To My **gulp** Daughter In Law.

I get it now.

My nephew has paved the way for how I will feel raising a son. He's practically my "other" child. He tears at my heart and just the sight of him- just the sound of his name- can literally make my heart warm instantly. I am totally smitten with admiration for his giant, chocolate eyes, his luscious bottom lip that I kiss every time I hold him, and his signature mean face. He's my buddy. And right now, his mom, his Gia, his Grammy, his Bug (me)... well, we're the ladies in his life. But one day, his hand won't quite fit inside mine anymore. He won't light up at the sound of my voice, nor will he give me those tiny snuggles when he's sleepy. He won't crawl at lightning speed into my arms when he wants to be held. In fact, he won't want me to hold him at all.

He'll find another girl whose heart she'll give to him. And he will take it and cherish it all his life.

The even BIGGER problem here is that if I can't imagine sharing Legend with another woman (I hate sharing him with his grandmas, I admit it...), how in the WORLD will I give my SON to a woman to take care of?

Right now, as I write this, Walker is wadded up in a ball above my bellybutton, making me feel a little less than comfy at the moment. Earlier, he was doing the moonwalk. Before that, the Ally McBeal baby dance. He's a joyful little man.

And right now, I am completely, totally, and literally his world.

I can hold him all to myself, not yet having to share him with his grabbing Aunt Lori, his smoochy Gia, or his smothering big sister Abi. He's all mine. His daddy provided his blood, and I supply everything else. His food, his shelter, his warmth, his comfort. But the day is soon (not soon enough) approaching that I will usher his body into the world that's a little colder than my womb, and I will share him with loved ones, friends, and a world that is waiting for his arrival.

But that's not the big deal.

One day, I will have to share him with HER.

More than likely, somewhere on this planet, there's a mom who is carrying her. Or maybe she just gave birth to her. Maybe their family is close by... perhaps I pass them in Target. Or maybe they are overseas somewhere, speaking a foreign language. Regardless, she exists, or soon will exist, and the Maker Himself has arranged for my son's path to cross with hers. He has planted the seed in Walker's heart even now, that her beauty will catch his eye, her laugh his ear. And though I know how the story ends, and I know my son will be happy all his days as a result of this arrangement by Majesty...

I don't like her right now.

I want this young lady to know exactly what this mama thinks about her. So here it is.

Dear Young Woman Who Has Stolen My Son's Heart,

I know you. Well, let me rephrase that. I know OF you. I'm a girl too... a little worn around the edges, more so than you are. Probably older than your own mom. Probably a little more outspoken. And definitely more aware of the gift I'm giving you than you are at this point.

See, I know the cost of his life. I waited to see his heartbeat on the screen for seven years. Seven. Long. Years. I dreamed of him a million times, in black and white at first... then sepia tones... and then in vivid technicolor. I know what it's like to pine for him before he was even formed. I loved him passionately first. And I will love him until my heart beats for its final time.

I am carrying him in my womb right now, but that doesn't matter. In my mind's eye, he is strong, stinky, and slightly obnoxious, the way every man is. He comes from a long line of men. Not boys. Not pushovers. Men. Manly, strong, wise, and gentle men. So though he's the length of a zucchini and the weight of a pack of hamburger meat, he's my big, strong, strapping boy.

By the time you read this, his dad and I will have nursed him through infancy, first steps, skinned knees from bicycle accidents, banged up lips from playing ball, and sat through 25,321 hours of sports events. We will have made him chaperone for his older sister's social shenanigans, set up countless tents in our living room, and asked him endless times if he is wearing deodorant. No telling how many gallons of milk we've purchased, how many large pizzas have been delivered, and how many dozens of cookies I've had waiting on him when he got home from school.

We loved him first. I KNEW him first.

I know exactly how many freckles are on his face. I know every birthmark. I know the story behind every scar that he wears like badges. I remember every Christmas gift, every birthday party, and every time he slept somewhere besides under my roof. He needed ME when his heart was broken the first time. He needed ME when his laundry was piled up in his closet floor. He needed ME when he had a fever and hurt all over.

But it's come to my attention, now he needs YOU. Ugh.

I also know that I have prayed for you since his gender was revealed. That you would be a woman of virtue and integrity. That you would know the incredible worth that was placed on your life by Holiness before your conception. That you would dress so to catch my son's heart first, and THEN his eye. That you would be being trained to raise your children to know God, simply by watching your life. That you would be a living, breathing example of femininity and grace. That you would be able to manage your household with skill. That you would know when to put your foot down to my hardheaded son, and know when to submit to his leadership.

But mostly, I've prayed you will love Jesus Christ. And that from that love, you could love my boy with your mind, body, and soul.

My boy has been given the best example he could ever have on this side of eternity to pattern his life by. His father is a daddy. He has loved me so well for many years and guided me through many gray times. He is tough, he is strong, he is handsome, and he is rugged. But he is tender, he is gentle, he is meek, and he is loving. Perfect? No. But close enough for my heart. My boy has seen his parents work it out and work it through. He has seen dedication and the sacredness of a marriage covenant. If nothing else was given to him, I promise you he knows how to be committed to you for all his life.

