The days are long but the years are short. Evvvvvveryone who has kids has heard that line on repeat from everyone with grown kids.  And as one who has lived through…and some days just survived…many a long and neverending day, I can tell you the years are not short.  They are blinks of an eye, feathers in the wind, flashes in the pan and some seem plain invisible. But short? Nope short is too long.  

For the first time in quite some time I’ve got my three chickens spread in three literal places and phases.  My co-captain cheerleading caboose will be at her elementary school all by herself for the first time. My timid, never EVER did I think she’d be ready for high school middle is in fact starting high school.  And my oldest, the one who made me a momma, is big-city, career- girl-bossing 142 miles away. And just like every momma says when they hit a new stage, I think how did we get here so fast? 

There are many moms who have written about “the lasts”. It pops up all over the socials. You never know when it’s the last time you rock them to sleep, tuck them in or tie their shoes until the last time has long passed. I wonder why God does that. I wonder why He doesn’t just tap us on the shoulder and say “hey….rock her a little longer tonight.” I wonder why it is His design for us to always look back and think how did we get here so fast?

Just last week while I sat in my beach chair for four straight days- and by sat I mean sat- I watched. When you go to the beach and sit in the same spot for four days you develop your little section of real estate and you get to know your neighbors.  The Texan family to our west raises greyhounds and he just can’t drink whiskey anymore. They flew down to the beach– I mean if I’m getting on a plane to visit a beach it’s not going to be Perdido Key, Florida– but you do you. To our east was Angry Mom of two boys whose husband doesn’t help with anything and he stayed in the water the whole time while her two sons- maybe 12 and 15 with two large diamond stud earrings in both ears mouthed off to her. We didn’t really ask where they were from but something tells me Kentucky. Our relationship with them was more of a “if you even make eye contact with my almost 12 and almost 15 year old daughters you will find those earrings in a place that not even the good Lord could remove from you.” But to our south we had this sweet little family from southern Mississippi. From a little town we would pass through on our way to and from Ole Miss so we basically already knew them. Mom, Dad and 22 month old little Josie with her pigtails and blue painted toes. I watched them in the water, out of the water, get a snack, drop the snack in the sand, dig in the ice chest, run to the tent next door, run back and all mom wanted to do was sit in her chair for a few minutes. Watching it all from my chair. I could see it all over mom’s face how badly she wanted just a few minutes in my chair. What she doesn’t know though is that she will blink and when she looks up from her chair little Josie will be starting 7th grade or high school or girl bossing.  And she’ll think how did we get here so fast?

I could solve the world’s problems from that chair. In those four days I planned a birthday party, a first day of school breakfast, half of a gala, a sleepover, the month of August (IYKYK) and all of 2026 (now known as the Celebration of Queenie’s 50th Year of Life…but I digress). I could do all of that because…well…I blinked. I was chasing 22 month old #1 through the sand wishing for five minutes in the chair and when I looked up there was no one left to chase. Instead one was in her office rollie chair three states away, one was scrolling SnapChat in her own beach chair and one was thinking of new ways to convince me to let her get SnapChat, also from her beach chair.  How did we get here so fast?

I heard a homily Sunday about distractions.  And stories of people who check their emails and delete them accordingly and those of us with 806 unread messages and trust me we do not care. We are also those people who at any given time have 15 open tabs at the top of our screen. But the heart of it was the 15 open tabs in our brains, calendars and conversations. I feel like he was speaking only to the moms though because God bless the dads but come on, 15 things at once?  We know that dads were designed to be point A to point B, list in hand and three phone calls to wife before getting it done. So God blessed moms with heads on a swivel, eyes on all sides, octopus arms, the gift of time travel- we all know we pass ourselves on the road some afternoons, a heart big enough to hold all of the hurts from breakups to not making the team to dead dogs to a missing Barbie shoe with room leftover to hold all of the joys from he’s the one to making the team to I qualified for an honors class (one!) to Lulu has the white tennis skirt in my size back in stock.  All in a day for all of the days.  And some days we do it well.  And some days we end the day crying into our tomato basil soup in a corner booth at Panera Bread, some days we throw My Little Pony out the window of the moving car (RIP Pinkie Pie) and some days we eat a can of icing locked in our closet. But all 15 things got done didn’t they?  Or was it 1500?  Maybe that’s how we never know how we got there so fast. We were too busy to notice.  

Mom Life runs August to May. It’s constant but ever changing (case in point- TeamSnap). It’s papers to sign, checks to write, uniforms to wash, snacks to pack, ATM runs for the concession stand, volunteering to do, appointments to fit in, practices to get to, games to watch, field trips to attend, saints to dress like, paper turkeys to disguise, midterms to buy note cards for, grinch days to plan, secret santas to surprise, gift collections to organize, valentines to fold, resurrection eggs to fill, Art walks to walk, banquets to sit through, awards to witness, tassels to flip…then we have another year grown and gone.  And we still don’t know how we got here so fast.  

But then June and July. Many moms have written about how we supposedly only get 18 summers with our kids. I don’t know who ya’ll are raising but I have just wrapped up summer Number 23. If there is a summer coming that I don’t have them all with me, toes to toes, circled in the sand at least for one solitary week then I don’t want to know about it. Same thing with Christmas morning. If the day comes that all three do not wake up under my roof on December 25, ya’ll better check on me. But in summer it all makes sense.  I can sit in that chair and process where we’ve been and where we’re going because…well…Mom Life runs August to May. 

I have a nine year gap between my first and my middle. It’s a gap I didn’t choose but was chosen for me. And the gap life is hard. Sometimes it’s almost like two families that are the same family. The gap has put me in all the stages of parenting all at the same time and ya’ll I’m tired. Girl Mom Life is no joke and when their needs are life stages apart, ya’ll I’m tired. Because let’s be real. In my caboose’s class, I am the old mom. I’ve envied those who don’t live the gap life because it just looks so much more fun. But what I learned in the four days in my chair was I have a view they don’t get. I get the perspective that they don’t get to get until they’re done with the raising. Just as soon as I think how did we get here so fast I get to do that stage all over again. It’s like my very own little Groundhog’s Day movie. Maybe I do it the same because that #1 turned out pretty damn good. Maybe I do it better. Maybe I say screw it.  Because again, ya’ll I’m tired.  

Mom Life restarts in the morning. So on this Back to School Eve, prayers go up for perspective and purpose- even if that purpose is to just get through to May. Because June and July y’all. And to the mom who just emptied her nest, don’t forget about us while you wait for us on the other side. We’ll get there when we get there but hopefully we don’t get there so fast. 

All of that from four days in my chair. But to tell you the truth, maybe it wasn’t my chair after all. (IYKYK). 

The song Mary, Did You Know has always cut me deep. As a mom who also had to send her only boy on to Heaven before me, it just resonates.  When the angel appeared and told her what her destiny would be, what did she know?  There is no indication that she hesitated to say “yes”, so did she just agree with blind faith? We know that Mary is fully human so even in her state of grace, if Gabriel had given her a glimpse into her future, surely her humanity would have caused her to pause and scratch her head, right?  The bible tells us twice that Mary “pondered things in her heart” but it doesn’t tell us that she knew. So she must not have known.

Besides all the big stuff- Jesus’ childhood, ministry and ultimate death and resurrection…what did she know that night in Bethlehem?  Is there any bigger contradiction in this world to that “silent night” in the manger than modern day Christmas?  Did Mary gaze at her baby in his swaddling clothes and think of what his birthday would look like 2000 years later?  If she had an inkling, did she giggle at our stupidity?  Did she roll her eyes at our excessiveness?  Did she cry at our exasperation trying to just “get it all done?” 

Did she foresee the years of tinsel icicles that morphed into bright colored mesh that transitioned into velvet ribbon bows that now grace our trees?  Did she see the felt stockings that got swapped out for Pottery Barn into the Bauble needlepoint stockings that are all the rage today? (on my bucket list by the way and if we ever hit it big I’ll never say so….but there will be signs…needlepoint Bauble stockings on my mantle will be a sign), but I digress…

What was her journey to Bethlehem, her Advent like? What did she learn, grow from, accept and anticipate while waiting for her Christmas?  Did she weep knowing how impatient we would become, forgetting the art of waiting?  Was her heart sad, does it still get sad watching us hurriedly decorate school lobbies full of secular holiday crap instead of teaching the kids who are walking through that lobby of what it means to wait, to get a little closer each day, to anticipate? Is she heartbroken that once again we missed an opportunity to teach our most teachable what we are waiting for?  Why is that?  Why is it that the churches aren’t decorated yet?  Their halls don’t get decked until He is born?  Why can’t the school that is designed to teach what the church teaches wait too?  Do we think that a few antsy individuals know church doctrine and sacred tradition better than our religious leaders and better than the Bible?  

So what did Mary know?  I hope she didn’t know all of that.  She couldn’t have.  So if even Mary didn’t know what her life would look like, why do we think we get to know?  

