“A wise woman builds her home, but a foolish woman tears it down with her own hands.” Proverbs 14:1
Heat flooded my face. To say I felt angry would have been an understatement. The hard closing of the bedroom door, a firm period on the end of a statement, declared my stance -“I am right and you are wrong.”
An overwhelming need to get away pulsed through me. I wanted to grab my keys, hop in our van, and drive away. No real destination. Just somewhere that was not my house – a house suddenly filled with tension and hasty words.
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We have so many traditions in our family. Some silly. Some tender. All special. Traditions that feel safe and good and right – like anchors of joy in the midst of sometimes turbulent and unpredictable waters.
But what about when your traditions get toppled? When one of the ones who helped make those traditions so special is no longer there?
My father passed away very suddenly when I was 18 years old. Our light detangler, our baker of sausage balls, our professional “get the real tree standing straight and put the star on top” father – gone.
I remember our first Christmas without him; we could not bear to be at home.
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It’s the perfect place to pray. In the shower, that is.
With a husband, three little girls, and a barky Schnauzer, there isn’t always a whole lot of alone time at my house. So a shower can provide at least a few quiet minutes all to myself.
It has other prime prayer spot benefits, as well. Tears and runny mascara can be washed away quickly. Soft sobs are muffled by the sound of both water and exhaust fan running. And there, standing literally naked before the Lord, you are able to pour out all of your hurts, fears, and doubts without hesitation.
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“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds,
Because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.
Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete,
not lacking anything.”
James 1:2-4
My then boyfriend (now husband) looked over at me with a grin as we drove the deposit from the retail store we worked at to the bank. I am sure a girly giggle escaped my lips as he said to me, “We have two hundred dollars in cash right here. Let’s run away to Mexico.” Not that two hundred would have gotten us far.
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Pictures never lie.
I don’t know who first said that, but I have plenty of pictures tucked away of early motherhood that fail to reveal the whole truth.
Looking back at photos snapped when my three girls were teeny-tiny, I see picture after picture of me smiling. Happiness etched on my face – like being a mom was just the easiest thing ever. They do not show the depression. They do not show the pressure I felt to get everything right. You cannot see the mommy guilt standing by my side in any of them. But it’s there. My constant companion.
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“Exercise? Lord, you want me to exercise? Are You serious? Don’t You know how hard that is for me? I just wanna stay in bed. I want to eat whatever I want whenever I want and never gain an ounce. Are You sure exercise is necessary?”
Exercising does not come natural to me. If rating it on an enjoyment scale, I would put it somewhere above scrubbing toilets and then somewhere below eating chocolate. Waaaaaaaay below chocolate. To my flesh exercise seems (if I am going to be quite honest) unfair.
Those very feelings reveal a place where I have gotten the Lord and the enemy confused.
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I am a plant killer.
It’s true. Home Depot should have a wanted poster up in the garden center with my picture on it – reward money being offered for my capture. My husband keeps encouraging me to buy plastic greenery, but I love real plants. And so the cycle of buy them, kill them, buy them, kill them continues.
Imagine my joy when I walked into my kitchen one day and noticed a tiny splash of purple. My African violet that had not bloomed in years finally had one happy cluster of petals. I smiled and thanked the Lord. But as soon as the thank you for the unexpected flower passed my lips, an unexpected question popped into my mind.
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“Post this at all the intersections, dear friends: Lead with your ears, follow up with your tongue, and let anger straggle along in the rear. God’s righteousness doesn’t grow from human anger.” James 1:19-20 (The Message)
I have looked at these verses for the past 11 years mainly as parenting verses. Verses to team up with the wisdom of Proverbs 31:26, telling me to open my mouth with wisdom and to have the law of kindness on my tongue. You know, instead of having a tongue that attacks with the lethal skills of Chuck Norris, enforcing the law of “I’m the mommy and I said so!”
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