If you're the one, we're going to be in each other's lives for the rest of mine. I don't know your own family situation. I pray you're intimately close to your mom. But if not, I look forward to having the opportunity of being a mom to you over time. Here's what I can promise you.

I will not be perfect.

I will tick you off sometimes.

I will not intrude into your personal lives, though I will mumble to myself when you're not listening.

However, if you give me a platform into your life- if I earn that from you- I will do my best to guide you and educate you like a mom-in-law should.

I will defend you, trying my best not to believe my boy first. I'm aware there's two sides to every story.

I will be the best grandma that's ever lived.

If he ever loses his mind and puts his hands on you in anger, I will break his bones into a million pieces, no hesitation.

I will pray for you every single day of my life.

If you need me, I will be wherever you are in the length of time it takes my plane to get there.


What I expect from you. It's alot simpler, your part.

Love my boy. The best you can. Nothing more, nothing less is needed.

So, there you go, love. At this point, I still don't like you very much.

But my heart already loves you.

Love,
"Mom"

Let your girls be ladies.

So, this is a relatively easy one for me. I am the mother of a VERY feminine, VERY girly, VERY estrogen-driven female. (I am bracing myself for the testosterone that is coming in March.) Girliness comes easily to Abi. She is completely and totally afraid of all things reptilian or with antennae, never had to be told not to stick something in a light socket, and hasn't eaten a single stick or blade of grass in her entire life.

She's SUCH a girl.

And while it's easy to raise a girl like Abi in a million ways, I am also acutely aware that she is constantly watching me, patterning herself after me in ways that often frighten me. And this fact causes me to be more vigilant about training her to be a lady on purpose.

I love the picture above. For one thing, I am SO TIRED of one gender or the other being blamed for the downfall of our society's values and ethics. When God put man and woman in the Garden, He told THEM, as in male AND female, to be fruitful and multiply... told THEM to work together... told THEM to rule and have dominion in the earth. So, women-- to blame men for the world's problems is only 50% of the story. And men-- vice versa.

I am all about parenting on purpose. Yes, there are many moments just "caught" that our children get by the natural ebb and flow of a household living together. However, there is nothing worthy of "catching" if the parents' core values and beliefs aren't lining up with the Word of God... the ULTIMATE Old School. Here's the part where many of my more "new school" readers will tune me out, stomp their feet in protest, and think I came from the Dark Ages.

I'm okay with that. ;-)

Parents, if you're raising a daughter, please hear me out.

While I am all, and I mean ALL about raising my daughter to be equal to any man, I am VERY aware that she is not capable of doing the same things he can do. I am aware that even though she is strong, decisive, and brilliant, there are some things that God naturally designed her to default to a man for... to let him lead her in many ways. This is not about finding her a gender appropriate job-- if she for some bizarre reason wants to be a mechanic, more power to her. We'll send her to the best mechanic school on the planet. (However, I am totally convinced a woman shouldn't be President... so sue me.) This is about cultivating female qualities inside her. Making her into a true lady, whether she is a teacher, a race care driver (please, Lord, no), a butcher, a baker, or a candlestick maker.

So what qualities should we bring forth in our young ladies? What are the morals and cores that we hope she catches from us? What are we preparing her to be?

Humility. This is a virtue sadly misunderstood by the world as a whole. We take humility to mean being beaten down, oblivious to our strengths, and always taking the backseat to someone else's desires or wishes. Not the case at all. Humility is simply the art of knowing that even though you ARE all that and a bag of chips, you don't have to prove it to anyone. Your life itself will show how awesome you are. Humility is a mom choosing to stay home and rear her children, though she has a college degree on her wall. Humility is wiping up vomit from the bathroom floor and washing it from the hair of a sleepy two year old, even though Daddy slept right through it. Humility is a homecooked meal in the evening, even though both parents worked just as hard that day. Humility is a heart felt apology, even when she knows she's right. Humility is admitting you're not physically strong enough to move the entertainment center by yourself and asking your husband for help. It's knowing your strengths and being very familiar with your weaknesses. Humility is a crowning jewel of any confident woman.

Modesty. A friend of mine recently sent me a message on facebook, telling me she was buying underwear for her daughter... a little girl, size 5/6. She found underwear in that tiny little girl size that said, "Girls Rule, Boys Drool" on them. SERIOUSLY? Why in the HECK should a 5/6 year old's underwear say ANYTHING other than the days of the week? I'll tell you why. Society is programming our daughters to showcase their bodies instead of their beauty. They are teaching our girls from kindergarten that there's no harm in being "confident" (which isn't really confidence if you have to flaunt it, btw) in your sexuality... no repercussions for being precocious and mature beyond her years. I may be in the 1% of people who feel this way (and again, I'm okay with that), but I have a problem with sweatpants that have writing on the butt that girls wear in public! Why is it ok to dress my daughter, whether she's 5 or 17 in clothing that draw attention to her rear end or her breasts? Wise up, parents! It's the "little foxes" that spoil the vine. I'm not saying we dress our girls like they live on a cultish compound, nor am I saying we shouldn't teach them to be confident with their body image. What I AM saying is that a modest girl or woman doesn't need to advertise what's underneath those clothes! Leave something for boys to wonder about! If we can instill in our girls where true beauty comes from, she won't need to have the word PINK written on her butt when she goes to Wal-Mart. She'll turn heads by the way she treats the cashier or thanks the pharmacist. Which takes me to the next virtue...