Several months ago someone sent me a snippet of a video from a family wedding in 1997.  We were taking an extended family pic with the bride and groom. In that clip we can see 16 of us with two more who were just out of the camera angle.  And it kind of sucked the oxygen from me for a few minutes.  And every time that I have watched it since.  Of the 18, five are dead…four of them who should still be here today. And as the camera panned and I caught my 21-year-old self, I looked at her and wondered, what would she have done if she had known?  

What would that 21 year girl do differently if she had known that within three years she would be married herself, one year later be a mom and four years after that she would be burying her second born and then be sent into battle for the rest of life learning to balance grief and joy, guilt and acceptance, doubt and faith, not now and finally.  What would she have said if God had shown her?  Her humanity would have said nope.  Not taking that option. Can I see what’s behind door 2 please?  

So we don’t get to know.  Because we would never say yes.  

The flip side of that script though is we don’t get to know anything.  When we are waiting and hoping for a thing, anything, He has got his own nope. He is like listen…if I told you the bad then you would never say yes to me but if I showed you the good coming then you would never say no to the world.  And saying yes to Him means saying no to the world, over and over.  And we don’t do that very well. We don’t say no because we don’t know how to wait. 

For the past 23 Christmases I have had a Santa believer under my roof. This Christmas, the 24th, I do not.  Oh I am still pretending and lying but she has figured it out and she is trying so hard to catch me.  But sadly, that season is over for this family.  My kids know and have always known the real reason for the season.  BE-LIEV-E me, it is etched into their innermost beings what we are really celebrating. But our 25th Christmas and beyond will look much different.  Oh my wise Soul Sista friend swears to me that life is so good on the other side but I don’t know if I believe her. Because the other side holds a lot more grown-up kid stuff that I do know about. God did not have to tell me that one day none of them would “believe” anymore.  I knew that one day would come and now one day is today.  

Aren’t we are all on a perpetual journey to Bethlehem? Waiting and anticipating for what is to come.  We grieve for what we’ve lost and find joy in what comes in its place.  We walk through the guilt of what we would have differently and accept that we can’t go back. We doubt if better days are coming but find our faith redeemed when they do.  We learn that not now does not mean no and finally is always better. 

May your Christmas be full but not exactly how you pictured it to be. May you ponder and store up in your heart all the things just like Mary did.  And wait with anticipation until He tells you what He wants you to know.

Merry Christmas 2024

“I’m not going to the beach this year…..” is what I said as my soul sista laughed her a$$ off at my bold proclamation.  I mean there is just way too much month left at the end of the money these days.  Eggs are $6 a dozen. And there’s tuition x 3 and all the other costs of keeping my middle school girls alive and my college girl in the lifestyle she has become accustomed to.  Hashtag Hotty Toddy (IYKYK). Lest I forget the Bahama vacation that morphed into the A/C replacement.  So this summer we will just lay low and do less.  We will spend less. We will be beach less. And she laughed.  Because she, like me, subscribes to the Take-the-Trip philosophy of parenting.  So I moaned and mourned for weeks about no trip this summer.  According to some mom blogger we only get 18 summers with our kids.  I just won’t have pictures of my kids’ sandy toes from Summer 12 and 10.  It’s fine. I’m fine. In my best Ross Gellar impression from the margarita fajita episode, I’m totally fine. I was not fine. I got back from the beach today. 

I don’t know why my soul needs the beach.  I don’t know why I need to see wave upon wave come in and go back out.  Roll, crash, wipe away.  Repeat.  Maybe it’s the blank slate that every wave leaves.  No matter what masterpiece or unsightly trash lies in its path, the wave levels it and makes the space new again. Does my soul need the beach to remind me that every masterpiece I’ve created or unsightly sin I’ve committed is at the mercy of the one who commands the waves? *cough cough*  I seriously doubt it. I am shallow.  I like to sit, read, sip, tan and judge….I mean watch.  But there is something in that water.  

And it might not just be the beach.  Day one of Summer 12 and 10 started on a dock of a lake with friends and a lot of kids. Three mornings and three nights sipping and sitting.  From coffee to whiskey.  No waves and no sand.  But plenty of stories and laughs and the start of a tradition.  There was something in that water.  

We go on vacation seeking water from ocean to lake to river to the hotel pool.  We dream of owning a lake house, beach house or boat. There is something about water. 

I’m working my way through a devotional on the Gospel of Luke and one passage included commentary on the power and significance of water in the Bible. Tertullian, an early Christian author said, “How privileged is water in the sight of God and of his Christ, that it should so bring out the meaning of Baptism!” He goes on to explain how Jesus was baptized in the River Jordan, his first public miracle was changing the water to wine at Cana, he calls upon believers to drink his eternal water, he speaks of charity and giving a cup of water to a neighbor, he calmed the seas, he walked on water, he met the woman at the water well, he washed the feet of the apostles with water, Pilate washed his hands with water before sentencing Jesus to death and at the crucifixion, water from flowed Jesus’ side when pierced.  There is something about water. 

Last week I sat in church watching a little family struggle to make it through the 50 minute mass.  Two little girls in big bows and smocked florals.  I watched mom and dad struggle to make them sit and shush to no avail.  And as I watched them I wanted to ask “Do you know?  Do you know that yesterday I sat in your pew shushing my own little girls in their big bows and smocked florals and tomorrow you will sit in my pew wondering how you got there?” You don’t know because I sure didn’t. There must be something in the water.

I’m in the so-called sweet spot season of parenting.  Again, there is this other mom blogger, who told us that we hit the “sweet spot” when our kids are a little independent but not all the way independent.  (Do they ever really get independent though? I know I’m not.)  But I digress….mine are 12 and 10 and I guess this is the sweet spot but it doesn’t feel very sweet.  Because I’ve also got one who’s just about all grown, she has already flown, and so I know how fast the time gets blown.  This sweet spot feels more like a bitter pill (that I guess I have to swallow with water)…that reminds me that time is a thief.  The minutes and hours that turned ever so slowly from the 5:00pm witching hour to the 8:00pm bedtime have turned into the years that won’t stop coming. I’m grateful to be past the beach days that included swim diapers and puddle jumpers but sad that before long their little cheeks hanging out of their bottoms won’t be so cute anymore. The calendar pages flip with a vengeance.  I’d have better luck trying to stop the waves than stop the clock. 

I told my people these 10 days were our Re-days. Recharge. Rejuvenate. Recoup. They are our Nothing Days. If you are bored then I have done my job. When you vacation on the gulf coast you never know what water you’re gonna get…day to day and sometimes hour to hour. But for 10 days God delivered. It was like He said “Oh child I see you. When I gave Kenny Chesney the words to his song “The Woman With You” I had you, Kelly Erin, in mind. I see you gophering and chauffeuring … .juggling and struggling the other 355 days of the year so this clear emerald water is for you my child.”  (Nobody ever said that song wasn’t written for me.) And all the other people on our little stretch of sand for the past 10 days enjoying the beautiful water God sent me, you’re welcome.  Our fall is coming in HOT 6 days after we get back and we are not ready. We’re still sitting in the dust that May left us in. But there was something in that water and God knew I needed it first.  

My girls and I spent the last few days of our beach days and the last days of Summer 12 and 10 with our friends, theirs and mine, floating and sipping. Watching and laughing. Toasting and crying. Remember when’ing and can you believing. Bracing for the days that are coming in hot with both dread and excitement. And starting the countdown til we sit there again for Summer 13 and 11…. with a heart full of grateful for whatever was in that water.

I hit my knees in mass one morning with a plea.  Well maybe a strong wish.  Okay a demand.  I got on my knees, looked at the cross and said Je-SUS… fix this and fix this quickly. When you’ve got girls, and I’ve got three of them, there is always something that needs fixing.  A tub drain, a tire, a phone, a flat iron, a curling iron, a curling wand, a stain, a front bumper, a back bumper….a heart.  I said Je-SUS, I don’t wanna do these next couple of years with my middle.  I don’t want to navigate the friends/not friends/back to friends and the tryouts and the study struggle and black heads and the tears for no reason (hers and mine).  I don’t wanna do it.  I can’t do it.  I’m not cut out for it.  Okay Je-SUS, I’m not made to be a girl mom and I’m sorry if you think that after 21 years of being a girl mom that you think I can do this but you’re wrong….Je-SUS.

I am in the middle stage of parenting. I am rounding third with my oldest….only three more semesters of out of state tuition and overpriced rent and ridiculous Kroger credit card charges til she’s an all grown up engineer and I am off the clock.  Nevermind the fact that as 46 year old all grown up people ourselves, my husband and I have to ask my daddy how to light the fireplace every winter and I had to ask my momma what to do because my driver’s license expired.  I’m on second base with my middle.  I know what’s coming because I’ve done it already and that’s how I know I’m not up for it again.  But I know where we’ve been and I don’t want to go back there either…or maybe I do? I could do Kindergarten again, maybe even 2nd grade. But I digress…And I’m on first base with that caboose of mine.  Although I’m pretty sure that one could raise all of us.  I don’t believe in reincarnation but that one has been here before. So my head is on a swivel constantly covering all the bases of momhood, all the time and all at the same time.  

