the dead of winter, traipsing all over the countryside in our cloth boots?  My toes had been wet then too.


But somehow, back then, it didn’t matter.  It was thrilling to experience the newness of grey days and mist, of walking in the rain.  The locals thought we were crazy roaming around in it…without any “wellies” even.  But we loved it.  It was so new, so different.

And with my wet toes came a turning point in my life.  A time when, sitting beneath a giant tree in sheep field, I decided to stop trying to live my life by my strength and instead let Christ live in me.  I decided to let me die and He live.  My life has never been the same.


In one instance, everything was brought into perspective.  The meaning of my day-to-day doings, even the trivial task of training little Sam in the fog, meant everything.  They meant letting Him live in me, giving up all that I am, was, and ever hope to be for the sake of His will, His path, and His leading.  Nothing He sets before us is trivial in His eyes.  It’s all a part of His plan to bring glory to His name.  Each little task, even cooking dinner or training a dog, when done at His leading, becomes a puzzle piece to His grand design.  Oh, how much I miss out on each day.  How I needed that reminder!

And to think, it was all because of some wet toes.

Bare Trees and Seasons

Another typical day.  Another day of working hard, each moment consumed by some “important” task.  But on this day, I take a moment to look up around me.  I am startled to realize that some of the trees are already bare.

Suddenly I realize that Fall is slipping away all too quickly.  In the midst of my busyness, I’ve forgotten to savor each magical moment…each enchanting leaf.  I’ve yet to make a pumpkin pie.  I’ve yet to savor a hot cup of cider.  I missed the way the maple tree turned from green to yellow to red.  And I forgot to watch the leaves falling softly to the ground.

I feel in a panic.  “Wait!” I want to shout, “Come back!”

But they can’t come back, all those times I’ve missed…all the opportunities I wasted to delight in glorious Autumn.

Like a soldier marching on, time does not stop or waver.  It does not hear my mournful cries.  It just keeps pressing on.  On to another season, and another time.

And as I watch Fall march away, I realize something very sad: that in the midst of tackling my to-dos and tasks, I completely missed a season that I can never again get back. 

And so, with eyes wide open, I step into a new season, a new time—this time determined to not let those precious moments slip away…those simple, little gifts. 

Lord, may I never be so busy with life and living that I forget to stop and delight in the gifts of the season I am in.  May I not let these seasons of life slip away like Fall…never to get back again.   

An Overwhelming Sadness

I was raised in Arizona, a land teeming with sunlight and wide open spaces.  It would rain or snow, and then the sun would come out as piercing as ever.  The sky was always the brightest blue you’ve ever seen.  It never was grey.

Here in Arkansas, the winter is a dreary time.  The sky is always filled with clouds, mostly without snow or rain.  The trees are bare, everything is brown, and the sun rarely makes an appearance. 

And it’s cold.  Not as cold as it was in Flagstaff, but somehow it feels colder.  The cold here is wet.  It seeps to your very bones. 

This year, January was grey outside.  And it was grey within me.

All last fall I had student taught in a wonderful second grade classroom.  I was tired and drained, but I loved the kids.  I loved the teachers.  I loved teaching.

The plan was to graduate, get a job subbing, and then, Lord willing, an actual teaching job.  When I finished in December, my husband asked me if I would consider working at the ironworks.  They had recently had some people leave, and really needed help for a time.

Maybe this is my calling, I thought.  After all…won’t I be helping my husband?


All throughout January I worked in a small cave of an office, with hardly any light.  The little light that came in was the grey January light.  When at home, I would sit and stare out the window…aching for spring. 

I found myself wishing, praying that I would get pregnant.  Then I wouldn’t have to work at all!  I’d get to stay at home and do all of the things I loved to do…baking, sewing, homemaking.  Then I would be happy.


I am so thankful that the Lord didn’t grant that prayer then.  A child is not the way out of a pit.  My solution would have only made things worth. 

What I was failing to see was that my unhappiness was not related to my circumstances.  I had done all the homemaking things I loved while student teaching.  What I lacked now was the energy and the motivation. 

My husband was so good to me, and life was wonderfully blessed.  But despite it all I was sad and down.  I felt like my life lacked meaning.  I was lost and bitter and unhappy. I was depressed.