Thankfulness. Kids complain-- ALL. THE. TIME. And about everything. This isn't fair, that's not fair, she got more than me, he's being rude to be, I hate my teacher, school is stupid, this is cheesy... I HATE COMPLAINING. And I do not tolerate it. When Abi tries to complain (which isn't often because we don't foster this environment in our home), we immediately thrust the responsibility on her to do two things. 1- Find something to be thankful about in that situation, and 2- Be a part of the solution. Fostering an atmosphere of negativity and complaint fosters entitlement mentalities, and takes the joy right out of life. Where do we get this idea that life can only be enjoyed if all the stars line up correctly? I love the verse found in Ecclesiastes that says, "If you wait for perfect conditions, you'll never get anything done." A heart of unthankfulness makes us think we can't enjoy life unless A+B =C. Sometimes A+B= X and we must find ways to be thankful in any equation. If thankfulness is missing from your daughter's life (or son's or YOURS), be thankful on PURPOSE. MAKE yourself notice the simple things that you tend to breeze by and then point them out to your children, outloud. Trees, flowers, cooler weather, a clean house, hot food on the table, and freedom to worship God as we choose. Talked about those things lately?

Manners. Okay, seriously. MANNERS, PEOPLE. First of all, you can't expect your daughter to have manners if you're calling her a stupid idiot, or telling her to shut up. Practice what you preach. I blog about this alot, I know. But I can tell you from both sides of the equation how much manners matter... both as an educator for ten years and as a parent. GREAT FAVOR is given to children who exemplify a heart of kindness and consideration toward others. "Yes, ma'am," "No, sir," and "Hi, Mr. Tommy" are ways that apparantly just cavemen spoke. Lately, two children have asked Abi why she says, "Yes, ma'am" while talking to me. That makes me sad. Our children are CERTAINLY equal to us as humans, and CERTAINLY in the eyes of God. Their value is equal to the oldest person alive. But they are NOT our peers, and we're not teaching them to "respect their elders..." Especially in the way they speak to us. End of story.

Diligence. Recently, I walked into Abi's room to find her clothes strewn out in about five different directions. I said to her, "I do not mind picking up your clothes for you. IF you're willing to pay me 50 cents for every piece I pick up." Needless to say, I didn't pick up any clothes. Oh, you know the moments. Your kid is in Publix with you. She gets a box of cereal and runs up to you with it... "Mom, can we get this cereal?" You say no. She sticks it on the nearest shelf. Not a big deal, or so it seems. However, diligence says we put it back where it belongs because someone will have to. Or, she gets home and kicks her shoes off in front of the TV, where they stay all evening. When it's time for the bedtime cleanup, you're tempted to pick her shoes up and put them near the door where they belong. Diligence says, "Please put your shoes by the door so you know where they are in the morning." Or, come homework time, and the complaining begins. A "typical" response is to let her grumble because, after all... what kid loves homework? Diligence says, "If you'd like to complain, that's fine. When you've finished this page, I'm going to toss it in the trash and let you try it all again. And we'll do this over and over until you can do it without complaining." Sounds tough, I know. But fact is, one day we won't be available to pick up shoes and monitor attitudes. We've got to get them trained both inside AND out by then.

The ability to love her man. This topic alone could go on all day. But I'll be succinct. Teaching her how to attract him into her life and let the bugs drop where they lay. Teaching her to rely on her man without being codependent on him. Teaching her to be weak so he can be strong. Teaching her WHEN to be strong. Teaching her to care for her home, his castle. Teaching her to build him up with her words. Teaching her how to cook so she'll knock him off his feet and win his heart in the process. Teaching her how to let him chase her... how to actually draw the chase OUT of him toward her. Teaching her how to put her foot down when she needs to. Teaching her how to partner with him and walk alongside him but at the right times letting him take the lead. Teaching her to love him- heart, soul, body, and with her very life.

Of course there's more. The scope of womanhood encompasses so many emotions and so many roles. But back to the original picture at the top of this post.

By training our ladies to be ladies... even if that means she climbs trees in her spare time, we are training her to naturally cause the men around her to step into their rightful roles as gentlemen. Her inward beauty will evoke the best from him. Oprah Winfrey once said, "We teach people how to treat us." Parents, here's our wake up call. Train your young ladies to live their lives so that the thugs and wanna-bes that will try to catch her heart will merely fall to the wayside as she moves forward in her womanhood. If we train her to BE the right person, she will DRAW the right person to her.

It's really that simple. Honest.

Lessons From Infertility

Alot of you who follow this blog know our story. Some of you have been with me since day one of my journey with Rod, some sixteen years ago. However, most of you aren't familiar with the road we've traveled.

Today, for some reason, I knew it was time to tell the story.

Rodrick and I started dating in August of 1995. We got engaged in February of '96, and married on November 9, 1996. It was the beginning of a beautiful thing. After being married for a year, we decided we were ready to have children.

We had no idea what would come next.