This new song by Jordan Davis “Next Thing You Know” is kind of ruining my life.  One minute he’s in a bar meeting a girl then the next thing he knows he’s got grandkids in the yard that he’s teaching to fish.  And as I hear every word I remember every time I blinked into my own next thing and my heart hurts wishing I could stop the blinking because I’ve got my own girl who’s met a boy, not sure if he’s “the boy” but he’s a good boy and so the next thing I know she’ll be the star of this stupid song and the next thing I know the other two will be the stars of this stupid song and the next thing I know I’m the one in the yard with the grandkids wondering how, why, when and was it enough? So I look to my left and see my own boy from the bar and I look to my right and I see the yard.  And right now I’m in the middle of the stupid song.  The stupid song that I play on repeat on Spotify.  

I have no doubt there is a whole theory in psychology on what Middle Child Syndrome is and why it’s even a thing.  But as most of us moms are basically also doctors without the prescription pads (I mean…can we make that a thing?  Give moms their own Rx pad. Can you imagine the convenience?  With reasonable drug writing powers– antibiotic**but never Augmentin**, phenergan, the pink eye drops, bactroban, and albuterol– that would be the dream).  But I digress…. So as one of those moms I can tell you why middle child syndrome is a thing. Because we don’t focus on the middle.  We’re always just trying to survive the middle.  The middle of anything. It’s oh we’re pregnant, it’s so magical and this child of mine will cure cancer then the next thing we know it’s omg I can’t believe this is my last baby, my last crib, my last booknic, my last tuition check.  And then we had all this stuff in the middle right after two pink lines and right before the last mother of the bride dress (which I will rock all of them by the way).  But what happened in the middle? 

Everything happened in the middle.  Everything happens in the middle.

As Christians, our two biggest days are Christmas and Easter. I mean we really shine on these two days.  Standing room only.  Everybody comes out in their finest linens (or velvets) and we–bring–IT.  The seasons leading up to these days have their own titles– Advent and Lent– when we spend weeks getting ready to celebrate each.  Jesus was born. Jesus died and rose. Trumpets, parties and gifts.  But all the time in between, is called ordinary.  Seriously, as Catholics that is what the middle is called– Ordinary Time.  You know when the churches are not full?  Ordinary Time.  You know what stories and traditions and scripture readings are hard to remember?  The ones between Luke 1:28 when the angel appeared to Mary and John 20:16 when Jesus appeared to Mary Magdalene at the tomb.  How often do we celebrate the stories in the middle?

It’s like a road trip. Every family starts off on a road trip with such ambition…the games, the snacks, the charged electronics.  And it ends with either vacation or home.  Either way we’ve arrived.  But the middle? That’s where we find out what we’re made of.  That’s where we find out how much we value those vows and does anyone actually sell their kids to the gypsies?  Where does one find a gypsy?  Is there a Waze notification for that? Disclaimer: My parents used to always threaten to sell us to the gypsies.  Not sure I ever really believed they would…til about mile 208 on that 754 mile trip to Disney.  Circa 2016.  I think I mighta-coulda-woulda…but they didn’t have Waze then. 

I sat in my longtime counselor’s office the other day…(when I say longtime, I mean longtime. She confirmed that I am most definitely her longest running client.  I wear it as a badge of honor. I have earned it). But I digress… God made a way in the literal middle of December for me to sit on her couch. I hadn’t been there in over a year. I’m surviving on coffee, shredded cheese and loaded tea in between hand stitching side hems, school meetings and Amazon and Etsy ordering and Target pickups. God decided I needed a tune up I guess. That’s the thing about trauma.  Or so I’m told.  Just when you think it’s all resolved and all the boxes are checked, then the page gets flipped and oh wow we’re gonna deal with THIS chapter now. And you’re right back in the middle of the thing.  The thing that most people think isn’t really a thing for you anymore. The thing that sometimes even you think isn’t a thing anymore. Til you sit on her couch in the middle of December and your brain takes you back to the thing.  And you say it’s never going to go away is it?  No it’s not.  Because it is the thing. It’s the thing that has determined all of the other things–your faith walk, your parenting style, your approach to friendships, your marriage, your world view….your Christmas.

Every Christmas Eve I sit in a pew with my four people and I always wonder what will this life look like next Christmas Eve when we sit in this pew. I’ve been doing that ever since there was just one other person in the pew. When you’re a mom, getting to that pew on Christmas Eve is your biggest accomplishment of the year.  #IYKYK. And moms know.  But it’s from Christmas Eve to Christmas Eve that more happens. Everything happens.  And it’s because of everything that happens in the middle of those two days that we do everything we do until we get to that pew.  How many more Christmas Eves until she is in another pew, in another church (y’all better check on me when that day comes)? How many more Christmas Eves will we drive across town to drive back a few hours later to put cookies out?  How many more Christmas Eves will they all go to sleep under one roof–this roof? When you’ve got a thing–the thing–that apparently never goes away, you know.  You know that you don’t know how many.

Today I sit in the eye of the storm.  Can’t call it the calm before the storm because this Christmas storm has been raging for weeks.  But today is the eye–where all is calm and all is bright (and in south central Louisiana, all is cold)–where nothing is happening.  I look to my left and see the shopping, mailing, lists, cards, traffic, planning, decorating, flocking, and more lists and even more traffic.  I look to my right and see the cooking, dressing up, exchanging, visiting, more cooking, dish washing, more exchanging, picture taking beautiful chaos.  

Today I am in the middle of it all.  Where surprisingly nothing is happening but everything is happening all at the same time.  Because the next thing I know I will only be able to look to the left and wonder if it was enough.  I hope so.  I pray so.  

Merry Christmas.

When did we get so divided?  Was it always like this and I never noticed?  I remember winning an essay contest in junior high where I wrote about what America means to me. I made the local paper.  They took my picture.  I got a $100 check.  I had arrived…until someone wrote a letter to the editor criticizing my 12 year old self and my “white roses and pink elephant” version of America.  So I prepared my rebuttal complete with a request to meet and debate this person, no doubt decades older than me.  And my parents said “Yeahhhh we’re not gonna do that.”  Were we this divided even back then?  

White, black.  Democrat, Republican.  Vaccinated, Unvaccinated.  Trump really won, Biden is really president.  Mask, unmask.  Spend, save.  Stand, kneel.  Prayer, moment of silence. Mandate, choice. Speak up, stand down. The Great Awakening, the Great Reset.  The cross, the empty tomb.   

John 10 tells us that the enemy comes only to steal, kill and destroy. Only. Not one of his tasks to check off of his to do list.  His only task, his only purpose.  He only comes to steal our joy, only to kill our peace and only to destroy our worth. He walks into every room with nothing but a post-it note: steal, kill, destroy.  Then he walks into the next room.  Same post-it note.  

Only…he doesn’t waltz in wearing horns and breathing fire. If that dude walked in my house, I would be the mightiest halo-wearing, psalm-reciting, holy water-throwing, tambourine-shaking Jesus loving girl that the world ever did see.  I don’t know how to speak in tongues, never met anyone who could speak in tongues but I’m pretty sure I could figure it out that day.  Get behind me Satan.  Not today Satan.  Begone Satan…all in tongues.  

But that’s not who shows up.  

Instead, he comes into our schools and tells us to separate the Word from everything else.  And we let him.  We believe him that removing Bibles, crosses, statues, commandments and folded hands from our schools won’t steal generations of innocence, it won’t kill the forming faith of most and it won’t destroy the future.  Only he didn’t come in dressed in red… he came in over the course of years and decades, many times dressed as a she, using words like inclusive, don’t offend, equality.  We can’t upset one who might not know Jesus (yet), so we condemn those that do. So we took our bibles, crosses, statues, commandments and our folded hands and we hid them in our houses, behind our church walls and in our private schools.  And we thought he’d never come for them there.  

Only he did.  

He made us question sound doctrine and long proven prophecy.  He tempted men with unnatural desires and lusts for power then helped them become leaders of our churches for decades upon decades. A young generation who was hurt by them went on to hurt the ones who came next. And it left us with a society who doesn’t trust Church, capital C.   He helped us water down teachings until those teachings taught a set of values with no value.  Only he didn’t come into our churches, lowercase c, carrying a pitchfork. He came in dressed in pretty robes and wearing fancy hats and shiny rings. 

