And…Wash Your Hands

I could write a short (not so short) book of bathroom stories.

Over the years, when it came to bathroom supervision in public places, I definitely drew the short straw having four girls and one boy.

Darrin would take Jake and they were in and out in all of three minutes.

I, on the other hand, usually emerged fifteen minutes later, shaking my head, laughing, or nearly crying at the mishaps in that forsaken place.

But, today, one story in particular sticks out in my mind…

We were at the Iowa State Fair and everyone had to go the bathroom. So, as I’m giving the “Don’t touch anything and use your foot to flush” speech to my oldest girls, Paige, who was three at the time, goes into the stall and locks the door.

She then says, “Mom, I locked the door all by myself.”

“Yeah, I see that you did that.”

Then I wait…knowing all too well what is coming next. Of course, the lock sticks and now she can’t get out. 

The other girls high tail it out of there to go stand outside with Darrin and Jake because they’re scared I’m going to ask them to crawl under the door and help her.

(That was my plan exactly.)

Darn it!

So, here I am now, with my head pressed up against the crack of the door, talking Paige through how  to slide the handle and a lady walks in and sees me peeking through the stall door.

Lovely.

There is a stall open, but she pauses for a moment and I know for a FACT that she is thinking…”Will this weirdo look at me, too, if I go into that stall?”

I smile at her awkwardly and explain that my daughter locked the door. She doesn’t smile back. So, now I want to tell her that I’m not a weirdo, I’m just a mom and sometimes that means that I have to do weird things.

But, I don’t.

I just let her think what she wants while praying she doesn’t take my picture and put it on the “People of the Iowa State Fair” page.

Finally, Paige opens the door.

Hallelujah!

So I ask her, “How did you reach the toilet paper?”

And she says…”I didn’t.  You said not to touch anything.”

Oh my.

So, I had to create a new speech…Don’t touch anything except for the door handle AND the toilet paper.  Then flush the toilet with your foot.

And…wash your hands.

————-

You know, we laugh, but aren’t we all like that sometimes?  We want to do things all on our own.

“Look, God!  I did it all by myself!”

“I see that you did, that”.

Then He waits, knowing all too well what will happen next.

Often times, when we try to do things on our own, we get stuck in places we don’t want to be.

As the New Year approaches, ask God to direct your path.  He wants good things for you.  Trust that His plan is better than anything we could could come up with on our own and in those times when we mess up, and we will, thank Him for the grace He gives.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”  Proverbs 3:5

 

 

 

facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail

When Christmas Doesn’t Look Like The Card

The sweet lady in the check out line asks, “Are you ready for Christmas?”   I smile and nod, but my mind immediately goes to my list of things left undone.

The presents are not wrapped, the cards have not been sent, and I’ve resorted to making the sugar cookies from a tube.  (Alright, I do that anyway.)

I push my cart towards the parking lot wondering, “When did I let the celebration of our Savior’s birth turn into a to-do list?”  In the midst of the shopping, the lights, and the parties, I so often forget to celebrate why we have Christmas in the first place.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love to hear the carols on the radio, to see the stores decorated in their grandeur and houses lit up with brilliant color.  But, what is it about all of those things that leave me feeling a bit empty and sad?  Maybe it’s that whatever I try to prepare for this grand event never quite looks like the picture on the Christmas card.

Yesterday, I asked my kids what they wanted for Christmas dinner.  Maddie shouted, “shrimp poppers!”

What?!?!

“Yeah, we have those every year!”

No we don’t.

But to her credit, we did have them last year.  We came home from Christmas Eve service and I had nothing prepared so I dumped a box of frozen shrimp poppers on a pan, threw them in the oven, and we ate them on paper plates by candlelight.

Fancy.

But here’s the deal.  We’re not fancy.  And as much as the thought of her adding “shrimp poppers” to her childhood Christmas memories makes me cringe a little bit, that’s not the thing that matters.  What matters is that she’ll also remember her dad reading the Christmas story to her and to her brother and sisters.  She’ll remember how he always told them about how God used ordinary people in an extraordinary way to save those that He loved.  And let me tell you…none of those people were fancy.

So what if I asked you the same question the clerk asked me…

Are you ready for Christmas?

For a moment, put down the scissors and the Scotch tape.  Set the frosting and the sprinkles on the counter and think about what it REALLY means to be ready.

