Soul Tending:

                     The verdict is officially in.    I am getting old!  I never thought I would relish quiet and solitude as much as I have recently.  The leisurely days of summer have completely ruined me.  The speed of the school year has given way to a Mayberry pace and I love it!

  I find myself going outside every morning to check on my flower garden.  I get up early, venture outdoors, and drink my coffee before the girls get up. I check on my flowers, pull some weeds, walk around and sit with the dog on the deck.

         My girls are aware of my ritual during the summer. They are used to my quirky routine.  I guess they are watching though, because Lindsey made a grand announcement this year that she too would have a garden!

 Lindsey decided that she wanted to plant a “food garden “.  Her Sunday school teacher brought her some butterbeans and she was hooked (thanks Mr. Ben).

She had to have a garden!

We spent days cultivating the soil.  We worked diligently on making sure that the dirt was ready to receive the seeds, and then we planted our treasures. We planted tomatoes, cabbages, strawberries, butter beans, carrots, watermelon.

 I am not a farmer.  I will not even pretend. She wanted it, and I will do anything for my Lindsey.

We worked all day planting.  We had a great time making signs and planning our little piece of paradise.  We talked about our harvest and what we would cook.  We had such a wonderful experience. No TV, no distractions. Totally focused on our task.  Just me and  my Lindz

That day was a good day.

Then the inevitable happened, it got hot here in the great state of Alabama.  She no longer wanted to work in the garden.  The garden was WAY up at the top of the hill (about 90 feet) and the walk was just not convenient anymore.

I am not going to lie to you and tell you that I saved the little garden.  If truth was to be told, I had the same sentiment.  I really did want the harvest, but I didn’t want to do the work.

Our little garden looks like a wasteland right about now.  The sun has completely fried anything that tried to grow.  There was this one little tiny tomato that was shriveled on the vine.

The little row markers Lindsey made looked like headstones in a cemetery.

 Everything is dead.  Weeds are the only thing that survived.

Weird, you can put so much time and energy into something wonderful, but when conditions change, you neglect it. All that hard work preparing the soil, all that time and energy planting things that if given the right conditions could have grown to produce beautiful harvest.   All that work…. ruined because we lost our focus. We got so caught up in the conditions of the day, that we missed opportunities to cultivate a harvest.

Now I bet you are wondering about my flowers.  Well, I cheat. My flowers are on my deck.  They are no more than 10 feet from my back door.  There is no distance or effort involved in my flowers.  They are constantly in front of me, constantly being checked on or even tripped over.  They are right there in my line or view daily.

The reason my flowers grew and her garden died…. simple:

It just wasn’t important.  It just wasn’t easy or convenient.  We had not tended to it, and the only thing that grew was the weeds.

  They choked out everything else.

         Last week while I was outside,   I was sitting out on the deck, and I began asking God why He seemed so far away.

He took me up to our garden.   His answer was pretty clear  …. “Your heart looks a lot like this garden.  There are things that shouldn’t be there that are choking out anything there that is supposed to be growing.    Yes, I am God , but I will not going to compete for your attention.   You let other things choke out time with me…  even seemingly good and important things.” 

I have found that I can even let the things of God choke out the presence and voice of God. I can get so busy with the activities and events that seem good and noble that I miss it.

 The message……right there in the dust:

If you want the spiritual harvest your soul craves, you are going to have to put in the work.  Just like a garden will not grow without you carefully inspecting it daily, your heart and faith won’t grow without you giving it due attention. 

There it was! 

You will have to get dirty, sweat a little, get uncomfortable, wait,  WORK!   If you want the desired end result, it may not be easy, but it will be worth it.  When it is harvest time, you will have more than enough for what you need and then you can share what you have with others.

I guess if we are honest, we could all use a little more soul tending.   I know I need to take the time to slow down.  To let the world go.    I don’t know of anyone who doesn’t fall prey to this. We all need to be careful about the things that distract or invade.   

 I am finding this summer that I need to weed out my heart. I need to work and tend and watch things grow.   I need to monitor and carefully inspect what comes out.  It is not just about me, others might benefit one day from the work I  SHOULD BE doing now.  I have decided that it is time to get started again.  It is time to  take care of my garden, I have to…...

 my girls are watching..

Boomer Ranch Adventure

              There are some things you just hate to admit to people.    Let’s face it though, my reality is others people’s comedy. I say this with all sincerity; our family could star in a reality TV show.  