When you get married, you give little thought to "what happens if we don't get pregnant?". It never even entered my mind. Not for a second. So you can imagine when, after one year of trying flew by, and there was no baby, I was a little surprised. Year two rolls by, and I was concerned. Year three, and I was panicked.

This is the part where most people say, "Why didn't you do something medically by then?" Our lives were busy, to say the least. We were full-time youth and children's pastors, and our house was literally a rotating door of teenagers all the time. We were not "prepared" for infertility, because it was kinda just a given that we'd have kids because we were kid crazy. Life moves on. And really, it took three years before the reality hit me.

We were dealing with infertility.

Oh yes, I went to doctors for my yearly check ups. I'd tell them my symptoms and concerns, and how I was worried about the fact that we had no baby after trying for three years. The response, without fail, was "You're young. You've got time."

Almost seven years into our marriage, we (I) finally mustered the courage to begin fertility research, to dig deeply into why this wasn't happening on its own. Rod had his tests. My first appointment was scheduled. A few days before, I decided to take a pregnancy test, to skip a step, as I knew before we proceeded, they'd want to know if I was pregnant or not. I peed on the stick. Turned the shower on. Grabbed my towel. Glanced at the test.

There. Were. Two. Lines.

I'm pretty sure I sank to the floor. Two lines. TWO LINES. And here she is.



Three months after Abi was born, we decided to start trying again. Hoping and assuming it would happen easier this time, we ran into parenthood raising a newborn daughter and believing God for a sibling for her to grow up with. Well, the same story takes place in this second act. Months turn into years and we found ourselves seven years down the road again, and no new baby. We make the doctor's appointment. A trusted friend and mentor of mine asked me, "What month are you wanting to be pregnant by?" I said, "I can wrap my heart around July."

We go to the doc. He looks at records, does his own assessments, and decides to put us on Clomid (an ovulatory drug). Month one, no baby. He discusses with us that if nothing happens by the third month, he will refer us to another specialist. Second month, double the dosage. I wake up one morning, knowing I needed to take a test.

There were two lines. TWO LINES. AGAIN.

It was July 5. And here HE is.




For most of the world, fertility is as natural as breathing. It's 1+1=2. For the other part of the world, the lows of infertility are unspeakable. This is a foreign world to most of you, so on behalf of those struggling, can I educate you for a few minutes?

Here's the deal.

When people you love are around you, rejoicing in their conceptions and welcoming new lives into the world, you want to rejoice. But you want to run. And scream. And punch them. And rejoice. All at the same time.

When the holidays roll around and Christmas cards of chubby babies in Santa hats come to your mailbox, you want to rip your mailbox out of the ground.

A man and a woman are a FAMILY. They are no less a family than a "family" with 5 kids. Children do not define a family unit... the marriage union does.

When people tell you they're pregnant, and they apologize for being so, it doesn't help matters at all. Do not apologize for being pregnant. You did nothing wrong. And please send the desiring mom the invitation to the baby shower (if she is your friend), as awkward as it sounds. People who have a hard time getting pregnant don't want to be made exceptions to the rule. Avoiding them, refraining from talking about the baby, and pretending you aren't excited about your coming arrival only makes the struggling woman feel even more of the "odd one out." Just be normal.

Never, ever, EVER ask someone who has been married a while, "Are you guys not going to have children?" Or, "So, when's a baby coming?" Your intentions are good, I know. But really. That's one of those questions that may not have a pleasant answer. It's like rubbing salt in a wound everytime a person struggling with conceiving has to answer it. Because there's no answer. I cried MANY times after that question was asked, in my car or bed, after the fact.

Avoid phrases like, "Well, it must not be God's will for you to have children." SERIOUSLY? Another terrible thing to say is, "You can always adopt." Adoption is not a runner up option. It's not a consolation prize. It is beautiful and wonderful, and believe me... if someone "needs" to adopt, they know it, so you don't have to give them that option.

Mother's Day is hard. If you're CLOSE to someone, send them a note. Otherwise, just walk away from that. It's just one of the 365 that aren't easy to get through if you're struggling.

Don't assume since someone isn't a parent yet (or ever) that they need to borrow your children. Babysitting is one thing, and most are glad to offer it. But your children are not their children, and "loaning them" to them is not filling the emotional hole in them.

Encourage-- don't harass-- them. Special Bible verses, handwritten cards, and sweet texts now and then will really lift their emotions. But don't see them as a charity case. They need empathy, not sympathy.

If they want to give up, let them. They will most likely come back around in their own time. Some days are easy, and some are extremely difficult. It's a roller coaster ride. And not a fun one. Sometimes there's cotton candy at the end and sometimes there's nada. Zilch. Nothing.

Those who have struggled with infertility see stretch marks, ligament pains, morning sickness, and uncomfy kicks as reminders of God's favor. And when you say things like, "Whew, I'm glad that stage is over for me," it really does sting. Because for those of us who struggled, we longed for what you had day in and day out. It's something that once we have it, we don't take it for granted.



Not long ago, I was in Atlanta with our youth on a retreat. In the CNN building, I saw this monument. And though it was honoring the military, I found its truth to be paralleled to what infertility feels like.