What does it mean to prepare our hearts for the coming of a King?  A Rescuer, a Redeemer, a Savior, and Friend?

Stop for a moment and in the midst of trying to get everything just perfect…

Pause.

Remember.

Go back and read the story again.

Friends, it was not perfect.  It wasn’t fancy or glamorous.  Mary was a young girl.  Joseph was a carpenter and of all places to give birth to any baby, let alone a King, Jesus was born in a stable. He was born in the presence of the animals that lived there.  His earthly father made a bed out of a feeding trough and in that ordinary place, He entered the world.  There was no grand march or parade and who’s to say that the hay really smelled sweet?

His mother had nothing.  And yet…she had it ALL.  In that moment, she held a little baby AND the Creator of the Universe in her arms.

And to top it all off, who did God choose to tell first?  Who did he tell about this event that would change the world forever…some lowly shepherds.  People that were thought of as not having any worth and yet, He chose to share this Good News with them before anyone else.

Is that a coincidence?  Absolutely not.  It points to the fact that He came for all of us.

The angels said, “Come and see, today, in the city of Bethlehem.  A Savior has been born.”

A Savior.

One that would save us.  You and me.

Why? Why might we need saving?  Because we are NOT perfect.  I don’t know about you, but perfection has been my enemy for far too long.  Never will I be perfect. I struggle with sin every single day and that sin would have separated me from God.

But, then came Jesus.  

It is only by the blood of Jesus Christ that our sins are wiped away.

That baby that came to live amongst us, He WAS perfect and He would later die for us that we might be with Him forever.

That, my friends, is reason to celebrate!  He came for ALL of us.  From the shepherds to the rulers of kingdoms.  He loves us all.

Don’t you forget that. And in the times when it seems that you’ve made too many mistakes, messed up one too many times, remember… He doesn’t ask you to clean it all up first.  He’ll meet you right where you’re at.

Be like those shepherds who dropped everything to go and see what all the fuss was about.  Who is this Jesus and why does He love you SO much?  He does, dear friend.  He really does.

Go! Tell about all that He has done. Tell what Jesus has done IN you and FOR you so that others might know Him, too. Share your story. Not just the picture on the Christmas card, but the real, ugly, beautiful, ordinary, extraordinary, shrimp popper, paper plate, wonderful story.

Merry Christmas to you and may Christ be the reason you celebrate!

facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail

From My Side Of The Bleachers

 

“How was your day?” …silence, and then “Uh,huh.”

His response tells me that his body is in my kitchen, but his mind is still in the gym.

“We’re out of milk.”…

“Uh, no thanks”

Now, I know he’s gone…his mind is on an out-of-bounds play or a new press break.

The man I married coaches high school basketball. Some may think that simply means our Tuesday and Friday nights are taken, but it’s so much more than that.

It means that for the next few months there is a group of young men that will see my husband more than he sees his own children.  He will spend more hours with his assistant coaches than he does with his wife.

People have asked me, over the years, if this makes things difficult for me at home?  My response is often, “It’s not about me.”  But, if I’m truthful, I don’t always handle it very well.  I would love to tell you that I take care of things on this end with a smile and an oven set at 170 degrees for the meal that he missed, again.  But, there were some days when my husband was greeted with an unpleasant, spit-up covered, crying woman that handed him a baby and merely pointed in the direction of the refrigerator and a pan of left over macaroni and cheese.

I knew when I married Darrin that he would coach. I envisioned myself sitting in the stands cheering on his team. Of course, I was lovely in that vision, the popcorn was great, and our team won!

But, that was not always the case. Most of the time, I was far from lovely. I didn’t factor in five kids. Four of them ages three and under. Games started at our children’s bedtime. Reality was that I was tired and the last thing I could imagine was putting on makeup and pants that had a zipper to go to an 8:00 basketball game. But I loved my husband, those boys that worked so hard, and basketball itself. So, I went.  We went.

Years ago, I remember leaving a game in Parkersburg, Iowa, on a cold and snowy night. By the time I had everyone go to the bathroom and get their coats on, the parking lot was nearly empty and my minivan was nowhere near the door.

I carried the baby, along with my ‘bag of wonders’ heaping with books, toys, diapers, sippy cups, and spilled popcorn. The wind was sharp and the kids were tired. The kind of tired when no one thinks they can walk anymore and if they don’t eat right now they just might die.