My sister actually threatened me one time with turning us in to Dr. Phil. When I asked her why she didn’t, her answer was comical.  “You people would scare Dr. Phil.”

  Well, there you go!  

             One of my facts not so easily admitted must be the new rule in our family while the van is in motion.  I have recently had to institute the “No talking while driving/riding” rule for my girls. This was an absolute necessity after I completely ditched van.   I now understand why disciplining and driving is not such a grand idea.  It is very hard to explain to others on the scene of the mishap that you were flailing your arm wildly trying to hit whatever/ whoever popped up closest.  My luck never fails.  Just about the time I took my eyes off the road to ensure I made contact with at least one of the offenders, I jumped the curb and ended up with two wheels in the air.

             This rule has re-established order and decency in the car. It is truly difficult to fight if you are not talking and can’t see each other (I make them sit one in front of the other).

             Well, I have made an exception this week.  Since it is VBS week, I told the girls we could sing in the car.  Big Mistake!  After three days of hearing BBBBBB….BBBBBig Apple Adventure, my nerves were wearing extremely thin. I found myself  saying   “If I hear “bbbbig apple adventure” one more time, I am going to scream.”  Please pick another song…. if you must sing.

 I really should know better.

            They proceeded to sing all the songs from all the years they have done Bible School (which is a lot considering Daddy is a minister).  Now Anna Kate is only  6,  so her repertoire consisted only of the last 3 years.  Lindsey kept pulling up songs from waaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy back.  I was astounded by what they recalled. I head songs about Boomerangs.  I heard songs about Saddle Ridge Ranch, Capers, etc. 

 It was quite a little concert.

            As I was listening to the performance, it quit being a cute little show to pass away the summer day.  I really began to hear the words of the songs.

Saddle Ridge Ranch-  Discoverin' whenever I need wisdom God is the one to ask. ( Yep, been there)

Tumbleweed-Don't be all dried up, fried up, or petrified.  ( Yep, still there some days)

Boomerang Express: It all comes back to Jesus. No matter where you go or what you do the most important thing in life is that you choose to live for Jesus (Took me years to get this one!)

            In my scrapbook, I have a picture of myself on stage, as a 5 year old, singing:

 “God made me special; I am the only one of my kind. He gave me a body and a bright healthy mind. He has a special purpose that He wants me to find. He made me something special I am the only one of my kind.”

 “I am a promise, I am possibility. I am a promise with a capital P.”

             I am 36 years old, but I still remember every word of the songs I sang that night.  While I was a typical child and jumped right off the stage during the performance, the words seem to stick much better than my feet did.  I have had to go back into the recesses of my soul and pull those songs out from time to time to sing back to myself when I felt like I was inferior, or just a little lost.

            As I listened to my girls sings their little hearts out, I heard an astounding truth; they already know all they need to know to make it in this life.  While I am not throwing in the towel at 6 and 9, the foundations that they will build their lives on are forming right in front of me.

             Proverbs:  “Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he will not depart from it.”

                 I am so thankful for the ones who have so patiently taught my girls.  Through kindness, hard work, mixed with incredible amounts of fun, you have helped me touch tomorrow.  There will be a day when I won’t be there.  It is hard to think about, but true for us all.  It is so comforting to my heart as a mother  to know that  one day they will too  be able to go back and pull out songs from their childhood.

 I may not be there to tell them, but the truth will stay the same.... No matter if they are 5 or 85.

                                      “It all comes back to Jesus."

                                      

Good Morning Sunshine

“Good Morning Sunshine! ”…

If you work with me, then my early morning, annoying greeting, is probably echoing in your head right about now. You read the title, and you are extremely familiar with my ritual. It is how I greet my students each morning at school.

I have a co-worker who tells me that she always knows if one of my kids was sick, or it had been a long night by how I walk into my classroom.  She says if she doesn’t hear me say “Good Moring Sunshine” to someone before 7:45am, then she knows I need some extra prayer.  Let me go on record and state that I AM NOT a morning person. It is a coffee induced facade necessary to enter the land of 6th grade.

“Good Morning Sunshine,” was the first thing that popped into my head when I walked into the kitchen today.  I noticed that it was absolutely beautiful outside.  My flowers in my flower garden had perked up. Everything outside had been washed and cleaned (Thanks God).  HE was even kind enough to blow away about half of those limbs I cut down Tuesday that are still laying on the ground in my front yard.