Am I saying those of us who dealt with infertility and then had a baby or two love our children more than those of you who got pregnant effortlessly? Absolutely not. Am I saying our children are worth more? Definitely no. Let me close with this truth.

If you've ever fought for something- for love, for a job you want, for freedom, for a baby... the price you've paid carries GREAT weight in the understanding you have of the value of that prize. So, when you're complaining about running from soccer to ballet to Scouts to football, please remember. Someone near you would give anything to make those drives in the evenings or get up with a crying baby in the early morning hours. Someone close by would give all their earthly possessions to have to deal with the snotty noses and snotty attitudes that make you want to get on a boat and sail far away. Someone right around the corner would love to be able to snap their fingers and hear, "MOOOOOM, LOOOOOOK!!!!!!!" five hundred and eighty-seven times in three hours.

I was that girl.

To all of you who are struggling-- my heart is full for you.

And I get it.

Until Alzheimer's Do We Part.

Forgive me. I don't usually make such strong and harsh statements about a particular person, at least on my blog. And I certainly don't call out someone for their grave mistakes from a public platform such as this. But this morning, I could not keep my mouth shut any longer.

Pat Robertson has long since been a "voice" for Christianity in the media, both religious and secular. I have also long since hated that he is a representative for Christianity because of his completely erroneous views on Hurricane Katrina being the wrath of God toward homosexuals, September 11th being God's hatred toward America's wayward heart, and worldwide catastrophes such as tsunamis and earthquakes being the world reaping God's judgement and anger.

But seriously, more than how all of the above angers me to my core, his latest idiocy blows my mind. This "man of God," this representative of the Gospel, has publicly stated on his TV show 700 Club, that it's okay to divorce your spouse, should she/he develop Alzheimer's disease and degenerate mentally and physically.

I am not making this up. You can read it by going to this link, if you can stomach it.
http://blog.christianitytoday.com/ctliveblog/archives/2011/09/pat_robertson_s.html

Bascially, someone writes into the show, asking what she should tell a friend who is currently dating another woman because "his wife as he knows her is gone" from Alzheimer's. Pat's authoritative response?

"That is a terribly hard thing," Robertson said. "I hate Alzheimer's. It is one of the most awful things because here is a loved one—this is the woman or man that you have loved for 20, 30, 40 years. And suddenly that person is gone. They're gone. They are gone. So, what he says basically is correct. But I know it sounds cruel, but if he's going to do something he should divorce her and start all over again. But to make sure she has custodial care and somebody looking after her."

Pat goes on later to say that the person would be following "'til death do we part" because Alzheimer's is a "kind of death."

(By now, you may be wondering how this ties into Old School Parenting. I'm getting there. Bear with me, please.)

As I write this blog today, I can physically feel a reaction to this man's blatant disregard for life's most sacred union. I actually think my heart is beating a little faster than it was a few minutes ago. Perhaps this is a glimpse of how Jesus felt in the temple that day-- a fury that rose from inside Him because His Father's house was being tarnished by scoundrels and thieves. The anger this stupidity makes me feel stirs my heart for one main reason-

He is tearing away at the very thing Jesus gave His life to save-- families.

Pat Robertson, unfortunately, is in a position of authority in this world. He is recognized by young and old, around the planet as an "official" in Christianity. You may be one of the ones who doesn't recognize him, but the point is, his accessibility on television and Internet (sadly) qualifies him as a presence deserving attention and as a voice of expertise on the Word of God.

We live in a world that is clearly in moral decline. Words like "purity," "virtue," and "integrity" are words that very obviously hold little place in the modern family. Research shows that only 46% of CHRISTIAN adults believe there is a clear, absolute truth. SERIOUSLY? Less than HALF of us???? Ohhhh, wait! This divorce and Alzheimer's thing would fall into this category, because as the Reverend Robertson puts it, "Alzheimer's is a KIND of death." The heart beating, lungs working, stomach growling doesn't pass as living. The mental decline of our faculties qualifies as death. Someone notify all morgues around the world, please.

Sadly, Mr. Robertson is a reflection of a fickle Christianity that has permeated the world with its loose boundaries and guidelines. Thoughts like these are teaching our children that marriage is only in effect when it's convenient to be so. You married a well-bodied, fully functional man... and it's okay to divorce him if he's ever paralyzed or disabled because he can't contribute to your union anymore. Why don't we just shoot the elderly while we're at it?

Parents, please hear my heart. Few things are left that are sacred in this world anymore. Marriage is slowly on the out. Aborting a life is as common as birthing one, depending on the mood the mom is in that day. Promises are made, and rarely kept unless there's a contract with a lawyer enforcing it. It's time for the body of Christ to rise and say ENOUGH. And how do we do that?

By letting our yes mean yes, and our no mean no. When you make a promise to your spouse or your child, keep it at all costs. Children mimic what they see. If they see you being genuine and trustworthy, they won't be able to avoid being the same way.

Treat marriage as the gift it is. For better or for worse means day to day! The exciting, the mundane, the routine, the highs and lows... being committed to each other. But also being committed to build each other up with our words and our actions. Your spouse is your life partner. Meaning, from the altar to your last breath.