He taught our men to chase a dollar, a ball, a skirt or the bottle…. anything but Jesus.  He convinced them that the desires of their flesh came first.  The desires of their heart last.  Until he convinced them that the desires of their flesh were the desires of their heart. And it left us with a generation of broken homes, fatherless boys and confused girls. Only he didn’t teach them at his Sin Seminar for Men.  He came through the TVs, radios and computer screens.  He snuck into the bars, locker rooms and break rooms.  Then he convinced us women that we don’t need a man.  Anything a man can do, we can do better.  We’re no different than men.  Only he didn’t sell it to us through a 2am loud and obnoxious infomercial while we were rocking and feeding babies all night.  He embedded himself into movements, marches and fashion designers.  The necklines got lower and the hems shorter and he told us that feeding and rocking babies wasn’t enough.  We weren’t enough.  He convinced us to enhance, enlarge and endure.  Don’t cry and work twice as hard.  Pah!!  Show me a mom dealing with two infections on the same kid, middle school social studies, sports and dancing schedules, school and church meetings, a bleeding checkbook, a waning prayer life, early hot flashes, too much laundry and supper she forgot to cook and you think she only works twice as hard?  And don’t tell us not to cry.  We’ll cry if we damn well want to.  Every day if we want to.  But still, he said it wasn’t enough.  And so here we are with 62.5 million aborted babies and almost as many traumatized mothers.  Girls sports that no longer belong to girls because we’re all “equal”?  Our daughters are one Senate vote away from being eligible for the draft (not a fantasy football draft…The Draft…the one that sent 2.2 million boys to Vietnam.  The same draft that sent my own dad to Vietnam, long before he was a man and now long after he still doesn’t talk about it).  And so now we have a generation who think there are 63 genders available to them. Today’s kids think they have a choice in their gender. When God decided to reach down and save humanity, He used the family.  Are we surprised the enemy has now come for the family?  

He didn’t come down (or come up?) with his fire, brimstone and gnashing teeth to fulfill his purpose. The world would have sent him back with his pointed tail between his legs.  Instead he came for the schools, churches and homes. And we let him.  So here he is, post-it note in hand.  Except he isn’t so hidden anymore.  He’s on full display.  

We’re at a precipice, people.  Precipice: NOUN, a very steep rock face or cliff, especially a tall one. How many precipices does God have ordained for humanity? Since I just finished a super informative bible study on just such a topic, let me tell you.  There was the flood.  The tower of Babel.  Abraham, Isaac and the mountain.  Joseph and the famine. Moses and the plagues, then the whole wandering of the desert.  Joshua and Jericho. Then Jesus came.  (Disclaimer: there is a sequel to this study where we learn all about the kings and so I would assume there’s some precipices in there too, but, I mean, I didn’t do that study yet so….we’ll go with these).

Throughout the Old Testament, God has time and time again saved creation from itself.  Then He sent Jesus.  And gave us the choice.  We can choose Jesus, or we can choose not Jesus.  We’re living in the New Testament.  We are at this precipice because of the choices we have made.  With our votes, with our time, with our child rearing, with our spending, with our prayers or lack thereof.  

Why aren’t we telling our men to be men?  Why aren’t we teaching our boys that your job as men is to hunt, gather, and protect?  Protect your families.  STAY with your families.  Stand up for your families.  Lead your families.  And then why don’t we let them hunt, gather, protect, stay and lead? 

Why are we teaching our girls that they can have it all?  Why aren’t we painfully honest with them that you cannot, you will not have it all…at least not the “all” that the world is selling.  If you choose to raise your babies you will miss your rung on the ladder, you will miss the business class trip and there is no money in the raising.  If you choose to chase the dream, you might miss your motherhood window, you will miss a first, and you will miss the field trip. We don’t teach them this so now we have generations of women and girls who are exhausted, angry and confused after decades of life on the hamster wheel. And we shame those who have made a choice to accept it’s either or.  Neither role gets praise from the world.  Only the wheel.  We’ve glorified the wheel instead of doing everything for the glory of God.  Why don’t we teach our girls that whatever you choose to do, do it for the glory of God.  Every nose, bottom or counter that you wipe, every drape you make, asthma drug you sell, child you teach, deal you close, IV you start, or story you read, do it for the glory of God, not for glory from the world.  When we teach our girls this, then they will have it all.  

I am in a season where God has called me to leadership on many levels and has given me task after task to just get this thing and then that thing over the finish line.  I call it my Esther season.  Not to be confused with my Ruth season, my Hannah season, and my ongoing Martha season.  The dream is to reach the Mary season….but I digress.  For a middle aged mom who works in her pajamas everyday until 2:10…I have more meetings than my corporate bigwig mom friends.  And many a night I have sat in the tub, with a glass of bourbon, wishing this cup to pass.  (Not the cup of bourbon but the proverbial task at hand cup– just so we’re clear).  I’ve had to make choices with my time and know that I can’t do it all today.  Or this week.  Or this month.  And some days my kids have gotten the worst version of me.  And those are the days you will never forget.  But you sure hope they do.  And then in one week, one is on the struggle bus trying to understand a social issue that I don’t even understand, and she’s being faced with it on the playground, on spotify, on her very age appropriate shows and she is asking questions that you don’t know how to answer.  And then you have one trying to survive five college courses that you don’t even know how to spell all while she’s six hours away and she’s surviving on loaded tea, coffee and ramen and you are googling tutors and calculating “if I leave now I can be there by 2:00, oh wait we have dancing….and I have a meeting.”  And then.  Then one has an asthma attack–the second one in three years which three years ago landed her in the hospital.  And you find yourself back in that bathroom, this time literally on your knees on the floor praying that this passes.  And you put that child in your bed, on your pillow to make sure you hear every breath in and out.  Then the next day when the reliably smart one texts that she doesn’t feel so smart walking into this exam, you text 16 people to pray at said test time, you say two rosaries and a Divine Mercy Chaplet waiting for the text to tell you she made a B.  The same afternoon the asthmatic one is back to normal (whatever that is).  And you realize that on this day, your kids got the best version of you…the praying version.  But as for that social issue situation, we’re punting that one to the priest.  

The enemy is patient.  He knows that his opportunity comes when we are worn, tired and hopeless.  And now he’s got us where he wants us.  We’re too busy, overworked and stressed to pray so we keep lowering our standards and moving the goalposts on what winning is. But if we can put out an all-call for one calculus test, why aren’t we sounding every alarm for our country and our world.  As Catholics, yesterday we consecrated Russia and Ukraine to the heart of Mary.  The whole Catholic world prayed a collective  “Mary Mother of Jesus, be a mother to these countries now.”  In June we will hear a Supreme Court ruling that may overturn Roe vs. Wade.  For the first time in our lifetime, we have a fighting, highly likely chance of overturning Roe vs. Wade. Where is the all-call?  Votes can be changed until the decision is read.  Why aren’t we collectively praying for the hearts and minds of two or more justices to vote their heart and mind?  What favor might God show upon our land if we stop killing His holy innocents?  

The New Testament is still being written.  These days that we are in were ordained long before Moses put quill to scroll to write Genesis. The enemy is alive and well.  He walks among us.  But he is cast out by one mention of the name of Jesus and his head is crushed by one Hail Mary.  How quickly can we cast him and crush him from our schools, homes and families?  The only thing we have to do is pray.  

       

This will probably come as a shock, but I am a Conservative.  On top of that, I am a Republican.  Gasp.  White, suburban, college educated, middle-aged wife and mother.  I check the box of that demographic who refused to vote for Trump.  Except I voted for him.  Twice.  (Twice as in two different elections, not twice in the same election as many dead people, cattle and aliens have voted for another candidate…but I digress).  So there, we’ve gotten that out of the way. I am a despicable Deplorable.  Stereotype away **eye roll**.  (Disclaimer: I know that it shocks no one that I lean right.)

So here we sit.  And wait.  Divided, confused and exhausted.  Despite which way we lean.  Half of the country thinks we have a new president, and the other half is waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out yelling “You got Punk’d!” 

To the first half, are you serious right now?  Do you honestly believe this thing is settled?  You know how when kids are little bitty they cover their eyes and think that they are hidden?  If I can’t see you then you can’t see me.  That’s what ya’ll look like.  If I don’t say that there are some serious issues with the validity of this election, then there aren’t any serious issues with the validity of this election.  Seventy-four percent of Americans do not trust the media.  Yet the media says, “hey look over here, our guy won” and you aren’t fact checking that?  In the words of your own candidate…COME ON MAN.

To the second half, get a paper bag and breathe into it.  Get your inhaler, Xanax, and bottle of tequila.  I, for one, am getting the popcorn.  But get it together people.  It is not over.  It is not ending on this note just because Don Lemmon cried and Chris Wallace called it.  Al Gore got his day in court—32 days actually—to investigate the votes of one state.  We’ve got issues in like 6 states.  Inauguration Day is January 20.  We’ve still got time on the clock.  Even I will admit we may still have to choke out the words “President Harris” …. I mean “President Biden” but we are not there yet. 