Now, I am not a complete whack job.  I don’t ooh and ahh over the morning dew daily.  It is just that after the storm like we had last night, you notice the little things that survived.  The things that you usually overlook.

Around 1:00 this morning I halfway expected Garth Brooks to appear in my living room and start singing  “The Thunder Rolls.”  

 Lindsey and Anna Kate have always been afraid of storms. I hear the first thunder boom and literally within seconds I have two new bed fellows. Last night the girls were crying hysterically,  the house was literally shaking, the lights were flashing , and my husband was..... well...... asleep!  Completely at peace with the storm.

 

It seems like we have been hit with a lot of storms lately.  The weather has been fierce here in Alabama, but I am talking about a different kind of storm.

In the last week I have had so many conversations with people who are hanging on for dear life.  The storms of life are blowing,  and honestly…. it is getting pretty scary out there.

 Death,  divorce, a lonely heart in a far away land,  failing health, relational issues spinning out of control, everything from loss of job to loss of dreams.

   The thunder is rolling.

 As I drank my coffee this morning, God pointed something out to me that may be a clue to it all.

Don’t laugh …. My deck umbrella!

   This deck umbrella is my favorite patio furnishing.  It has a 15 foot diameter.  It is our oasis of shade during the hot Alabama summers. 

 During last night’s storm Lindsey said, “Oh no!  Look at the umbrella, the wind is going to blow it away.”  I told her not to worry, the umbrella was completely safe.  The bottom of this monstrosity is a 200 pound water tank.   It has been designed to stand up to the wind. It has a base that makes sure it remains steady.  I did have to go out into the storm and tie it up the canvass to make sure that the winds didn’t damage it.  Even though there was a chance that the fabric could break,  I knew in the morning my little umbrella would be standing because the foundation is secure.

 I bet you can already predict  where I am going here.   God is the one that the winds and the waves obey.  If our foundation rests in HIM, the storm may damage our canvass, but when the wind stops, we are still here. Maybe a little beaten up, maybe tired from the struggle against the wind, but still standing.  Our foundation is secure in HIM.

I guess I am finally realizing that there will never be a fairy tale existence.  Eden  has been destroyed.   God didn’t promise us days without pain.  Some days are going to be very long.  Some storms may even last for years.   There is no one exempt from the thunder and lightning of this life. 

 The Millraneys are no exception.

Most of you know I have published a book, and am working on others.  I am not sure how many books I will write on my journey, but I know which one will be last. 

 It is called: The Dark Night of the Soul – When the one you love lives with Depression.

 If you know us personally, then you have heard Gary talk about his battle with Depression.  This hurricane is what sent him into his profession of counseling others.  He knows what abyss dwelling can be.  He has felt the pain of the dark night.   He has decided that the rest of his ministry will be devoted to helping others know they are safe and loved when the wind begins to howl.

The book has taken me almost 20 years to write.  I said when I started  the book that I would not publish it until the night had passed.  I would wait for God’s promise to me to be fulfilled. I want the morning!   The sun is finally rising on this storm for our family.  It has been quite a gale, but I think we are finally coming into the light.

That is the thing about storms.  After the night, there is a morning. A beautiful place where we start again.  Clean and fresh and still standing. The storm may be a long one.  You may get  a little torn and tattered, but the sun will rise on another day.

 Sometimes it takes the storm to help us appreciate what…. survives the storm.  Important things in life; things rooted and secure.

I wish I could handle storms like last night the way my family does.   Gary rests knowing he can’t control it.   He has done everything he can to prepare us and protect us, but ultimately he is not in charge of the weather.  The girls, also, have an uncanny way of making it through the worst parts.  As soon as they are with us, they go right to sleep. It is weird ! I am up watching out the window, listening for sirens, turning on the Weather Channel, finding flashlights  and throwing pillows in the bathtub.  I look over and they are completely content to rest in Gary’s arms.  They can hear the wind and see the striking lightning, but in the arms of the father that loves them all they know is they are safe.  They ride out the storm and wait for  his voice to  say, "Girls, the storm is over. You are going to be just fine."

 I guess that is how you do it.   You survive the storm by resting in the knowledge that there is a Father that loves you and will allow you crawl into HIS arms when the wind kicks up.

The ONE who allowed the storm is ultimately in charge of its duration.   You can no more speed up the storms in life any more than you can control the weather.  The storms may be fierce and sometimes long, but there is one thing I have found comforting… all storms end.