Search your heart on issues of morality and absolute truth. Do you know what you believe? Really know? Do you think certain sins are appropriate some times and not in other times? Are you wavering on issues of right and wrong? Is your moral compass broken? Can you even find it? Jesus came to bring us back to God, and as a result, ALL your sins were dealt with at the cross. But that forgiveness does not pardon us from a responsibility to live a life of integrity, both in the light, and in the shadows.

I look at my husband and think of Pat Robertson's words-- and I cringe. How can I look at this man- this man whom I pledged my life, my love, my body, and my faithfulness to for the rest of our lives-- and say to him, "It's all intact unless you lose your ability to love me back." How can I look at the man who has given his blood, sweat, and energy to providing a nice house for me and his children to live in... who has sacrificed his best years to make sure all of my years are my best ones... who has loved me through years of infertility and emotional pain, sat at my bedside while I was in the hospital from my own stupidity... all of this- and tell him, "You're not good enough anymore"?

I hope you feel the anger. Because if you feel it, you'll be stirred to action. To be the best you can be, right where you are.

And that's all the change in the world.

Amazing Kids.

Ouch.

Before you have kids, you know everything. You judge other people's parenting styles and say profound things like, "When I have kids..." Or, "I will NEVER do that." And my favorite is, "Know what I would do? I would..."

Then, a 7lb9oz bundle of humanity enters your life and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

I don't know anything.

So, time moves on. You muddle through the mundane and fly through the fun times, and before you know it, you've got a kid walking across the stage, receiving her diploma from high school. And you hope against all hope you did it right.

I want my children to be amazing. Not just "good kids," and not just "great kids." I want their lives to be NOTHING short of amazing. Now, hear me out, all you "I want everyone to be fair" people. I'm not saying every person isn't amazing. The fact that you are one of two million sperm that met one teeny tiny egg is miraculous alone. The fact that the Creator of the universe numbered the hairs on your head and calls you by His own special name for you is both breathtaking and humbling at the same time. So, yes, we are all "amazing" in His eyes and in our own ways.

But what I'm talking about is raising children who are amazing- which by definition means "To overwhelm with wonder, to bewilder."

I don't know if you've noticed, but there's alot of bewildering behavior from children these days. But like I've said 72,488 times, we have a parent problem, not a child problem in this country. Parents are leaving the school systems, churches, Internet, television, and older siblings to raise their children, all for the sake of the almighty dollar. And as a result, we've got a group of kids who cannot carry on a meaningful conversation with another human being, have no moral compass by which to guide their lives, and are drifting aimlessly the closer they get to adulthood.

This is not amazing. This is sad. This is tragic.

So how then? How do we raise children who overwhelm the world with wonder because of the content of their character? How do we produce children who bewilder others with their style, their grace, their hearts?

1- Spend time parenting them on purpose. Fixing dinner, carpooling all over town, and bedtime routines are non-negotiable parts of most of our lives. However, we can parent on purpose through these moments. As you cook, employ little hands to help you mix it up, and sneak in a life lesson about patience. As you drive to yet another sporting event, find something out the window to talk about that exemplifies the magnificence of the God we serve. When you make a mistake, point it out to your children, and tell them what you did to correct it. Be vigilant about seizing the small moments because the big moments are rare and before you know what happened, life moved on in those small moments and you were on your smartphone.

2- Mandate manners. Manners are SUPER important in this world, believe it or not. I taught children for fifteen years at our church. Know the kids I naturally feel more generous to, more favorable to? The ones who say thank you for a piece of candy. The ones who call me "Miss Jill" instead of "Jill." We make Abi answer with "Yes, ma'ams," and "No sirs" when she is answering us. We make her say, "Yes?" instead of "What?" when we call on her. Know the looks and words of affirmation she gets from the cashier at Publix when she responds with "Yes, ma'am" or asks the man bagging our groceries how his day is on her own initiative? Fact is, where manners are, favor follows. And furthermore, what's wrong with teaching children to respect adults? Lord knows this is a dying virtue. I'm bringing it back. Period.

3- Teach them to go the extra mile. Kids have an innate pattern to do what's expected of them. So, it's up to us to expect their best, to draw the best out of them. Hear what I'm saying... not MORE than they can give. We need to demand WHAT they can give. While Abi is doing her homework, and I can see she's writing sloppily or giving 50% of her best, I literally tell her that I'll throw her homework away and she can start over if she can't give her very best. Sound extreme? Perhaps. But I know the boost she gets when she has done her best and can look at a sheet of paper done neatly and properly, versus one she gave little effort to. Until a child understands the pay-off of doing something right, we have to set them up for the pay-off. They won't do it on their own. But eventually, they'll become addicted to the success.

4- Quit with the handouts. My love language is gifts. So, I have to fight the urge to shower Abi with toys, clothes, and whatever else I can get my hands on. It's just innate to me to show her my love through cute things, fuzzy things, and fun things. But I have to reign it in. Giving her whatever her heart desires may be fun and all, but it's not real life. If she sets her heart on something and wants it badly, me rushing out to make it happen is only perpetuating the entitlement mentality that her generation suffers from. Now, does this mean that everything she gets, she has to work for? No. I'm all about gifts. But with BALANCE. She receives an allowance. Not for chores (though she can earn more money for difficult jobs). It's based on her age, ($1 per year), her attitude (her attitude stinks, she loses dollars), and her general level of responsibility. Then, when she sees that $40 toy, she knows she has about 6 weeks of allowance to save in order to get it. May sound sad, but that's real life, people. I ain't raisin' kids to think they can snap their fingers or pull out a credit card and make things happen.

5- Put God in the center on purpose. Those of us who are "Christians" may think that church is the main obligation we have to our children's spiritual health. Quite the contrary, my dearie. Church is an added tool to their health... it is not the main source. The Bible tells us that they should learn first about God "from their mother's knee." God created Adam, Eve, and the kids that followed. The church didn't come for many years later. This is the model He wanted us to follow! Talk about God's faithfulness as you deposit your paycheck. When a child's crying because of a skinned knee, pray first, THEN Band-Aid. Talk to God outloud when you're looking for a parking spot, then thank Him outloud when you find one. Remind your children of things God has done in your family that proves His might. These stories will die when we do if we don't keep them alive.

6- Create a motto for your child's life and speak it over them daily. Every single day, I speak these words to Abi (sometimes twice a day)- "Thank you, Jesus, that Abi is smart, safe, healthy, kind, and obedient. In Jesus' name, Amen." She says it with me. And lately, I've noticed her attaching it to her bedtime prayer on her own. I want MY voice, telling her what HIS voice says about her to be the loudest voice she hears. Because, in all actuality, there will be days she feels less than amazing. My prayer is that these words I've spoken over her for so long will resonate louder than the voices around her or the voices in her adolescent head.

Raising kids is tough. Raising amazing kids is even tougher. But, you know what? Growing old and gray and realizing that those overwhelmingly wonderful and bewildering kids are a product of our parenting (and the grace of a merciful God) will be worth it all. Guaranteed.

My Boy.

Ah, pregnancy. So many things I love about it. And I'm not being sarcastic. I love it that while it took two of us to create this new life, I am the only one who can bake the baby. I love it that I have a constant little tiny companion with me, 24/7, for nine whole months. I love it that tiny tappings I've felt a couple of times will soon turn into flops, rolls, and quick turns that will wake me up at all hours of the night. I love it that Abi talks to my tummy everyday and last night, Rod lay his head on my tummy and spoke to his...

SON.

This means there's a living, squirming being of testosterone floating around in my womb as I write this, already scheming plans to rule the world with his cousin, Legend. This means my heart is about to be ripped out and wrapped around a tiny finger, the way Rod's was seven and a half years ago. This means... more than I can get my head to process, for sure.

So many things about having a girl I love. I mean-- I LOVE having a daughter. There's a connection a mom has to her daughter that surpasses words. It's living my childhood again through her every day. It's the awareness of how she will "need" me in ways a boy doesn't need his mom-- when she has cramps, when she doesn't understand boys, when she is looking for the perfect dress but can't describe it and I just know what she's saying... It's just, well... nothing short of special.

My world, up to this point, has consisted of Barbies, princesses, Hello Kitty, all things pink, purple and teal, lipgloss, fingernail polish, poofy skirts, days of the week monkey underwear, Squinkies, My Little Pony, and little littles (Abi's word for anything tiny).

So, what do I do with My son? I know. I'll figure it out. I know. Boys love their mamas. I know. Boys are easier than girls in a million ways.

All I know is that I love this little boy. As much as his sister, yet so totally different. So, in keeping true with my pattern, I need to tell my little wooly booger a few things today. Bear with me, please. :-)

Dear Walker,

It's Mom. Your incubator and your whole world right now. I'm the one who feeds you yummy things like Honey Nut Chex cereal and Mike and Ike candy. I also give you the bananas you demand, and take snuggly naps with you as my day allows it.

There's alot of things I need you to know, little man. But we have a lifetime to figure it all out. Right off the bat, I need you to know that I've never raised a boy before. Up to now, I've lived in girl world. I have a sister, a younger girl cousin who's like a little sister, and I am raising YOUR sister. So, I'm just a wave in the sea of estrogen. I'm girl through and through.

I hate reptiles and amphibians. They are not cute and you won't have them as pets in our house. Outside, sure. Garage, pushing it. In your room and it's off with your head. I will pretend to like movies like: Cars, Pirates of the Caribbean, GI Joe, Transformers, and Marvel comic movies. (KEYWORD: PRETEND). I do not care at all about baseball, soccer, or basketball. But for you, I'll become a professional fan. Oh, and I know we touched on the reptile/amphibian issue, but let me be clear. Snakes are evil, gross, and I treat all of them as poisonous, even if they are "grass snakes," "corn snakes," or "black snakes." And if you try to sneak one in the house and I find it, I will chop its head off with no hesitation, even if it's your lifelong pet.

I think, all that said, you and I will get along just fine. I will kiss every boo-boo you ever have. Football season? I'm your girl. I'll make sure you and your entire entourage have more food than you can possibly eat on one game day. In fact, your friends will think food is the language spoken in our home. There'll always be lots of it and good stuff at that.

I will show you how to take care of yourself and not be a total wimp your whole life. That will include things like: cleaning up your mess, putting your gross laundry where it belongs, operating the washer and dryer, clearing off the table, and making your own sandwich when you're hungry. Oh, and this will happen before the age of 10. Much before.

I'm not going to like your girlfriends very much, I'll just tell you that. But I'll play nice because one day, one of those very lucky girls will be your wife and the mother of my grandchildren. In the meantime, I have alot to teach you about girls. But mainly, I have alot to show you about how to attract the RIGHT girl. If you just look for HER, the others won't get in the way so much. And your sister will help with that, too. She's in love with you pretty bad. She'll be your first love. I know it's gross, but trust me. She'll be the prettiest girl you've ever seen for many years. Well, the second prettiest. ;-)

I don't need much from you. Moms are just like that. We give alot and don't ask for much in return. But here's a few things I do ask. Love God with all your heart, soul, and mind. Treat girls with respect, all the time. Rely on your daddy's wisdom because he has more than you'll ever comprehend. Call me and I will always come get you. Kiss me your whole life through. Hold your Gia's hand when you walk with her,even if you're 25. Once you become an adult, don't tell me everything you and Legend did together. Come home every Christmas.

Oh, and one more thing-- Heaven? Just be there.

I love you, Walker Windham. Save this letter. You'll appreciate it one day.

Mom

I Don't Get It...

One thing's for sure about parenting.

Ok, two.

One- it's a never ending puzzle to solve. And two- sometimes, you won't even know where the puzzle pieces are.

Parenting is fun, isn't it? I'm not being sarcastic. Mostly. I mean, before we had kids, life was generally predictable and (**yawn**) boring. But boring now? HA. When time does slow down long enough for me to catch up on my DVR, I almost fall asleep. So "boring" and "predictable" are not in my vocab and haven't been for almost eight years now.

One of the many, many things about parenting that I enjoy is the complexity of it all. There's many things I've figured out. Like when Abi asks, "Which shirt should I wear," she's simply asking me so she can see if we think alike. Or when she says, "I'm hungry" after dinner, that's code for, "I'd like dessert now." I know her favorite color changes every few months or so. She hates to sleep in her bedroom. How to negotiate a plan before she even realizes what hit her strong will.

But there's oh-so-many other things I cannot figure out.

...like- how she can be on one end of our 2800 square foot house and I can be on the total other side, but the MINUTE I shut the bathroom door with church mouse quiet and stealth precision, she manifests.

...like- how in the WORLD I look like I'm 5 months pregnant already even though I've only gained 5.5 lbs.

...like- why I can clean the whole house and never hear a peep from her while she's in her room all day but the second I lie down to close my eyes, she suddenly needs a snack, a tag cut out of her shorts, a Band-Aid, or something off the top shelf of her closet.

...like- how something so sweet can turn on you like a spitting cobra at the drop of a hat if her shirt is too scratchy.

...like- how my heart can burst with love for a child that currently looks like a teddy graham/jelly bean/cocktail shrimp.

...like- how no matter how old Abi gets, I peek in on her every time I get up to use the bathroom, just to see her sleep.

...like- how I can be so done with her I feel like my skin will catch on fire if I am touched again, yet miss her instantly when she leaves me.

...like- how I summon my psychic mommy powers to find a miniature rubber pig the size of a dime in a bedroom that looks like Toys-R-Us on Black Friday.

...like- what the heck it is that happens between waking up cheerfully and time to put her hair up in a ponytail that goes so very awry.

...like- how in the world you can't make it through a movie without needing to pee but look at the clock at noon and realize the last time you actually peed was at 2:00 am.

...like- how Dora can ask the same question over and over and STILL not get the answer right, even though your preschooler is shouting the answer loud enough for the guys on the International Space Station to hear her.

...like- how she can seem so mature but every single day when I watch her walk into school, it looks like the first day of kindergarten all over again.

...like- why a child who eats broccoli, asparagus, hot sauce, and green beans will not touch corn.

...like- how the same day that began with you watching Daybreak News at 5:00 AM while feeding a baby will also end with you watching the 11:00 PM late news while you're yet again feeding a baby.

...like- how you can think things you ask God for forgiveness for one minute and then things that make you cry with joy the next minute about the same child who weighs 20 pounds.

...like- how you can crave a bean burrito from Taco Bell with all your heart and soul and yet miraculously be satisfied by a PBJ, of which you only get the crusts.

...like- how more and more little girls' shorts in stores are no bigger than underwear. Don't. Get. On. A. Tangent. Jill. Please.

...like- why the goal of the game is to train our children to leave us. Boo hiss.

...like- exactly HOW those Goldfish crackers got UNDERNEATH the infant carseat that weighs more than a small teenager, and STILL did not get crushed.

...like- how it is that the first sight of a runny nose can send terrible shivers down your spine.



...and like- what did I do before I had these little ones to worry about, manage, kiss, and chew on?

...and what will I do when they don't need me anymore?

Oh, I know. We'll travel to wherever they are and pour the next part of our lives into our friendship with them. (We get to be friends one day!!!!!!!!!)
But for now, mysteries prevail. And I'm the greatest detective there ever was. ;-)