Suddenly, Maddie was missing a shoe and Jake dropped seven dinosaurs in the snow. We reached the van and it became apparent to me that Paige had a dirty diaper. I buckled everyone and attempted to change her on the floor of the van. I moved quickly as the cold wind whipped through the open door. Finally, everyone was settled and I jumped into the driver’s seat praying that the van would warm up soon.

The parking lot was completely empty now and the bus carrying Darrin and his team rolled past my parked car. I smiled and waved… and then I cried.  How could I be the last one to leave? We left as soon as the game ended!

Then, from the back seat, I heard, “I have to go potty.”  All I could do then was laugh.  Too embarrassed to haul everyone back up to an empty and, by now, locked school house we headed for the nearest gas station and once again, everyone piled out.

We would get home late. I would quickly feed hungry mouths bowls of cereal, brush teeth, and put everyone to bed. I found something for Darrin to eat as he still had an hour of game tape to watch and Algebra tests to grade. Finally, I would fall into bed promising God that I would feed those children a vegetable tomorrow night.

I still struggle to find balance as our, now school-age children, have their own schedules.  I swallow my pride and ask for help carting everyone around and I don’t see as many games as I should.  When it comes to Tuesday nights,  I’ve decided that life is just much more pleasant if the kids are tucked in their beds by eight.   Life is full of ‘seasons’.  I am in the season of caring for things here and though basketball creates a bit of chaos on the home front, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I have seen so many young men benefit from spending their winter days in the company of their coach, my husband.

Darrin coaches with a bigger picture in mind. There is so much more to this game than just X’s and O’s. There are life lessons to be learned. He cares about those boys off the court just as much as on the court. He prays for them at our supper table. He worries about their grades and wants the best for them in their homes.

There are very few boys, walking the hallways of their high schools, that will become professional athletes.  However, there are countless young men that will become co-workers, husbands, and fathers. What kind of men will come from my husband’s teams? Will they hold their heads up high? Will they look you in the eye and shake your hand firmly? Will they work hard? Will they fulfill their role, now and in the future, for the sake of their team, their family, their business, even when it means doing the things that may go unnoticed? Will they be servant leaders who care more about people than points?

Those same young men will walk into an opponent’s gym on a Friday night wearing a shirt and tie, ready to do a job…to play a ball game. They will represent their family, their school, and their town. Winning is always the goal, but playing with integrity and good sportsmanship is a must.

Darrin will lead them by example. Never will you hear a swear word or a crude joke.  There is no need for that.  He is not a yeller, but he motivates. He pushes you to be at your best, but he never humiliates. You can bet those boys will not want to disappoint him. They respect him too much.

Of the many things I love about my husband, one thing that stands out the most, is that he is the same in my living room, as he is in his classroom, as he is on the basketball court.  I don’t know a lot of people like that, but to be married to one is truly a gift.

He is far from perfect and he’ll be the first one to tell you that. He makes mistakes. He learns from those mistakes and moves on.  With God’s help, he strives to do better.  He moves forward, but always… looks Upward.

Because I know this to be true, I will pray for a heart that is willing to share him with the many others that count on him.  May I see his time spent away from this house as an act of service and may I serve the Lord, too, with a happy heart, caring for his children and his home when he can’t.

And on those cold Friday nights when young people can stay up a little later, we’ll call popcorn and hot dogs our supper.  We’ll spend an evening in a gym, tucked away in a small Iowa town. We’ll cheer on a team that plays a game, that not only they love, but that they learn from.

What a blessing it is to sit back and watch ‘from my side of the bleachers ‘what Jesus might do with a basketball, some boys, and a man that loves all three.

 

facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail

Don’t Kick The People

When my kids were little, before we would enter a restaurant or a store, we would talk about things we needed to remember to make it a good experience. Not only for us, but for the people that were about to encounter five little kids entering their place of business.  (Don’t think I don’t see you playing ‘rock, paper, scissors’ for the poor soul that is going to get our table!)

But, “Lady whose scissors just got crushed by the rock”, let me tell you…it’s gonna be alright.  You may have just won the grand prize of “Table for Seven”, but don’t you worry because I just helped you out when we were in the parking lot coming up with things like… sitting on our bottoms, looking  you in the eyes, and ordering our food in a voice that you can hear.  If we have something in our nose, we are going to leave it in our nose.  You just watch! We are going to push in our chairs and we are NOT going to leave gross things for you to clean up. We’ve got this!