Both halves need this to play out.  This is the freaking United States of America.  If we do not have a fair and transparent election process, then we are done.  And believe me, I have thought many times this year alone that we as a country are done.  But if we can not open the back of the voting machines and count legitimately, if we are afraid to have three eyes on each paper ballot that’s opened, if we think it’s okay to cover up windows to counting rooms and if we are defying orders from the Supreme Court then WE—ARE—DONE.  My friends, acquaintances and strangers who read this who are on the left, if you are okay to accept the results as the media states them, then trust me, you are on the wrong side of this thing.  I mean, don’t get me wrong I think you are on the wrong side of the aisle personally (*wink wink*) but I do want you to have your vote counted fairly.  Don’t you want mine counted fairly?  Over 70 million people smell a rat.  If your boy won fairly, legitimately, and legally then where is the problem?  There are some very big claims being thrown around—computer glitches that just so happened to flip votes, middle of the night boxes of ballots showing up, rubber stamping blank ballots, blocking poll watchers—if it is much ado about nothing then what are you afraid of?  I mean…. I have watched all seasons of Scandal, House of Cards and Madame Secretary…I know what I’m talking about. 

Minorities and females make up large chunks of the Democratic electorate.  Just a few decades ago neither demographic could vote in elections in this great land.  Why is half of this country dismissing these irregularities?  Why is half of this country willing to sweep what might be a real ugly and scary side of American politics under the rug?  Why aren’t there any patriots on the left standing up to say hey, we want to win but we have got to make sure we have won fairly?  Are there no patriots on the left?  That would explain a lot.

To the decent, Jesus loving, just can’t get on board with some of the social beliefs of the right, never Trumpers but love this country all the same Blue Donkeys (hey—your color, your symbol), small percentage of you that remain,  your country needs you.  You need to want this to be decided legitimately.  If there is any truth to the fact that this election may be a lie, then there is an evil among us that we can only stop if we unite.  Because if they have succeeded in stealing my vote, they’re coming for yours next. 

To my right siders, just pray.  I keep telling everyone who will listen, and even those who aren’t listening, just pray. We need His mercy on this land more than we need anything else. We need Mary’s mantle to cloak this nation.  We need St. Michael to defend us in battle.  We need the light of Jesus to shine onto the darkness.  Open the eyes of those who believe and those who don’t Lord. 

There is only One who knows whose hand will be on the Bible on January 20, 2021.  Just pray. 

God Bless America—left, right, middle of the roaders, may God bless us all.  Except Nancy Pelosi.  (Sorry not sorry).

It’s not supposed to be this way. The memes we have shared about 2020 are too many to record.  Too funny and sadly all too true.  But it’s not supposed to be this way.  We are not supposed to be isolated—oh excuse me—quarantined.  We are not supposed to be hidden and covered—oh excuse me—masked.  We are not supposed to be banned from human touch—oh excuse me—socially distant.  The current state of the world is not of God’s plan.  Which means it is the Enemy’s plan.   God designed His people for fellowship, worshiping, hugging, smiling and for the love of humanity He designed us to dance.

Yet what are we doing?  Our elderly are alone, our kids cannot share a pencil or a high five, our businesses are crumbling due to unreasonable mandates,  and the shelves still don’t have toilet paper.  What’s that deal?  Is the toilet paper made in China?  Why don’t the shelves have toilet paper?  Chaos surrounds us and we have blindly accepted it. 

So I had given myself a month long hiatus from Facebook and the news a while back.  It went into effect on the day my Soul Sista slapped me across the face and told me to get it together.  Disclaimer: She didn’t actually slap me.  I was frantic, rambling, and screeching something along the lines of “The devil is winning! The devil is winning!” while on the phone with her wearing out the floors in my house and porch and then she figuratively slapped me across the face and started yelling back.  I can remember the day vividly because I literally stopped in my tracks in the hallway and listened while she put me in my place—and to be honest I think she enjoyed it a little too much.  But not to be outdone, I got to slap her across the face a week or so later and put her in her place.  And I did such a good job I think she is still there—in her place.  Just like I am still in my place.  Seriously, everyone needs a soul sista to slap around who will slap you back.  I turned off the TV and social media and retreated from current events.  Anything but the news I told my husband—which turned out to be American Pickers—not much better. 

I have been known to overreact a time or two.  Think the worst.  Some may even say fly off the handle (I wouldn’t say that but some would.)  God has blessed me with an abundance of adrenaline to sustain me.  Many things in my life I could not make up if I tried.  And things tend to come in waves.  Usually unplanned waves.  I usually have chaos on top of chaos with a layer of whipped chaos on top with a chaos cherry to finish it off.  And the adrenaline sustains me until it all gets done and it gets done well.  Or not always well but it gets done.  And then my body gets out of fight mode and it goes into flight mode and by flight I mean my energy flies the coop right along with my sanity, ability to reason and sometimes even my voice.  I have been known to have a panic attack on the interstate.  I found myself in an ambulance at a bait and tackle shop convinced I was having a stroke or an allergic reaction to lemonade.  Either way, that’s how I was going out.  I’ve “taken to the bed” three times in my life.  When my son died, my dog died and my oldest moved to college.  That last and most recent one, well that’s a story for another day. I feel things in ways most people don’t feel them.  Which means I see things in ways most people see them.  And what I see, is we need to be scared.

I mean, I’m not scared-scared.  I know Jesus is coming back and I know I’m going with Him.  What I am scared about is when and how much more of this 2020 type of unbelievable-they-said-and-did-what-$h!t-fest will we endure before He either comes back or the world turns right side out again.  If He’s coming soon I’d like to know so I can stop the yo-yo dieting because my resurrected body will be a size 4 anyway.  I’d like to stop stressing about the next 3 ½ years of out of state college tuition we signed up for.  Some days I say Lord, if You come today I won’t have to fold these clothes. Lord if You come today I won’t have mop this dog pee again.  Lord, if it’s before Wednesday I won’t have to learn Unit Two of 4^th grade science.  But so far we are still here and the world is still inside out and upside down.  But it’s not supposed to be this way. 

The Enemy has used fear to divide us, isolate us and silence us.  Well silence some of us.  Some are still pretty loud.  We watch the news coverage about Covid.  A third of us are locked in our houses, peeking out of the blinds and driving alone in our cars while wearing masks and PPE like it’s a body condom.  A third are walking around mask-less and licking doorknobs.  And a third of us are looking around saying WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL has happened to this world?  We watch the news of protests being spun both left and right with neither interpretation being complete truth.  And a third of us are in the streets with blow torches and don’t even know what we’re protesting.  A third of us are sitting in our driveways in lawn chairs locked and loaded.  And a third of us are looking around saying WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL has happened to this world?  We watch the news of the weather and see storms and fires and more storms.  A third of us are clinging to our Global Warming (sorry, Climate Change) pamphlets preaching to save the whales, oceans, ozone and turtles.  A third of us are clinging to the book of Revelation and preaching that God’s wrath has come home to roost.  And a third of us are saying WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL has happened to this world? 

I find myself in the latter third.  I find myself saying more times that I can count in a day WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL kind of world are we living in?  And just so I don’t keep you in suspense, that’s a rhetorical question.  I got nothing.  I do know though that we are not created for this world.  We are created for the next one.  But our choices here in this one, determine where we land in the next one. 

I’ve been struggling with shoulder pain for quite a while.  No injury that I know of and I don’t know when it started.  But recently I came to the painful realization that for all practical purposes, I am finished parenting my firstborn. Just to clarify, I know that we are never quite done parenting since I, myself, am still not completely raised given the fact that I don’t know how to manage my own IRA.  But my decisions are my own and such is the same with the consequences.  So accepting that I had gotten my first to this point but now the rest of her life depended on her and her decisions was painful and scary.  And with that acceptance came the sobering realization that I’ve got two more to go.  Two more very young souls to get to that point in their lives.   And not only is the world a very different place than it was when raising her ($h!t it’s a very different world than a year ago), I am a lot older now. Hence the reason I “took to the bed” for the three days now and forevermore known as the Great Depression.  Sidebar: This is why everyone should have their kids close together.  If you don’t have time to think about it you don’t have time worry about it.  In my struggle to find the endurance to keep up this pace and race of mothering, God showed up.  He led me to the Fruits of the Holy Spirit of which I am trying to bestow upon my people, my flock of three.  There are nine fruits and I realized that if we focused on one each week then that would lead us right up to Election Day (the outcome of which I pray more prayers than I know).  So I am explaining to them the context of these fruits—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control—and we will start week one with love and how can we show love, live out love, do everything though the lens of love.  My husband, the father of my children, my other half, one who completes me, my co-pilot in parenting, begins to offer his suggestion on how I can show him love while my two angels ask what love fruit tastes like and where do we buy it and why do we have to eat fruit when we don’t like fruit.  And then it hit me.  I understood where the shoulder pain was coming form.  My family, my blessed blessings, are sitting upon a barge in the middle of a swamp of quicksand, and I am dragging them to heaven with me.  No wonder my shoulder hurts. 

We live in a world of laws and rules.  And we make more laws and more rules and we continue to be more worse for the wear.  We cannot legislate or rule our way out of this one though.  It’s not supposed to be this way. 

Galatians 5:13-15 says You my brothers, were called to be free.  But do not use your freedom to indulge in the sinful nature, rather serve one another in love.  The entire law is summed up in a single command: Love your neighbor as yourself.  If you keep on biting and devouring each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other.

What would today, 2020, look like if we applied that one rule to everything we say, do or think?  What if we loved our neighbor like ourselves in everything we said, did or thought?  But to do that, we need our neighbor. But right now, the Enemy has us separated, divided, and alone.  It’s not supposed to be this way.  Children are supposed to share snacks and germs.  It builds their character and their immune systems.  People are supposed to smile at each other in Target instead of staring blankly at each other behind a mask.  Families are supposed to gather in pews—in all the pews—and not be banished to the metal building on the side of church because we can’t get too close.  We are supposed to stand up for what’s right and not just what’s right now.  And we are supposed to be able to disagree, agreeably.  

We are not designed to be alone.  Genesis 2:18 says It is not good for the man to be alone so God created Eve for Adam.  Genesis 6 tells the story of Noah and God instructed him to take two of every animal.  Even the lowly earthworm needed a friend.  God sent Joseph for Mary.  God did not need Joseph in order to fulfill His plan for salvation.  But Mary needed Joseph.  

God created us for Him.  He did not want Eternity without us.  Even God—the be all, end all, always was and always will be—did not want to be alone.  Why?  Because it’s not supposed to be that way. 

 

When my son died 15 years ago, I became obsessed with all things Heaven and prophecy. Where was he and when would I be with him again? When was this fallen, hurtful, nothing makes sense of a world going to end and we can all be together again? I read the whole Left Behind series in a very short amount of time. I convinced myself I was the real-life version of Chloe Williams–except for the whole beheading part– and with every crisis and world event I knew this was it. End of the world finally thank you Jesus! Is that You coming in on that cloud? Don’t judge. You have no idea what the mind is capable of in the middle of grief. Thankfully I was wrong every time because life since then has been a very colorful, loud, beautiful ride I would have missed. But ya’ll…..look around. What is going on?

When schools got cancelled on Friday afternoon—for one month no less—we all let out a collective huhhhh???? I thought many of the same things my like-minded, same side of the aisle counterparts have thought. It’s political. Election 101: Never waste a good crisis. It’s a conspiracy. Overkill. Hype. Now we’ve got restaurants and bars closed, nail salons, health clubs, dentist offices. My hairdresser is still open though. Thank goodness because I ain’t walking into the apocalypse with gray roots. But when they closed the churches I knew. The devil is living his best life right now.

No one knows which end is up. We don’t know who to believe. We are home bound, home schooling and sick of home. The stock market is crashing. Then it’s whimpering with life. Then it’s crashing. The price of oil is scary. The shelves are empty. Well some of the shelves. There is no toilet paper. But still plenty of liquor. That one I don’t understand. Priorities people, priorities. Regardless of what or who we do believe, none of this is believable. Chaos, disbelief, paranoia, fear and anxiety are the Enemy’s playground.

And all the while I’m trying to get my bearings here on how I’m going to play teacher (no doubt old school style carry the one, borrow from your neighbor, “i” before “e”) while folding laundry and sewing panels, and my husband is Skyping customers….my oldest is a high school senior. And that’s what gives me pause. First grade won’t look much different from second grade and fourth grade won’t look much different from third next year. But you only get one senior year. And all of her classmates who have worked so hard (or not) to get to this point, the lasts, the onlys and the once in a lifetimes are within their grasp yet held just out of their reach. We don’t know what we don’t know but we do know what we’re fearing. So how do I advise her? How do we as parents prepare and console our kids for what might not come? Many, my own included, have played their last match, game or practice, attended their last school dance and their last retreat. Never knowing any of them were the last. So what do we do? What do tell them when we’re all thinking the same thing?

This sucks. It sucks beyond sucking. It sucks sucks sucks sucks suuuuuuucks. Yeah I know sucks is a “bad” word. But when faced with the apocalypse, etiquette be damned. It just sucks. Now what?

God keeps placing Esther in my mind. He keeps placing the passage “…for such a time as this” in front of me. Spiritually throughout each day and quite literally on the notepad page of the day. So why is Esther important? She was a Jewish woman, raised by her cousin, living in Persia who was taken along with about 1000 other women to live in the king’s harem. But because there was something super special about Esther the king chose her to be queen…not knowing she was Jewish. The Jewish people were hated and doomed for genocide, at the hands of the Persian Empire. The very empire Esther was queen to. What should she do? She fasted, she prayed, and she remained obedient. And then she stepped out in courage and asked the King to spare her people, the Jews, and so he did. Any other hottie chosen from that harem would not have fulfilled God’s plan to save the Jews. It had to be Esther. Which meant Esther had to be born when she did, raised the way she was and a looker like none other in order to be in the right place at the right time.

So what is this time that we find ourselves in? I’ve seen the Facebook meme floating around that this class of 2020 was born into the world during 9/11. No other time in my 43 years of life have I seen and felt anything similar to the world today than after September 11, 2001. Twenty-seven days after that day my first born popped out (well I wouldn’t say popped but I digress). The days, months and years that followed shaped how we raised this class of kids. And now at the first crossroads of their young lives they are faced with disappointments that others who have been or will become their age won’t face. It’s not an accident. So why are they chosen “for a time such as this?” I can’t speak for the rest of the 2020 graduates, but I know that my daughter’s class of 175 is a praying class. I know that they are a class that steps up and steps out. I know that two days into their freshman year our state flooded like never before and they stepped up and stepped out into the homes of strangers and gutted sheetrock and pulled up carpet for days on end. I don’t know if you guys will walk across the stage, give the speeches, and throw the caps. I don’t know if my dancer will get to take her final bow, after 16 years of dedication to dance. I don’t know if we’ll all be laughing about these weeks from the beaches of the Bahamas at the end of May. But I know you guys were chosen “for a time such as this.” What will you do with it?

What about the rest of us? The college freshmen who left their dorms to never return. The aging in the nursing homes without visitors. The weddings being postponed. The girls’ trips being cancelled (I mean…. a moment of silence please). Why are we here in such an unprecedented time in our nation’s history? Why is it that our lifetimes were chosen “for such a time as this?”

Again, I don’t freaking know. But what I do know is the devil is living his best life. He’s got the economy on the brink. He’s coating the world in chaos. He’s emptied the churches. The holiest week of the year, Holy Week, the churches will be empty.

What will be our response? We’re stuck at home. With our families. Our schedules have come to a screeching halt. For the vast majority of us, the world has stopped. We are forced to be still. How we fill our time during this time will define our response. Facebook and our inboxes are flooded with novenas and prayer after prayer. The list of things that never get done because there is never enough time has suddenly found ample time. Dinner tables, board games, unread books and unhad conversations are ready.

You know those few minutes on Christmas morning when all of the gifts are open and the stockings are emptied and it’s quiet because the kids are tinkering with their loot? And you just relish it with your cup of coffee in hand before you have to start preparing for the day ahead. Those few moments of still. Or when you’re on the beach–that hour or so when the sun has dipped just enough to cool things off before nightfall hits. Those few moments of still. Or when you wake up way before the kids to say your prayers, make your lists, fold a batch of laundry before the chaos of the morning hits. Those few moments of still.

What will we do with our few moments of still? The devil thinks he’s got us right where he wants us—out of church. But the churches aren’t closed, just the buildings are. We were placed here “for such a time as this” so what will we do? The devil is like the Grinch when he’s got that full sleigh after stealing all of the trees and gifts in town. He’s stroking his beard laughing muwhahahah at his accomplishment. But how do the residents of Whoville respond? They hold hands and sing…unbroken, undivided. The country has been brought to its knees whether we like it or not. So while we’re down there, let’s pray. Let’s pray like our world depends on it. Because doesn’t it? How the world responds to this will determine how God responds to it. 2 Chronicles tell us that if we call on the name of God and humble ourselves and pray, He will heal our land. In Matthew, Mark and Luke, Jesus calmed the storms. In these moments of still, let’s pray. Let’s let the devil find us singing together (six feet apart) and let him see THAT as his accomplishment. Esther fasted, prayed and was obedient. What else have we got to do but fast, pray and be obedient? And when the Newer Testament is written, they’ll be writing about us and our stories. Remember it’s Kelly with a “y” not an “ie”.

To my first girl: You have had more disappointment in your 18 years than some 80-year olds. When you were three years old you learned that life isn’t fair. But with every other thing you were told no or not yet, every time you were put in the back row or sat the proverbial bench, you’ve handled it with way more grace than one should have to. So whatever the next two months hold, you will rise. If it sucks, say it sucks. And let it suck for minute. And then rise. Because one day they’ll be writing about you.

So be safe everybody. Wash your hands, stop buying all the toilet paper and stay home. Fast, pray, be obedient. I mean it’s not like I’m scared or anything. COVID19 is not what is taking me out I can tell you that. Now homeschooling my children….that might do it. But I’ll go down in blaze of glory with a rosary in one hand and a can of icing and bottle of tequila in the other.

The ordinary moments of today are miraculous answers to long ago prayers.

I wish I could take credit for it, but that nugget of profound divine wisdom came from the brain (and no doubt the heart) of Ann Voskamp. She, along with Lysa Teurkeurst and Mother Theresa are my heroes. Women who have known great heartache and yet continue to dig deeper into their faith and over and over cling to God’s promises like a life raft. Truth be told, I want to have a sleepover with them in which we braid each other’s hair and eat Bluebell Bride’s Cake ice cream (maybe drink wine?) and if I’m being totally honest… Max Lucado and David Jeremiah will deliver chips and guacamole. Yes, I am aware that Mother Theresa is no longer with us. It’s my fantasy. And maybe it involves time travel. But I digress….

The ordinary moments of today are miraculous answers to long ago prayers. 

My girl Ann (I feel like we’re at the point in my obsession that I can call her Ann) wrote a book in 2011 called One Thousand Gifts. Her first book. I read it circa November 2013ish. At the time she was a mother of six children that she homeschooled on their family farm. In a season of humdrum day in and day out laundry, long division, supper and chaos she wrote about being grateful for everything, in everything. It was a game changer for me in my humdrum season of diapers, dancing routes and dishes. I don’t think my gratitude journal got quite to 1000 but it did flip the script on me. I saw everything as something for which to be grateful. Okay, checked the box. Learned about gratitude. I’m all fixed, right? Until the next thing.

Through her gratitude journey she had an epiphany. She discovered and rediscovered throughout the Bible that the miracle, any miracle, was always preceded by thanks. She wrote about “eucharisteo” relentlessly. Which I learned is a Greek word meaning to be thankful. Psalm 50:23 tells us that if we offer thankful offerings, He will show us salvation. Thanks then the miracle. In Daniel 6:10 he prayed and gave thanks three times a day then when thrown into the lion’s den God sent an angel who shut the mouth of the lions. Thanks then the miracle. In Luke 17 Jesus healed ten lepers. Only one came back and thanked Him. What did Jesus respond? “Your faith has saved you.” Thanks then the miracle. Jesus realized in Matthew 11 that cities where He had performed miracles and healings did not repent. In the face of apparent failure, He still gave thanks to the Father. In John and Matthew, we hear of the feeding of the multitudes. Jesus took five loaves and two fish, gave thanks and fed 5000 people and ended up with leftovers. There was not enough–then thanks was given–then there was more than enough. Thanks then the miracle. In John 11 Lazarus was dead and stinking for 4 days. Jesus thanked God for hearing him AND THEN told Lazarus to get up. Thanks then the miracle. In the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, on the night before He died (a death He knew was coming), Jesus gave thanks, broke bread and gave it to his friends. Hours later He willingly suffered things beyond our human comprehension and yet before He did, He gave thanks. And we all know how that story ends. Thanks then the miracle of miracles.

Thessalonians 5:18 tells us to “…pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances…” Not sometimes. Not in good times. In all times. Across Christian churches, we all break bread. We all, in some fashion, remember the sacrifice of the Last Supper. The priest, deacon, pastor, brother, minister, padre, man of the cloth, preacher, reverend, or old Parson Brown repeats the words of the gospels “…. he took bread, gave thanks and broke it and gave it to them…” Sunday after Sunday we as Christians start our weeks off in this way. Ann says, “Doesn’t the continual repetition of beginning our week at the table of the Eucharist clearly place the whole of our lives into the context of thanksgiving?” Mic drop.

So here we are in November again and even though Hallmark and Target want us to believe it’s time to shop and falala, God expects us to slow our roll. Which is why He placed Thanksgiving right before Christmas. Yes, I am aware that Thanksgiving is an American holiday brought about by the Indians and Pilgrims…sorry, Native Americans and Persons Who Journey. But somebody had to light the spark of peace for them to break bread (sorry, maize) and God chose the fourth Thursday of November to do so…. roughly four weeks before the birth of His son. Hence, God placed Thanksgiving right before Christmas. Duh. Is there a greater miracle than Christmas? A baby born to a virgin; an event prophesied for thousands of years in great detail. And so, before that miracle, we are to give thanks.

I think we all try. We thank Him for our health, our job, our family, our freedom. Okay we checked the right boxes so can we eat turkey now? Can we shop yet? Where’s the damn elf? But when we sit in the aggravation of our schedules, the tedium of our chores and the debilitating noise of our donkeys (sorry, our children) can we still give thanks?

The ordinary moments of today are miraculous answers to long ago prayers.

Many years ago, one Black Friday evening I sat at a table in a sushi restaurant with dear friends. Through tears, I told them all I wanted was a “wrapping paper hanging from the ceiling fan kind of Christmas morning.” They all had those kinds of Christmas mornings. At the time it was still just Jacob, Abby and me. Lane had gone on home to Jesus and the two littles hadn’t come along yet. We had several years of calm and quiet mornings of very orderly gift opening. Then I would dress my one child in her smocked best and we’d set out to do Christmas. The first year that there was another child to tuck in on Christmas Eve, I remember hitting my knees that night so utterly grateful for childREN to tuck in. And now there are three. And I can tell you that the wrapping paper doesn’t just hang from the ceiling fan on Christmas morning. I find scraps of it well into June. God answered that Black Friday evening sushi prayer in abundance. And every Christmas Eve night I hit my knees in gut wrenching gratitude that there are childREN tucked in under my roof. But that’s the easy part. The hard part is recognizing that the wrapping paper doesn’t just hit the ceiling fan on December 25 by chance. Those kids train for that ALL—YEAR—LONG. The hard part is being grateful for the other 364 mornings. And afternoons. And evenings.

Like the cinnamon toast war. They got punished from cinnamon toast for two weeks. Apparently my complete worth is wrapped up in my ability to make two equally “juicy” cinnamon toasts each morning. I have tried. I have stood over the toaster. I have tested the settings. I have kept the butter both covered and uncovered on the counter. I have tried spreading it with both spoon and a knife, both plastic and metal. They are never both equally juicy. And each morning I am reminded of my failure and I promise them I’ll try harder tomorrow. But the morning that Middle Donkey snatched the juicier toast from her sister’s plate, I knew that mornings in our house would never be the same. I watched Middle Donkey cower on her barstool scarfing it down while Baby Donkey beat her over the head with her dirty and torn Bunny Bear. The ante had been upped and I had to intervene. I declared a two week moratorium on cinnamon toast until cooler heads could prevail.

Or the night of four grilled cheeses. Baby Donkey finally settled on grilled cheese for supper. Attempt #1 had too much cheese. The horror. Attempt #2 had some crusted cheese on the outside of the bread which had re-melted from Attempt #1. How could I be so careless? Attempt #3 I knew would be THE ONE. I was going to eliminate the cheese all together. In the words of my dearly missed Maw-Maw, I’d fix her little tee-nah nah. Until halfway through my effort, my almost an engineer husband said, “Hey smartass, how are you going to get the bread to stick together without the cheese?” Attempt #4 she ate. I can’t duplicate it though because I had already thrown the spatula across the house and the pan in the sink and my almost an engineer husband, the hero that he is, *eye roll*, made an apparently perfect grilled cheese.

Hard to imagine battles fought over Evangeline Maid bread are miraculous answers to any prayer I’ve ever prayed. But to give thanks in all things, means all the things. So Lord, I thank you for ornery, grouchy, finicky eaters. I think???

The easiest thanksgiving prayer ever prayed is the Thanksgiving Day prayer. Bless us oh Lord and these thy gifts for which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord. Box checked. But can we pray thanksgiving prayers every other day? Can we thank Him for today’s ordinary?

The ordinary moments of today are miraculous answers to long ago prayers.

 

 

 

I just don’t think I’m cut out for this whole parenting thing. Motherhood…I don’t think it’s for me. I tried. But now I wanna be a bartender in the Florida Keys. With tattoos. And dreadlocks. Yes, definitely dreadlocks. There are more of them than me. And if you count my adorable 42 year old husband who is still not quite raised and the furry oreo I also tend to, that’s five people (yes the dog thinks he is a person). And somehow in the middle of this chaos God wants me to be still. Me? Still?

“They” say that with little kids come little problems. With big kids come big problems. Well whoever “they” are, they lied. They’re all big problems. And the worry that comes with them is even bigger. “They” don’t tell you any of this in the parenting books. Not that I’ve read any of the parenting books.

Maybe it’s the annual psychotic, Game of Thrones episode every day on repeat, exhausting, when will it end, stop adding stuff to my calendar, I dare someone to plan one more meeting in the month of May that causes me to reflect. When you’re a mom your year goes from August to May. Not January to December. Kids get a year older in May. Despite when their birthday is, they age in May. So that’s when you look back and see all the boxes you’ve checked.

This year, among many other things, we checked brain tumor off the list. Well, let me rephrase. We checked lack of brain tumor off the list. Spoiler alert: Molly is fine. She has asthma. But for a few very difficult weeks, we didn’t know. So I’m sitting in the chair at the hair salon and she had just applied the first brush stroke of color when school called and said she had passed out and was very lethargic. I have the unusual gift of being calm in a storm. I can process chaos like nobody’s business so I was able to very rationally give orders to my husband to go pick her up and bring her to me and we would go to the ER. I was able to calculate that it would take the same amount of time for him to go get her as it would take me since I would have to rinse this color out. And if he went at least I’d have taken care of my gray roots in the process. I mean it was really a win-win situation. We discovered she’d actually had a seizure and what followed were weeks of tests and waiting and then two more trips to the hospital and a lot of fancy expensive doctors. Along with an insurance change smack dab in the middle of it. Little kid little problem? Not quite. We started off looking for a mass and ended up with asthma. Sounds easy enough but it was brutal. And when she looked up at me from the hospital bed with electrodes coming out of her gauze wrapped head and said, “This is the worst day of my life,” I could only think how much worse it could get. And the sight of that helpless child in that bed nearly broke me. I told God you know what I am capable of and this is not it. I am not capable of watching my own child suffer. The next day was the MRI and I laid in bed that morning asking where was this strength going to come from? The pediatrician said “We need to rule out a brain tumor” and that’s what today was. And alllllll of the You’ve got this’s and Just trust God’s plan’s were utter crap to me at that time. Because I know better than anyone that sometimes God’s plan is hard. Sometimes kids aren’t okay. Sometimes there really is a problem with their brain. So I laid there asking how am I going to get out of this bed and do this today? Ultimately she was given the all clear by radiologists, a cardiologist, a neurologist and two hospital stays later we had put the pieces together and we had asthma. I’ll take it. With open arms, Lord, I will take asthma.

In the middle of that my husband’s company sold. When oil pays the bills it’s not a question of if but a question of when the company gets sold. We white-knuckled our way through a few very difficult, confusing and intense months. Many, many porch mornings and afternoons with Lauren Daigle’s “Trust in You” on repeat. Begging Him to move the mountain, part the water and give the answers. And for a long time He didn’t. I would have to just keep repeating “There’s not a day ahead you have not seen”. Some days over and over. And all of the It’s all going to work out’s and Trust God’s plan’s were utter crap to me. Sometimes husbands do get laid off. Sometimes families do have to move out of state. Sometimes there’s not enough money in savings to ride it out. Information and news changed daily. Sometimes hourly. What we needed and what we wanted were two different things and what to pray for was confusing. And for a minute it looked like He had settled it with only what we needed. And it was hard to be grateful for it. So hard that He took it away for a few days. Until I was grateful. It was such a confusing time—waiting for test results, waiting for employment updates, waiting, waiting, waiting. And I wasn’t very quiet in the waiting. I was anything but still. Until he forced me to be. When He dragged me home on Black Friday, in the middle of the afternoon, when I had plenty of shopping left to do…I knew He wasn’t playing around. My husband had to fly out that day to an emergency in the Gulf—a place he hadn’t been in probably a decade—and then He had my new sofa delivered an hour later and pretty much took me by the ear and sat me down in that nook of the corner. Now known as “Momma’s Spot.” We still had no answers on Molly or the work situation but He had had enough of the busyness I was surrounding myself with. So I sat. And I sat there until Monday morning. He drew me to the story of Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt. And to the verse that says “The Lord will fight for you. You need only be still.” And then I got it. In a figurative sense (and some days quite literally) I would duck down and cover my head in my arms and sit still. Your battle Lord, not mine.

The hardest prayer for a mom to pray is Your Will Be Done, Lord. We are Momma. We know best. Trusting Him with my children is not a comfortable concept to me. Fourteen years ago almost to the day He broke my trust. He showed me that sometimes it is really not okay. Sometimes He takes children back. Sometimes some things don’t work out this side of Heaven. So as for trusting Him…..He’s having to prove Himself.

Like trusting Him with that 17 year old girl of mine’s wings. She’s so good and smart and beautiful. And obedient and pure and faith filled. And with that, sometimes hidden. We see her gifts and talents and strengths. We know that in His time it will be her time. But can she wait? Will she get impatient and lower her standards, lose focus and toss her goals aside? Can she keep doing the work, making the grades, volunteering the time and doing the good even when she goes unnoticed? So what’s the plan here God? Will college be her day in the sun? Are we storing treasures away and gaining perspective on what’s really important? Because what I see, what I’m afraid of, is a young lady saying what’s the point? Everybody else is or isn’t. Why do I have to do this and not do that? But then….she wins an election and gets chosen for the class. She stands up for herself and gets the A. Okay God I see what you’re doing. So I cover my head and sit still. Your battle Lord.

Like when the 8 year old won’t wear shorts. She doesn’t like the hair on her legs. The blonde hair on her legs. She has noticed that other girls don’t have as much hair on their legs as she does. So she doesn’t want to wear shorts unless she can wear knee high socks too. She’s begging to shave. In the 2nd grade. You find her outside on the porch with a pair of scissors. She is cutting the hair off of her legs. For hours. And all you can think is she will try and swim in leggings this summer. And what will she do in the not so distant future when her legs aren’t the only places she has hair. And it won’t be blonde then! Jesus take the wheel. And she doesn’t like her teeth. Her two front teeth. She asked the Easter Bunny for whitening strips. She has mastered the art of the soft smile because she won’t show her teeth in a picture. So what’s the plan God? Are we building character? Strength and tenacity? Because all I see is a very timid socially awkward young girl who’s going to hide in the bathroom at sleepovers and sit in the car at school dances. But then…she reads at her First Communion mass, in front of a church full of people, standing at a podium with a microphone. Two years ago she ran off stage from her Kindergarten awards ceremony, wailing and sobbing the whole way. Okay God, I see what You did there. So I cover my head and sit still. Your battle Lord.

The 5 year old wants to be a waitress when she grows up. Good thing pumpkin because there won’t be any money left for your college by then. We’re spending it all on Momma’s therapy, eczema cream and Symbicort. The same 5 year old who wants to drive a black jeep with glitter wheels when she’s a teenager. Who asked for “smokey eyes” for her dancing pictures and keeps calling her Nanny to wax her eyebrows. Who has crushes of equal value on an 11 year old, a 45 year old father of two and our parish priest. Who says, “Heyyyyy Handsome” when her daddy walks out in a suit. So what’s the plan here God? Are we crossing our fingers and hoping for the best? That as long as the restaurant where she potentially waits tables doesn’t have a pole we will consider her a success? Or are we fostering confidence and independence? Because all I see is THAT kid other moms talk about who corrupts their little angels. The one who will be hanging out of the window of her boyfriend’s four wheel drive. But then….she receives a Responsible Discipleship award and remarks how “pray-ful” nuns are and she wants to be just as “pray-ful”. And she has a 25 minute discussion on President’s Day about her struggle with whom to love more…God or Abraham Lincoln. Okay God….I see….yeah I got nothing. I have no idea what You’re doing with that one. But I will cover my head and sit still. Your battle Lord.

Yeahhhhh I don’t know if I’m cut out for this motherhood thing. But in the midst of battle, if we’re lucky, He sends us Sista Wives. Not to be confused with Sister Wives. I will share just about anything but I ain’t sharing “that” so let’s be clear. Sista Wives. They’re the friends that make our kids their kids and their kids become our kids. They’re the ones we call to bring this one here and we drop theirs off there. We feed their kids in our car and they listen to sight words in theirs. When it happens to one of our kids it happens to all of us. Because let’s face it, whatever our kids do, we do. In the past year we’ve made cheerleader, won Vice President, been chosen for Campus Ministry class, won the coveted Religion award, played middle school football, high school football, tennis, volleyball, basketball, tumbled, danced, cheered, pep squadded, broken a track record, taken singing lessons, learned to read despite the odds, been on dates, lost four teeth, thrown 13 touchdown passes, made 20 AR goals, made A’s on two Chemistry finals, graduated high school with honors, made our First Communion and NOT had a brain tumor.

Hashtag winning.

We’ve also suffered an avulsion fracture which resulted in two surgeries, dislocated our shoulder twice, bombed a Chemistry test, confessed to cheating, thrown interceptions, had way too much girl drama, quit karate, gotten in two fender benders, had strep throat six times and flu four times, locked our keys in our car twice, stayed out til dawn once, we’re repeating Kindergarten and apparently now we have asthma.

Hashtag still winning. Still. There’s that word again.