I was ashamed to admit it even to myself, but once I did I was able to take steps to beat it.  I began to make getting out in the sun purposeful and started taking Vitamin D.  I exercised and tried to eat better.  I started working less at the ironworks and staying home more.  I started blogging.  I planned our garden and planted seeds.  I started being purposeful in delighting in my husband and the Lord’s many blessings.  Most of all, I asked Him to come in and renew my heart…to cleanse me and make me new. I asked Him to give me joy again.


And He did.  The spring came and life returned…both to the trees and within me. 

Sometimes we feel down, depressed, or discouraged.  It can be a horrible, shameful, and lonely time.  You feel like you have no right to be down or depressed, and yet you are. 

Just know, you’re not alone. 


The spring will come.  Life will return.  For there is a Balm in Gilead.

Helpmeet First

Can I be honest and candid with you?  I’ve been trying to write this blog entry for months and months, but I’ve come to realize that I can’t without truly sharing my heart with you. 

The issue of “family planning” can be very controversial, and that’s why I’ve been so reluctant to be completely open about where Andy and I stand.  As many of you know, we’ve been married over a year now.  So, you must come to the conclusion that either, a) we don’t want children yet and have been purposefully trying not to, or, b) we’ve been trying to have children, but haven’t been able to.  The truth is that we have been trying not to have children yet, in order to better prepare for them.

Now, I’m not against having children right after you’re married.  I myself was born only 11 months after my parents got married.  However, when Andy and I got married, we felt that we really were not ready to have children right off the bat.  For one, I was student teaching in the fall and Andy was taking classes at the community college.  Secondly, while Andy has a good steady job, we didn’t feel quite ready yet to take on the financial stress of a baby.  Only after we’ve been married this long have I come to realize that there’s another very good reason for not rushing into having children. 

Everywhere I look, I see mothers whose lives revolve around their children.  They are their number one priorities.  But you know what I also see?  Husbands who are suffering from neglect and being pushed aside by the children.

Ladies, your number one ministry in life is not your children.  I know that may be a real shock to your system, but it’s true.  When you said “I do”, your number one priority and ministry should have become your husband.  You are his helpmeet, his right-hand woman, his necessary piece.  All to often, however, I see women flipping that priority the wrong way.

When you are seeking what the Lord’s will for your life is, it should center around this idea of being your husband’s helpmeet.  Helpmeets come in all shapes and forms, depending on what the Lord has in store for a wife and her husband.  One woman may be the best helpmeet to her husband by working outside of the home in order to support him through school, or help the family save up enough to buy a house or have a baby.  Another woman may be the best helpmeet to her man by working in his business with him.  Still another may be the best by staying home and taking care of the house, working from home and at home.  The word helpmeet does not necessarily include children.


Now, before you think I’m advocating not having children, then think again.  Andy and I want a gaggle of children running around this house before too long.  And I admit that there are days that I see a baby and just ache to have one of my own.  But still, I wait.  Why?  Because my husband doesn’t feel properly prepared yet.  He wanted to have a home of our own first, and now we do, but now we’ve got to fix up this home.  We really couldn’t be doing the remodeling we are doing with a baby around.  And I’m on board with that.

Furthermore, in our 14 months of marriage, I’ve come to realize how essential a good, healthy marriage is before you have children.  If I had gotten pregnant right away, Andy and I would have missed some of the sweetest times of growth together.  We’d have a 6 month old right now, and even before the baby came would be morning sickness and expensive doctor’s bills among other things.  Babies are a blessing, but they’re hard work!  If you don’t have a solid foundation to your marriage, then having a baby will only make things worse.  I am so thankful for the times that Andy and I have had together, as just the two of us.  We’ve been able to travel and do things that we’d never have been able to do with a baby in a stroller.  And we’ve also been able to save up some money for when a baby does come.  Had we gotten pregnant during the time since we got married, we would have accepted it as the Lord’s will and joyfully welcomed a baby, but we haven’t, and I know that that has been the Lord’s will as well.

So, ladies, kiss that precious little one, but don’t forget to kiss your husband also.  Put him first.  I promise you that if you do, your children will be just fine.  Much more so than they would be with parents who have a strained relationship.  Be a mother, but be a helpmeet first.