But one day, as we sat in the van getting ready to go into a store, I turned around in my seat and asked the kids what were some of the things we would ‘do’ and ‘not do’ when we went in.

They rattled off ‘no yelling’ and ‘say please and thank you’ and then four year-old Kate said, “Don’t kick the people!”

Oh, how we laughed! And though it seemed obvious, what a good thing to remember!

As we enter a weekend full of shopping and crowded stores, my daughter’s little voice echoes in my mind.  We will see many stressed out shoppers and clerks and even though my four year-old really did mean that we should not ‘right roundhouse’ someone in the shin, there are so many other ways that we often times ‘kick the people’.

We’re in a rush and we don’t have time for someone to make a mistake. We take the closest parking spot and we don’t take the time to hold the door for the person behind us.  We fail to remember that the clerk is a real person and a simple and genuine, ‘How are you?” can mean so much. We see a young mother with restless children and judge her without knowing her situation.  We grumble about lines and prices when the person behind us worries if they’ll have enough money to pay for supper, let alone gifts for their kids. We honk at the ‘old lady’ in front of us because she drives too slow.

I wonder if we will ever be ‘old and slow’?  Will there ever be a time when we are just one paycheck away from not having enough to provide for our family?  Do we ever make a mistake at our own jobs? Are we thankful there isn’t a line of ten people to tell us how we could do it better?  None of us really know what is going on in another person’s day, a person’s life, and all too often we don’t really care because we’re just worried about our own.

This holiday season, I encourage you to slow down and really SEE the people around you. What do they need? That gentleman that sits alone in the booth, thinks he’s invisible to most. Smile at him. That girl that seems nervous about running the register for the first time…really IS nervous. Tell her she did a great job!

Enjoy this time of year and as we run around crossing things off our lists,  please remember to show some grace and…don’t kick the people.

facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail

Four Candles From Now

Another cake, another candle.  Her birthdays come faster now. They told me it would go by quickly, but I didn’t truly believe them.  The days were so long…certainly the years would be, too.  But, they were right.  One day, I turned around and there she was…looking me right in the eye.

Really, I swear she was just on my hip.  I can’t remember the moment when I put her down for the last time. Did I kiss her forehead? Did I tell her I love her?

I don’t recall the title of the last book I read to her.  I hope that we laughed and I pray that I didn’t rush through it or sigh and ask her to choose a shorter one.

On the day she asked me, for the last time, to help her wash her hair…please say I didn’t grumble.   If I had known, I would have sat by the tub a little longer and asked her to sing another song.

This girl of mine has been watching me try my hand at parenting  for 14 years.  I’m a rookie at every stage she enters.  She’s the one I’ve said, “I’m sorry” to the most.  I’ve stumbled along the way and if it looks as though I don’t know what I’m doing, well…I really don’t.

She’s heard me yell about a messy living room and then answer the telephone with a sweet, “Hello?”.  She’s listened to me lecture her about not shoving things under her bed and then watched me slide everything on the counter into a laundry basket when the doorbell rings.

She’s seen the good things, too.  Afternoons spent painting pictures and reading books on the front step.  We’ve run through the sprinkler and gone on countless caterpillar hunts.  We’ve spent years playing backyard baseball in the summer and building giant snowmen in the winter.  She’s thankful that I was able to give her time even though that sometimes meant not giving her things.

This young lady knows better than anyone how far from perfect I am, but she loves me just the same.  She’s seen me work and play and love.  She’s shown me more grace than anyone I know and, for that, I am grateful.

We stumble through these teenage years together.  Some days are delightful, others…not so much.  The roller coaster is rickety and it seems like yesterday and forever ago that I rode it myself.  I don’t always know what to say.  Sometimes she doesn’t want me to say anything.

But, I do know this… since the day we brought her home, her dad and I have told her about someone that would come to save her.  A Rescuer.  A Redeemer.  Someone that would never fail her.  Never leave her.  Always love her.   We have told her there is nothing that she could do to earn His love.  He loves her simply because she’s His.  His name is Jesus and though it’s hard to imagine, He loves her more than we do.  He’s all she’ll ever need.

So, it’s in His name, I pray.  I pray for her and I pray with her because I don’t know what else to do.  I say that as if it’s my last resort.  Certainly not.  No, it’s where I begin.  I’m honored to be called her mother and I believe God equipped me for this job. I’m stronger than I was, but only because I’m learning to lean on Him.  I hope she’ll see that’s where my strength comes from…where her strength comes from.