 There may be damage, you may have to make some repairs in the aftermath.  But know this, after your night there will be a morning.  Our promise is simple.  Resting in Jesus always produces a new day.   When the sun comes up you will find that the foundation has beautifully held.

 You will be given the grace to start again.  

 Friend, Listen closely!

 It may be quiet, just barely a whispher to your soul, but you will hear the voice of your Father saying,

      “Good Morning Sunshine!   I AM still here. The storm is over.  You are going to be just fine.  Get Up...it is going to be a beautiful day!”

Radical

 “I hear you are a Baptist preacher. Well, sit here. It won’t kill ya! I have been Baptist my whole life, but I love it here!”

                 I looked at Gary and smiled, not sure whether to laugh or take off in a dead sprint for the door.  Yesterday was First Sunday. We were at the McLemoresville Methodist Church. 

                 You see my mom is a Methodist masquerading as a Baptist most of the time.  She relinquished her Methodist heritage when we lived in Nashville so that we would go to church as a family. This has changed since Cindy and I are now grown.  Mom and daddy have moved back to the country, and mom has sacrificed long enough.  

                She will attend the Baptist church with Daddy with the understanding that on the  First Sunday of each month  she gets to go to her church.  She grew up in this church and on the first Sunday she attends to take communion.  We had come here to visit for the weekend so we went to ”her” church.

                Walking through the door was like going back in time.  This was my grandmother’s church.   I laughed at the people that would come in to welcome “the visitors”, then look at me in the face and say “You are Niki!”  I would just smile.

                 I spent a lot of time in this little church as a child.  This is where my grandmother attended for  over 70 years.  These little old ladies hugging on me ,held me in their arms and rocked me as a baby.   They remembered me.  They had prayed for me my entire life. They still do.

                 I was so caught up in the sentimentality of it all that I missed the fact that my children were completely overwhelmed. Let me see if I can paint you a picture of yesterday.

                The church itself is timeless.  It looks the same as it did when I was a child.  It looks the same as it did in my parent’s wedding pictures.  OH AND  ONE MORE IMPORTANT DETAIL:  The entire congregation has less than fifty people in it. 

 Picture Little House on the Prairie.....and add a choir loft.

                 My girls couldn’t believe it.  Where is the band? The lights?  What is a hymnal?   and my personal favorite… Whoa , wait a minute, I have to sit in here and listen to the sermon because there is no Kids service!

Welcome to the country my friends.   It is like nothing you will ever experience.

                I found myself critiquing the service (don’t laugh cause you do it too).   The music, the message, the whole package;  how did it measure up?

                I thought it was cute when they called the youth group for a “special”  and five kids came forward to sing.  They sang their little hearts out, but the melodious sounds of beauty were lacking.   It wasn’t nails on a chalk board, but it was close. I was glad that the special was over. I clapped politely and prepared for the next part of the service.

 What happened next sent my head reeling.

                I couldn’t believe my ears and eyes when the church gave them a standing ovation and the congregation yelled out “Sing another one”.  I looked at Lindsey; her face and my brain were on the same wave link. 

What in the world?  I obviously missed something here.

                 I was corrected right there by God.  I wasn’t put in time out, but it was close.

 You see, I have been reading the David Platt book, Radical.  I have spent weeks pondering a few of the statements in the book.  They absolutely haunt me:

 “ I realized I was on a collision course with an American church culture where success is defined by bigger crowds, bigger budgets, and bigger buildings.  I was now confronted with the startlingly reality: Jesus spurned the things that my church culture said were most important.”

 “ I could not help but think that somewhere along the way we missed what is radical about our faith and replaced it with what is comfortable”

 “We are molding Jesus into our own image.   He is beginning to look a lot like us , because, after all that is who we are most comfortable with. The danger now is that when we gather in our church buildings to sing and lift our hands in worship, we may not actually be worshipping the Jesus of the Bible.  Instead we may be worshipping ourselves.”

                The Jesus and God I am comfortable with….. that  scares me. To be so very safe in my relationship because I have removed anything I don’t necessarily like.

The Gospel according to Niki?

                 I have been trying to figure out how comfortable I am, and what does God want me to do about it , if anything.    I struggle with what a radical life today looks like.   The “Give it all up for ME” is just too vague.    My personality is one of doing.   I want a check off list.  I want it to be defined.

                Does it look like a service stripped down to authenticity?  A little country church that is small, but steady and faithful?  Is it bells and whistles removal?  What do I have to let go of to be kingdom minded.?

 and honestly.......Am I really ready to do that?

 Give up my comfort? Give up what I am used to for something so completely foreign?

               After the choir sat down, my heart began to see what God was trying to tell me. God demands that we give our best and the little choir did.  They had nothing except a willing spirit to serve a Mighty God. 

 What makes me think that God didn’t smile on their offering?  Pure hearts are far more valuable than talents, lights, or fancy stage performance.

 I had been so judgemental based on what I thought it should be or look like.  I acted as if the music was actually for me anyway.

That is what I am being exposed to in the book Radical.  We live in a church culture about us, and it should be ultimately about only HIM.

                I think God waited until he had my complete attention to show me the answer I had desperately been searching to find. It was a  moment right at the end of the service.  HE pretty much answered everything I had been wrestling with lately.

  I was watching the communion service as I saw one of my grandmother’s good friends go up and receive her communion, her bread and juice. 

 I sat there and humbly watched her take her offering of remembrace. I couldn't believe my eyes as it was happening. While everyone else walked  back to their seat, she walked over to the altar, got down on her knees at 88 years old, bowed her head and prayed.

God cleared up all of my confusion right there.  He said,

                                   “This is what I desire.”

  The bells, the whistles, the lights, even the denominations are all just tools to get to this:             

                                 A heart bowed to me...

               Niki, this is what it means to be Radical.

                                                                                

Floaties

“If she would just listen to me!” I bet I have said that a thousand times this weekend. We have spent most of our time playing in the pool. The majority of it was fun.


I did say… majority.

Exactly twice this week we have had to save Anna Kate from drowning. Do it to me once, shame on you, do it to me twice... shame on me.


I know, and to avoid any more incidents, I have already purchased her some floaties and a ski belt. I have declared defeat. I cannot do this all summer. I do not want to be the mom at the pool, in the corner, eating glue.


It is always the same thing with her. She is just fine( honestly for hours) then all of a sudden she gets in water that is just too deep.


Her problem is a typical childhood phenomenon. Short kids who can’t swim, don’t do well in deep water. An epiphany…. I know.


She is great as long as she can touch. The world is fine as long as SHE is in control. Everything is fun and sunshine until she can’t reach the bottom of the pool any longer.


She panics when she loses her footing.


Her problem is simple. In her little mind, Anna Kate can swim. She scoffs at my warning , even when I stand on the edge and point out specifically where safety lies. She can swim. The other kids are doing it. She can swim. She doesn’t need my help, or my advice. I tell her that her skill has not yet been honed, and caution is her friend. Her tenacity is fearless. No need to listen to me. While I question her ability, she has decided that she can swim. What do I know? I am an overprotective parent in her eyes…… until. She struggles, she takes in water, and she chokes and gags and screams for me.


Amazing! Mommy was right!” Now, like any mother would, I jump in and I save her. But, I would really rather not have all that drama. Poolside is meant to be relaxing. If she could just stay in the boundaries that I set up, we wouldn’t need all the splashing.


I am going to get really honest with you here… I think that sometimes we do that with God. At least , I know I do. God says “Stay here. It is where I want you”. And we half- way listen. We stay “around” where we are supposed to be. We take on roles, responsibilities, and relationships that were never meant for us. We begin drowning in water that we had no business swimming in anyway.



Sometimes we realize it before it gets too far and we go back to safety. Other times, we push the boundaries .We think we can handle it. We have it all under control and then we take one step too far. We begin to go under, and all we can do is wait and hope that God is going to jump in and save us once again.


“I can do this. I can . I got this one God!” All the while He is saying, “ Don’t go there. You are not ready. That water is deeper than you think. Stay in my safety. You can’t handle it over there.”


And so I go….. Anyway.

Unfortunately, life doesn’t have any floaties. Unlike the simple solution for Anna Kate’s defiance, God has not designed something to keep me safe when I chose to get in over my head. Disobedience, by nature, will get you in trouble.


True, I know God will come to my rescue, but I may have to gasp and choke and scream a while. The junk I have to take in will ruin my experience. I won’t drown, but I won’t come out completely unharmed either.

So I sat there at the pool thinking about this. God tends to show up with me at the oddest times. Because it is summer and my brain is on vacation, He made the connections right there on the side of the pool for me.


He showed me how I was, at times, no different than that little girl. The same little girl that was about to get her pretty little head pinched off by her exasperated mother.


I could hear myself saying to Anna Katherine: “Girl, I wish you would just listen to me! This would be a lot more fun if you would just do what I said.”


As those words were echoing back to me, I could almost hear HIS voice when He smiled and said………


“ Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Held

One of the joys in my life is my precious daughter Anna Katherine (Anna Kate). She is my gift from the hand of God given to us  7 years ago. Her smile is contagious and her heart is pure. She is the picture of a wonderful little lady with the exception of one small detail. Anna Kate likes to play WWE Smackdown with her daddy.



It is not unusual to hear shrieking coming from inside of my house. There is a blessed noise of childhood that is just expected. But some sounds, they just stop you cold.


This past summer Anna Kate and her daddy got just a little too rough. She jumped to “Do a BIG ONE on him.” Well, she is a Millraney. She inherited our “Moments.” Poor Anna Kate….she missed

What was meant to be her greatest feat, quickly evolved into her worst nightmare. With all the might she could possibly muster, she forced herself into the air. Unfortunately, her trajectory was off ever so slightly. Her new target was now the small nightstand in the corner.


Her injury was painful, yet superficial. Nothing a few stitches and a trip to McDonald’s© wouldn’t cure.

 Now understand please that she had never been to the hospital, never seen stitches, and had no idea what was in store.


I waited until the last possible second to tell her. The thing that would ultimately heal her… was going to hurt.




Relieved that the truth was finally out, I thought the worst was over. Then, they looked at me and said “Mom, it is YOUR job hold her.”

You know, some memories slip away so quickly, while others are forever burned into your soul. 

Her pleas still haunt me: “Mommy, is it going to hurt? Mommy, I am scared!” Then they covered her face.

 She was now totally surrounded by darkness.

“Mommy, make it stop!

Mommy, is it over? You said it would be over soon!

This hurts too much.'"

She begged “Mommy, hold me! Please mommy, I can’t hear you anymore. It’s dark, mommy! Hold me Mommy! Are you there?”

I stood there with tears rolling down my face. My heart was absolutely breaking because I knew at any moment, I COULD STOP IT. I could end it,

 but my heart chose not to.

 I chose what I knew she needed. What would help her, and ultimately heal her....

 I allowed her to go through the pain.

Looking back, I am amazed at how God allows circumstances in our lives to teach us something. This event was so shockingly parallel to my own experience that the similarities could only be described as Divine.

I too, had  moments of absolute fear and desperation. March 5, 2009, I was diagnosed with a brain aneurysm corrected only by life-threatening (open skull) brain surgery.


I remember my own experience. My conversation with God mirrored my own daughter’s pleas:



You have an aneurysm......" Oh, God...This hurts, I am scared.”


You have to have surgery ...very dangerous surgery.

“God, make it stop.”


You might be blind....... “God is it over?”

You might not make it. “God, You said it would be over soon.”

 My kids need a mom. I want to watch them grow up. 

“It hurts too much”.

 My husband needs me… “ Just, Please make it stop.”

 I don’t want to die.



The only calm in my soul was a small voice that whispered, 

 “Niki, Do you trust me?

Not for what I will do, but for Who I Am?

I know it hurts; I know you are scared. I am NOT going to take it away, but

I WILL HOLD YOU.

While you may not understand what is going on, I DO.”


The night before my surgery, I had resolved that I had to RELINQUISH control.  I had to trust that whether God answered me or not, HE was listening. 

I do get so amused with God at times.  It seems like when I beg and beg for a specific request, I never seem to get it.   It is always when I stop telling God what to do......that HE always does what I need.

My hospital room was quiet and still as only late night in a hospital room can be.  To my right, my husband, Gary was sleeping.  Restless and wondering about the events of the next day.... I was given such an incredible blessing.  

Sometimes it still seems like a dream.   But, one that I would never want to wake up from.

  At the foot of my bed,  back to me, was someone sitting there.  I never saw their face; they never said a word.  Just had their hand on my leg, sitting quietly. 

Now some people thing I am weird,  some people think it was the drugs.

but ....In that moment, I experienced such a peace. I realized quickly, 

that I knew nothing of Holy.


Jesus didn’t assure me of anything except HIS presence. I needed nothing else. In that room, in my greatest hour of despair, I experienced my Savior. 

What a glorious experience.......... to just be Held.

 Not knowing the outcome, not lessening the pain, or erasing the fear. Just asking me to rest in His presence. The fears of this world simply faded away.

People ask me all the time if my story is true. If I ever ask "Why?"

 How could someone who has been a Christian since childhood, a minister’s wife, a servant, be asked to go through this?  Where was my promise of abundant life? 

“Your life has been one of surrender, yet in your darkest hour, God abandoned you.”

 I just smile.  I can't explain it, and there is no way they will ever understand..... 

I wasn’t abandoned.       

I was Held.

The Death of Super Mom...

    Somebody recently asked Lindsey to tell what her favorite Bible verse was. She said, and I quote, “Whatever that one about God knowing all about you, and loving you anyway. You know that one that is on my mom’s tattoo on her foot.” (Ps. 139) ... Not exactly the Sunday school answer you expect from the minister’s kid.


    I accepted long ago that I am more of a Laurelai Gilmore than a June Cleaver. I have the pearls, but I would rather wear the red high heels. I am a minister’s wife who  loves Jesus, but I have never really fit into the model of what society says that should look like. My mom has jokingly said, “She doesn’t fit in a box, I am not sure if she can even find it.”


     I can’t cook. I don’t sew. My children should be in forever detention over the times I have forgotten to sign that Conduct Calendar. I would rather mow the grass, than do the laundry. I will choose to  play basketball over Barbies any day. Sadly, as of this typing, the dog has more food than the people at my house. Oh, and one more thing.....my kids refer to  me as Psycho-Billy-Ninja when I get mad.


      This is just not a great set up for my ego on Mother’s Day. On Mother’s Day we hear all about the attributes of a good Mom. All the stories of homemaking, culinary accolades, costume making, sacrificial doing, car pooling and scrap booking.


I smile sweetly and think, “My poor girls.”


    I had a mom call me on Friday to apologize for being a bad mother because she forgot to give her child money to buy candy on Field Day. He didn’t get his Skittles money and she was in tears.


    This started me thinking. What are we doing to ourselves? Who made the standard which we are killing ourselves to achieve? Who came up with "Super Mom" anyway? The one who can do it all, be it all, and make it all.


    I find myself, and other mothers disappointed at our inability to be perfect. Just typing that sentence makes me stop and think. When did I get this idea that perfection could be attained? Jesus had an imperfect mother. What makes me think I am going to do better than the mother of God? At least her kid did what she said, every time, the first time, with no death threats involved.

     Last time I checked, God didn’t have a check off sheet for the qualifications of a good mother. It has always been more like: Love Me first. Love Me best..... Then love them.


    I looked up the role of “Mother” in the dictionary (sorry, but I am a teacher) and I found something: “Because of the complexity and differences of a mother's social, cultural, and religious definitions and roles, it is challenging to define a mother to suit a universally accepted definition.”


    I LOVE THAT! What a relief! It is a role that cannot be defined! Maybe, my girls aren’t in as much trouble as I first thought.


   God knew what He was doing when He gave me these little girls. It is no accident that I am the mother that was chosen for them. I like that.  I can rest in it.  I may not be the text book model for Motherhood, but I have arrived at the simple place that God knows me, God loves me, (Psalm 139) and He knew the mother I would be. He leads me, and all my faults, to project His image to my children.


I think it is time, as mothers that we give ourselves a break, or at least a chance…. Not apathy, because God wants OUR best. Just know that OUR best is not supposed to be dictated by others expectations of who they think we need to be.


My kitchen may very well be used as a dance floor before a restaurant.  My car is not clean.  I order Cracker Barrel on holidays. We have counted playing outside in the sprinkler… a bath. We watch way too much TV. We could make a new reality show out of the events inside our home.  Bon Jovi’s “ Living on a Prayer” could be the answer if you asked Anna Kate what her favorite Praise and Worship song is. And yes, I have accepted the idea that Chic- Fil – A is now a food group in our family.

 Honestly, I am OK with that.


My kids know I am not perfect, but they know I love them with all my heart.

......  and really, their opinion is the only one that counts anyway.


Like all mothers today, I gave the usual answer... “Nothing”, when asked what I wanted for Mother’s Day, but that is not exactly true.

 Secretly,  I still have one small request:


Could somebody please kill “Super Mom?” This whole Mom thing would be so much easier if she just wasn’t around.