Someday soon, she will choose her own path and I pray that she will ask God to lead her steps.  Help me, Lord, to be the very best mother I can be.

Now… and four candles from now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail

A Hand To Hold

It just so happened that I was able to snap this photo while walking with my children on this beautiful fall day.  They love to wear color-coordinating outfits and walk hand-in -hand.  And wouldn’t you know it,  just as I was pulling out my phone to take a picture of this, all too familiar scene, they looked back at me.  Adoringly, they told me how much they loved me.

Hahahaha!

Oh, that’s funny!  I can hear you gagging, so here’s the real deal, folks…

The kids were dismissed early from school on what really was a beautiful fall day.  So…I said, “We’re going to take some pictures this afternoon.”  Suddenly, there are no kids in the room.  They have all scattered to the ends of the earth.  Apparently, they are not as excited about this as I am.

I find four of the children, wrestle them into color-coordinating clothes (otherwise known as # 5 on the “Top Ten Most Embarrassing Things Your Mom Could Make You Do” list), and I start making threats.

“Don’t eat, drink, or even think about spilling anything in the next thirty minutes.”

I also explain they should use the bathroom now because there would not be one where we were going.

So, we’re making progress, but the eighth grader is still missing.  The eighth grader appears.  The eighth grader is sent back to change after a discussion, I’m sure you’ve all heard of, called “Leggings Are Not Pants”.

Again, “Does anyone need to go to the bathroom?”

Maddie doesn’t understand why the ketchup stain on her shirt is a big deal (hence the scarf),  and Paige needs safety pins to hold up her leggings . (Because when you’re 6, leggings really ARE pants.

The last call is made for anyone needing to go to the bathroom and we pile into the dusty minivan.

Instructions are made clear…

“Don’t touch the dusty van.”

“Don’t write your name on the van.”

“Don’t touch anything sticky inside of the van.”

“Don’t touch each other.”

“Don’t pretend to touch each other.”

“Don’t put your finger within two inches from someone and declare that you are not touching each other.”

(This is not my first rodeo.)

We get to our destination and I start taking a few pictures.

Guess who has to go to the bathroom?

Me.

In the chaos, I forgot to go.  I’ll have to hold it because there is no way I’m going to share this with the “picture people” since I’ve asked them that question three times in the last 45 minutes.

Back to the photos…we’re having fun! (as in, no one has cried) and I say, “Why don’t you guys hold hands and walk across the bridge?”

People’s legs suddenly go limp.  I hear low rumbles and their eyes start to roll back into their heads.  Oh, and my son…my son doubles over and pretends he’s throwing up at the thought of holding his sister’s hand.

Nice.

“Please, just do it.”, I say.

So, they do…looking at me with toleration instead of adoration.

And instead of , “We love you, Mom.”…  I hear, “When are we done?”

But, despite the impromptu photoshoot, they really do love me AND each other.  There will come a day when the ketchup stains, fake vomit, and safety pins will begin to fade from my memory and I’ll be left with a photo of what seemed to be a simpler time.  A time before they really did scatter to what will feel like the ends of the earth.

So for now, Lord, I thank you for sunny, fall afternoons and time spent with my kids. Thank you  for putting them together.  I pray that someday, they will appreciate that you gave them built-in friends right from the start.

May they realize just how nice it was… to always have a hand to hold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail

No Such Thing As A Bad Day Fishing

 

When I was a little girl, I would have done anything to have my dad take me fishing. Of course, there wasn’t time for fishing. We farmed and there was always work to be done and never enough time to do it. Somehow, time slipped away and I never had a chance to spend a sunny afternoon fishing with my dad.

Then, a couple of years ago, I drove down a gravel road on the way to a pond north of my parents’ farm. My kids and I waved as we met a big green tractor mowing ditches. Sure enough, it was my dad. He smiled and waved.

Several minutes later, his dusty truck pulled up next to the pond. My dad stepped out in his overalls and said, “Are we catching anything?” I did a double take as it was 4:00 in the afternoon and certainly he couldn’t be done for the day. 

For the next two hours, I stood next to him. I watched him bait hooks and joke with my kids. He smelled like cigarettes and tractor grease which, oddly enough, are both smells that I love simply because they remind me of him. His hands were dirty and rough showing signs that he didn’t take an afternoon off very often. Never once, did he look at his watch. He towered over my little girls like a gentle giant as they waited for him to cast their line into the water again and again.

And somehow, through the course of the afternoon, the part of my heart that ached for her dad to spend an afternoon with her…healed. We didn’t catch a thing, but for me, the day was perfectly perfect.

I love you, Dad.

facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail

Corn Stalks and Candy Wrappers

1375737_10200801745711052_148988082_n

There is something special about harvest time in Iowa.  It makes me think back to when I was little girl, sitting in line at the Beaman Co-op with my hard-working mother.  With a full wagon load behind us, I waited in anticipation for the little pack of Lifesavers the gal at the window would hand out to the children.

We would pull forward slowly and sure enough, the woman at the window would smile and hand the candy to my mother.  I carefully slid the colorful wrapper away from the rest of the package, as not to tear it, and placed it on my finger admiring my ‘rainbow ring’. I looked for the red string at the end of the foil wrapper and slowly revealed the five beautiful candies inside. I ate the red one first and saved the light yellow one for when we got back to the field. 

I often wonder what those days were like for my mom.  It had to have been stressful, but she never let on. Three kids crammed into the front of a truck. A time before tape players or even seat belts, for that matter.

In the evenings, she would make supper.  Ours, as well as the countless hamburgers that she wrapped in foil to hand out to the men. Cups of apple crisp and cheesy potatoes formed an impressive assembly line. Everything would be packed neatly into paper bags and stuffed into a giant cooler.

Then the tough part…where were the men? Did she try to calculate just how to keep everything warm as we drove around looking for the headlights of a combine in the darkness?

In an age without cell phones, we spent a lot of time waiting on the end rows in hopes that Dad would see us before turning around for yet another round. The smell of cold and cornstalks would enter the cab as she ran out to climb the ladder of the roaring green giant. My parents would speak briefly…no time to stop as rain lurked in the distance.

Now to find the next hungry gentleman. The truck was warm and by now, we would all be getting sleepy. Did she worry that it would be too late to give baths by the time we got home? Did she really want to sing “This is the Day” for the eleventh time? Did she tire of trying to figure out whose turn it was to sit by the window?

All I know is that she never complained. She was a farmer’s wife and the mother to three and later four children. She was just as beautiful in her flannel, button-down shirt as when she wore a Sunday dress. She was strong and I rarely saw her sit down.

My father would later tell me not to marry a farmer, but as far as I could see, through my six year old eyes…it was a pretty good life.

facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail

Breathe In…

 

For whatever reason, but surely not by mistake, you have stumbled across this blog today.  To be honest, I’m not really sure how I got here, either.  All I know is that God has put you on my heart. And so, for a moment,  put down that basket of laundry or push away from your desk and just…breathe in.

It is here, I hope to do that, too.  To pause, to see what God wants me to learn from this day, to see the picture He has painted that so often I miss because I’m going too fast.  A beautiful sky, my child’s sweet face, the opportunity to really sit and listen.

I know you are tired.  I know you are juggling a million different things and at best…you feel mediocre at all of them.  It is here that you’ll hear me whisper…”Me, too.”

Sweet girl, please hear me when I tell you that you are more than what you cross off your to-do list today.  I want you to take a moment and really see the world around you.   In the middle of this fast paced, don’t stop, busy day, I’m going to ask you to do just that. Stop, put down your list, and just…breathe.

It is here that I want to make the ordinary…extraordinary.  I want you to see the blessings God has in store for you.  See the beautiful yellow dandelions instead of the clump of weeds.  Take a mental picture of how cute she is when she holds her spoon and not the 27 Cheerios she just dropped on the floor.   (And believe me…I have Cheerios on my floor, too.)

I am a farmer’s daughter, a coach’s wife, the mother of five, but above all… a follower of Jesus Christ.  I promise to tell you the truth.  I’ll be real with you and I’m going to ask you to do the same.  The everyday struggles you face are real, but let me tell you dear friend, you are not alone.  Through all of my many imperfections, I hope you’ll find encouragement and know God’s grace is sufficient.

Know that you are loved.

Know that God wants good things for you.

Come back and visit me again.  Here, you’ll find my honest reflections of ordinary days seen through God’s extraordinary plan.

-Jess

 

 

 

 

facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail