Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

Why Saying, “I’m Too Blessed to Be Stressed” Isn’t Really Biblical

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Do I believe I am blessed? Of course I do! God’s Word tells me so numerous times, and every moment I look upon the face of one of my children, lay my head on my loving husband’s chest, gaze at the beautiful, blue sky, or feel the cool breeze blow my hair back, I know it is true. I. Am. Blessed. In this world, and thank the Lord, for all eternity, especially then. I am supremely blessed, but am I too blessed to be stressed? I think not.

The other night I was up at 2am crunching numbers, my spouse beside me in bed, a Netflix show in the background. It just wasn’t adding up. Some more additional expenses had come up with the sale of our house, and no number of pushing around of bills seemed to tabulate in my favor. I calculated the debt again, and still it gave me an answer I didn’t want to see. There was no way I could swing this scenario, but I had to. There wasn’t a choice.

Have you ever been between a rock and a hard place? It’s that claustrophobic space where Catch 22’s live. It’s a dilemma with no perfect solution, a choice between A or B, when all you want to find is the option of C. But you know what? Sometimes there’s no option C to be found. Or at least it seems that way.

When we can see no way humanly possible for a problem to work out, that’s when the stress creeps in. Y’all, I don’t care how pious, how Holy, how religious you are. It doesn’t matter if you walk side by side with God, stress will still come. I mean, Moses was a man who was pretty tight with God. God spoke with him face to face, as a man would a friend (Exodus 33), and still, when confronted with the enormous task of freeing his people, Moe got a little worried.

He was like, ABBA, while I appreciate the vote of confidence, I get pretty nervous in front of a crowd. I get hives and stutter. It’s embarrassing. Maybe you could ask somebody else, just this time.

I can imagine him shrugging his shoulders as he tried to pass on the stressful job. But God wasn’t having it.

He basically told Moses, I created your mouth, man. And your tongue. I can certainly give you the words to say!

Point being, even those in a close and deep relationship with the Lord can feel like they’re going to buckle under the anxiety of this world. Problems come, no matter how close you are to God, but He’s always saying, “I got this,” just like He did with Moses. In His Word, the Bible, the Lord tells us we’ll have trouble. Yet He also states, “take heart. I have overcome the world (John 16:33).”

In other words, when Plan A doesn’t work, and Plan B falls through, there actually happens to be a Plan C: Christ.

The annoying part is that even if you know all these things, and like me, you proclaim boldly, “God’s got this,” you can still suffer under the stress of the situation. It doesn’t make you a horrible Christian with failing faith. It just makes you human. The important part is that when the wind of stress blows (because it will), and the waves try to overtake you, that you remember the truth. And the truth is, you are blessed. You are blessed because Christ is with you.

You’ll still get stressed. There’s no stopping that. Jesus warns us it will happen. But then we must remember why we don’t remain stressed, that we don’t continue to be overcome, that the devil can knock us down, but doggone-it, we ain’t staying there!

And that’s what happened with me the other night. Financial stress came on me hard, but then I remembered the truth. Even in my hardships, I am blessed. Even in this stressful life and its stressful problems, I am blessed. I’m not too blessed to be stressed, but I am blessed despite my stress. Even in spite of my stress.

But then do you know what happened? I was feeling good, riding along smoothly on my faith, feeling rather good about myself.

Why, yes, I have grown so much spiritually. Thank you.

When all of the sudden, out of nowhere, the bottom fell out. Man! Doesn’t it always seem to happen that way? You’re dealing with a nightmare of a problem. You’re certain it can’t get any worse! And then bam. The worse happens, and you’re back to square one, trying not to chew your nails to bits, eat a whole tub of ice cream, or cuss a blue streak from Kansas to Miami. I’m not saying I ate half a pie, last night, but I’m not saying I didn’t. Stress! It happens. Again, and again.

It’s in those moments where it really does seem like the ocean, and wave after wave tries to beat you down. You eat some sand, and in those moments, with the grit in your teeth, you might not feel very blessed. But when your face gets pushed in the sand you only need to remember one thing. It’s just sand.

All the problems you come across. It’s just sand. All the things you love that you fear leaving you. It’s just sand. The things you cannot change. It’s just sand. Here today, gone tomorrow. Build some castles, but don’t try to stand on it. Sand shifts, you know. It can make you sink. But in the end, whether our castles stand tall or fall flat, it’s really the rock on which we stand. The storms just happen to remind us of that. So we are blessed. Stressed, sometimes, yes, but blessed, always.

3 Keys to a Happier Marriage

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I’m always going to call myself a work in progress. I’m far from perfect, but wiser in my walk than I was before. I consider each day to be a new day to learn something new, about myself, about interacting with others, and about strengthening my marriage. My marriage isn’t perfect either, but I have been able to watch it mature into something lovely over the years. It didn’t start out on solid ground, that I can promise you. If it were not for the prompting of the Holy Spirit, it might have crumbled in that newlywed period a decade ago, but through perseverance, prayer, and the knowledge of the Lord, we have cultivated a beautiful covenant that becomes better each and everyday. Here’s a few tips I have found to be so very true in having a happy, healthy relationship.

1. Lower your expectations. In fact, go ahead and drop them all together. Whatever dream person you have created in your head, let them go. This is reality, people. Open your eyes and fix them on Jesus. He’s the only perfect one you’ll ever find.

I discovered pretty early on that my husband and I shared more differences than similarities. Where I was a perfectionist, he was content with getting by. Where I was a planner, he was a procrastinator. Where I was motivated, he was blasé. Where I completed a task once I got started, he was fine with letting it fall away. It was exasperating.

But then I discovered something more. Where I often held unrealistic expectations for life, he was more able to go with the flow that is the reality of a tumultuous world. Where I had to have my ducks in a row, he was more open to change and going off course to achieve the same goal. Where I was overly dedicated to a task of my own making, he was open to the plans God put before us. Where I became almost obsessed with seeing a project to completion, he was more able to open his hands in surrender to allow Jesus to take it away.

I like to take pictures. He doesn’t. Lol.

I discovered we were a pretty good team. It was like it was a God-ordained union, something I had always known, but didn’t realize the details of until it was before me. You see, a huge cause of discontent in marriage is failed expectations. We have a certain idea in mind of how our spouse must be. When they inevitably fail to meet those expectations we become angry and disillusioned. We seldom stop and understand that they were made a specific way by God, and that if we believe God to be the director of our lives, then we must trust that He put two distinctive personalities together for a reason, for a purpose. Remember, the plans of man always fail; it’s God who directs our steps.

So, drop who you think your spouse should be, celebrate who they are, and most importantly, pray that they will become who God has them to be (not who you have them to be).

2. Remove your plank. I know I’m stepping on some toes now. Another big cause of marital strife comes in the form of our own judgement and self-centeredness. This is a hard pill to swallow, but truth usually is. The problem with the human condition is sin, imperfection, and blindness. No, I don’t mean physical blindness, but rather a spiritual one. Our expectations for ourselves are never as high as the expectations we place on others. Because only God knows our every thought and desire, only He can always do what’s right by us. Only He will never hurt us. Now understand, our sin may hurt us, and God may allow that, but He will never hurt us. If you’ve been around people for longer than five minutes then you know that’s not true of us.

In marriage (and all relationships for that matter), you will get your feelings hurt. The person won’t say the right thing, do the right thing, or always act in the right manner. You will be left hurt, wounded, and let down, which typically leads to anger. After all, it’s easier to get mad than stew in hurt feelings.

“He never helps me!”

“She never wants to have sex anymore.”

“Does he ever hear a word I say?!”

“Why does she keep nagging me?!”

“What’s her problem?”

“What did I do this time?!”

A relationship can become a blame game, pointing fingers and keeping score. Who’s done more for the marriage? Who says I’m sorry first? How long until they disappoint me again? I’ll enlist the silent treatment; let’s see who breaks the silence and speaks first.

“I wonder how long he’ll leave his dirty laundry at the foot of the bed?”

“I wonder how long she’ll leave that curling iron on the sink?”

“I work all day at my job!”

“I work all day at this house, with the children!”

It becomes a competition of who does more, who does less, and who can see the contribution you’re putting out there. We become so blinded by what we’re giving out that we miss what our partner is supplying. We become so focused on where we’re taken advantage of that we totally miss our own selfish attitude.

Who’s the most selfish person in the relationship?

It’s the one who’s breathing. It’s him, it’s her, it’s you, it’s me. We’re all selfish. That’s the easy part of marriage. The hard part is moving past selfishness and working towards servanthood. Serve your spouse; don’t spend your time wondering how they can serve you.

Before you become angry, fed up, or burned out with your partner, consider how you might better improve yourself. What can you do to cultivate the relationship? What plank exists in your own eye while you’re distracted with the sawdust they left on the floor?

From personal experience, you get back what you put in. Your reward is dependent on how you run the race. Your harvest is based on what you’re planting and feeding into the soil. Just like your banking account, the deposits have to exceed the withdrawals, otherwise you’re bankrupt. Invest to see a future profit.

3. Learn what love is. A majority of marriages that end in divorce are because of a lack of love. They start with what they think is love, but it’s not. A lot of the time what we assume is love is really addiction. Hang with me, now.

We are addicted to feeling good. We need to feel appreciated, taken care of, desired, found attractive. We thrive on compliments, we feel best when we are needed. It gives us a sense of purpose to take care of someone, and it gives us a sense of peace to have someone take care of us. And while yes, I believe God created marriage with a partnership in mind, we confuse love with performance. We convolute love with just emotion. So when we are hurt, our love takes a hit. We base our ability to love someone on how they love us back. We base our continued love for someone on how it feels at the moment. We take back love when ours isn’t reciprocated.

If you find yourself doing any of the above in your own relationship, don’t beat yourself up too bad. You’re in good company. It’s called being human. We eat food based on what tastes good. And we stay committed to someone based on the continued performance of our spouse. We’re basically grading our marriage, and we are using a pass or fail sliding scale.

I love ice cream because it’s delicious. Especially chocolate chip! I love my husband, but he isn’t always pleasing to my palate. Sometimes he’s downright bitter.

If we desire a happier marriage we have to enlist a bit of Christ-like behavior. We have to try and love more like Jesus does. We have to understand and discover that real, unbreakable love isn’t based on what we can get out of it. Real, unconditional love is the kind that dies for you even when you hate it. It’s the kind that forgives you even when you are the weapon of that death. It’s the kind of love that loves the unlovable, that loves even when it gets nothing in return.

I’m not asking you to be crucified like a martyr for your marriage, but I do think you’ll grasp a taste of the divine when you can try and sample what He placed before us as an example of love. We are the bride of Christ, and the love He’s laying down, can’t nobody model, but it comes back to that thing I mentioned in the first paragraph. Work in progress. We’re all working towards that perfection we can achieve through Him. Does that mean a perfect marriage? No. But it does mean a happier, healthier one if we can try a little harder to understand that real love He modeled.

When you walk in that kind of love for your spouse, you love them even when they say something thoughtless. You forgive them when they fail you. You love them when you’re not feeling like it, and you love them even when they have nothing to give in return. That is love.

We love Christ because He first loved us (1 John 4:19), and true, long-standing love is achieved through giving of yourself without expectation of what you’ll get in return.

We can’t place too much expectation on our marriage. The only perfect marriage is between Jesus and the Church. To love your spouse is to mean that even when they don’t meet that high expectation, we still love. We love like Christ, because He first loved us. I found that by modeling that kind of love towards my husband, he in turn loved me the same.

My husband and I only expect perfection in Jesus, and our true joy and contentment cannot be found in one another. They can only be found in Him. We have found happiness in remembering that on a day-to-day basis. We model His love to one another, but we also understand that kind of love can only truly be found in Him.

Raising Flat-Chested Daughters Who Eat Cake

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I saw a magazine laying on the table of a hospital waiting room as I walked by, and I recognized it pretty quickly as one I used to read some thirty years ago. Before I knew it my own daughters would be old enough to pour through the pages of fashion magazines, and as I thought back to my own interactions with the likes of YM, Vogue, and Seventeen I hoped my daughters would have a stronger self-worth than I did back then.

I remember staring at the glossy pages of my favorite read and eyeing the glistening cleavage on the young model on the page, envying the slope of her breasts as they played peekaboo with the unbuttoned oxford tied lazily over cutoff denim shorts. I would look back at the mirror where my reflection held copycat attire, except for the perky bosom. My flat chest would stare back at me, and I would feel as deflated as it looked.

My mom bought me my first Miracle Bra. Remember those? Automatic boobies! I can also remember running around frantically in seventh grade, searching for my one, cherished, padded brassiere before my boyfriend came over and discovered I wasn’t the budding B cup my padded bra conveyed.

“Where did I take that thing off at?!!”

I can remember my mother taping my chest and drawing me a cleavage to match the padding in my formal dresses during pageant time. I can remember us girls in school comparing our weight at cheerleading practice. I was next to the skinniest one, and it felt good. I finally felt like maybe I measured up. By measuring down. Which is kinda weird, I know. I remember when I got chubby my mom let me know, and when I lost weight she was quick to compliment me. She was always so proud of my tiny figure, and she loved showing me off to her friends at work, which made me smile. It still does. She wasn’t trying to instill any negative thoughts in me, this I know, but that’s what happened. It just kinda worked right along with what the magazines said was pretty.

I drink Diet Coke nowadays, and I’ve always drank Diet Coke. It’s the only soda that existed in my home growing up. I can remember seeing a jar of Dexatrim on top of the refrigerator, and a cartoon drawing of a large woman in a bikini on a scale on the fridge door reminding anyone who opened it to watch what they ate. My mom was on a diet for as long as I can remember. Again, I don’t think she was trying to instill a negative mindset in me. It just happens to be a consequence of watching the person you love more than anything in the world be on a perpetual diet.

Yesterday was my eldest daughter’s ninth birthday party. I had already decided I would not be having cake. I’ve always been able to stay small, but a simple weight gain of seven pounds and I start to feel miserable about it. I can’t help it, and even as much as I’ve grown spiritually or matured with age, if I’m not in my comfort zone of weight, I feel horrible.

For the past 3-4 months I had been telling myself it was the birth control pills I started taking at the beginning of the year, or that it was the new normal, being in my forties and all. I told myself I was happy with who I was. And I was! I’ve never felt more self-confident and content in my life. But still, when you’ve lived forty-two years with the weight that makes you feel the best, nothing less more will do. So, after pushing it off since the holidays ended, I was finally on a diet. Sigh.

One thing I didn’t do, though. I didn’t talk about it around my daughters. If we were throwing out the processed food and going organic for the good of the family, then yes, we all had the conversation. But if Momma was counting carbs to fit better in her favorite denim capris, I kept that close to the cuff, or rather the waistband, I guess you could say. I didn’t want them even knowing what a diet was!

So back to cake. I had decided no cake! I was 8 days into Ketosis, and after my bread withdrawals I didn’t want to wreck my progress. I was an all or nothing kinda gal, and I was all in on shedding this middle age muffin on my midsection. No cake!

The party couldn’t have been more perfect. I mean, it wasn’t perfect. It was a Dollar Tree decorated jumble of pink and flowers, but the point was, she loved it. She freaking loved it! Her eyes wide, her smile even wider. She blushed with excitement and couldn’t stop saying, “this is awesome! It’s even better than I imagined it would be!”

She had beamed at the Baskin Robbins cake, the smallest they made, and certainly not the stuff Instagram promotes or Pinterest is made of. It was just a plain ole cake, but she couldn’t stop smiling. It had cost about twenty bucks, but she couldn’t stop smiling. She giggled with glee as her dad prepared to make the first cut, and she smiled even wider as he divvied out slices around the table. I knew it then. I knew I’d eat cake. I had to.

I didn’t want the carbohydrates, but even more I didn’t want the conversation. I didn’t want her asking why I wasn’t having cake. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but I guess it’s harder too. I didn’t want to tell my innocent, precious girl, “your mom doesn’t always like herself. So that’s why I’m not eating your birthday cake.”

The best days I have, the ones where I love myself, the ones where I feel beautiful and amazing, that’s what I want for my daughters. I want them to be healthy, sure, but I don’t want them judging themselves by society’s standards. I don’t want them to value their worth by their waist size. I don’t want them comparing themselves to anyone else. I don’t want them wishing they could be more. So many days I wish I could turn back time and erase the breast implants I got in my twenties, so I never have to tell them how bad I felt I needed a big bust to be beautiful.

I want my daughters to realize beauty is more than skin deep, that the skin doesn’t even matter. I want them to age gracefully, live life fully, and take the best parts of me into their future. I don’t want to raise them on scales or hearing me berate myself.

I want my daughters to focus on the things that really matter. I want to cultivate kindness, not self-absorption. More importantly, I want them to view others through the right lenses, not judging people by what they wear, how they appear. I want them to know they can’t judge a book by its cover, and they can only judge themselves by the standard set by their Heavenly Father.

My daughters need to understand they’re precious, set apart, made unique, and I sure don’t want them thinking they need to change for anybody. I don’t always get it right for myself, but I want better for my girls. I want them to experience a healthier view than the one I’ve always had, or even the one that tries to assault me now. I want them to see themselves like Jesus sees them, and to see others the same.

I want to raise daughters who can be proud of their flat chest, cause let’s face it, genetics ain’t in their favor for anything else. I want to raise daughters who are healthy, but can enjoy some cake and ice cream without counting the calories or beating themselves up. I want to raise daughters who know they’re worth more than what Hollywood tries to sell them or what a magazine may try to tell them. I want to raise daughters who know their worth.

When they’re older perhaps I can share my struggles with them, but while they are young and impressionable I will speak life. I’ll speak confidence, and I’ll model self-love for them to see. I won’t call myself fat or use words like diet. I won’t frown at the mirror or refuse to take a picture with them in my bathing suit. They can’t see me being unhappy with me because right now I’m the woman they look up to as how they want to be. And me… I want them to be happy with who God made them to be.

So, I’ll eat the cake, and I’ll play in the dirt. I’ll let them dress themselves in clothes that don’t match if it makes them feel pretty. We’ll laugh, play, act silly, dress comfy, and love life, ourselves, and others because when it comes right down to it, isn’t that what it’s all about?

My Husband Didn’t Lift a Finger to Help

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I stood at the sink scrubbing dish after dish. It was like the day after Thanksgiving, and never-mind that the amount of bowls and silverware only appeared monumentally huge because of our smaller RV sink. What mattered was I was singlehandedly tackling the leaning tower of plates and pans on my own. Behind me my husband played a game on his phone, and the ping, ping sounds of his imaginary battle did little to soothe my feelings of neglect. There he was engrossed in his phone while I slaved away at the sink.

When he had mentioned offhand the dreaded takeover of dirty dishes the night before I had commented, “no problem. We can do them together tomorrow.”

Yet here I was. By myself. He didn’t even lift a finger to help me.

I have to work tomorrow, I thought angrily.

My thoughts of being put upon fed into one another, and like fertilizer my discontented mental mayhem made my anger grow. The more I thought about how much I did for the relationship, the madder I became.

He’s certainly not working tomorrow. I mused mentally. What will he be doing?! Probably playing on his phone some more!

I worked, I brought home the bacon. He stayed home. I mean, I wasn’t asking for a lot. Just some help with the dishes.

But he always does the dishes, this meek, quiet part of my mind commented.

Darn her. Yeah, he did. He always did the dishes.

He does the laundry too, the wise, mild-mannered me spoke.

Yeah, I guess you’re right.

He actually does a lot. Like, almost everything, the selfless side of my brain countered.

Gosh, he did do everything. I rinsed a mug as my eyes drifted to our Keurig coffee maker. I mean, he even filled that water. I had noticed a few months ago that every morning when I went to make my morning joe the water line was at maximum capacity, and finding that unusual I asked my spouse about it.

“I do that before I go to bed,” he had said. “I know you get up so early, and you’re rushed sometimes, so I wanted that to be one less thing you have to worry about.

And as I stood there washing the remnant of egg off a frying pan, looking at the water container of my coffee machine, a voice of reason whispered again. This time it wasn’t my good wife side, but rather the Holy Spirit.

This is a service to your spouse.

Bam. The reality of it hit me like a Mack Truck. He always washed the dishes, and by me washing them today I was offering him a reprieve. Last week he had sent me to the pool alone, knowing I needed a little quiet time to myself. Even though he spent all his time with our young daughters, even though he was never alone, and even though he was the one who needed a break without tiny voices demanding attention, he sent me off to be alone. What were a few dishes?

Again the voice of truth.

Marriage is about service, not comparison.

It seemed to bless my spouse to do these things for me. Whether big or small, he took pride in it all. Whether he was folding my pajamas, homeschooling our children, or cooking supper, he always had a smile on his face. He worked so much harder than I always gave him credit for.

It’s easy to forget sometimes that Satan is out to destroy marriage. He wishes to sink the first union God created. He knows that two are better than one, and he understands that a team dedicated to serving the Lord together is a force not to be challenged. It’s much easier on him to divide and conquer, to confuse couples, to deceive them so effectively that they’re too busy focusing of themselves to work with their partner towards God’s will for their life. When he can instill selfish thoughts and comparison, he takes a husband and wife’s eyes off the prize ahead. Instead of moving forward they stall out, and many times they bail all together. Thankfully my own thoughts of self-centeredness were brief in nature, but I knew it was my own desire to be like Jesus and serve in love that blessed my marriage. In showing my love to my husband by appreciating his contributions to our family, remaining humble in my own, and realizing our combined efforts created a beautiful union, I not only served my spouse, I also served the Lord.

The thing is, in the grand scheme of life, a sink full of dishes doesn’t mean much at all. A healthy, happy marriage, though, that means more than we even realize. It means our daughters will grow up in a joy-filled home brimming with laughter rather than a broken one punctuated by raised voices. It means a cord of two strands that won’t easily be broken when the problems of this world rear their ugly head. It means simply more time enjoying each other’s presence rather than resenting our relationship. It means a happier life. No matter how many dishes it racks up.

As I finished placing the last rinsed fork into the dish drain, I noticed my husband walking into the bathroom. He spent the next 45 minutes fixing a clogged sink, and completed the job by scrubbing the sink until it was gleaming. Thank goodness it’s not a competition. The score would definitely be in his favor.

God Doesn’t Expect Our Perfection

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I woke up this morning with conflict on my mind. I hated that! The thing was I had gone to sleep with the same worries plaguing me. Before I drifted to sleep I read the Bible, desiring to fill my mind with truth, yet I still woke with it in my head. Ugh.

I hate conflict. I think my husband is the luckiest guy on the planet because he rarely has to face a fight with me. Arguments make me uncomfortable, and raised voices make me shake. When I come across a disagreement with someone I am quick to back down, apologize, make amends, whatever needed to save the relationship. And I think that’s a good thing overall. It means I value people over always being right. In my line of work as a nurse there are a lot of times I’m right, but I will let it go. I try to place myself in the other person’s shoes, and I do this with everyone. My preference is to avoid conflict altogether, but eventually it occurs despite my best intentions.

It was such an interaction that kept coming up in my mind as I stood in the shower. I don’t know why my brain does this, but I will replay a negative interaction over and over. I’ll think of things I didn’t say, things I should have said, and of course question anything I did say or do. I will mentally beat myself up over something like this, and that’s what I found myself doing this morning.

As I stood before the mirror mentally trying to push the situation that was over and done with to the over and done with bin of my brain, I prayed, and at that moment I felt very strongly that I should speak to this matter out loud. It seemed kind of crazy to me, but I knew its merit also. After all, when anxiety or senseless worry continues to assault your mind, where do you suppose these thoughts come from? They certainly aren’t from God. Conviction of where you might be wrong is one thing, but incessant agonizing is not. Fretting isn’t from a friend, and panic isn’t for our pleasure. One thing I knew; God did not want me feeling this way, making mountains out of molehills.

They say there’s power in the name of Jesus, and believing that to be so I spoke His name out loud.

“These thoughts that are harassing me aren’t welcome,” I said. “You have to leave in Jesus name.”

Y’all, if my mirror turned into a burning bush I wouldn’t have been surprised, because divine intervention happened in that room. It wasn’t like it took a while, either. It wasn’t later in the day or even thirty minutes after. Within moments I felt better. The anxious thoughts had drifted away. They no longer banged persistently at my door. They left.

As I sat on my bed getting ready I finally thought about other things, and as my mind wandered towards a parent’s class at my church I thought of some good advice for moms and the unrealistic expectations we place on our parenting skills.

God doesn’t expect our perfection. So why do we?

It was like a lightening bolt word of wisdom that I suddenly realized could be used in my day to day life and interactions with others. A lot of my worry when conflict occurred was if I handled it properly, or if I was a good example of Christ. On times like the most recent object of my obsession and personal conflict I knew I had a tendency to beat myself up over how I could have handled things better. But God didn’t expect my perfection. So why did I?

I was reminded that I won’t be perfect in every single interaction I have with others. Let’s be honest; some people are really difficult to handle. But the point is I’m trying. I strive each day to be a better me than yesterday, but when I fall I can be reminded of God’s bountiful grace. I can remember that in my weaknesses I find strength in Him. I guess that’s a reminder we all need from time to time.

What Christians Need Most

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As I left work last night I marveled at the pink and lavender sky as the sun began its descent along the horizon. It had been a pretty good day. I mean, it had been a long day. Thirteen hours on your feet never felt short, and looking at a step-counter on my phone, I had walked a few miles to boot. The patients had been challenging, and I felt a dull throb in my lower back from lifting, pulling, and holding two times my body weight every two hours throughout the day. But still, it had been a pretty good day.

“Thank you for a good day, Lord,” I spoke out loud.

I smiled. Despite the full, long day, despite the weariness around the edges, I felt good. I felt joy. There was a difference between happiness and joy. Happiness was dependent on your situation. The day before I had been very happy while I floated in the pool, but as I made the drive home, feet tired and brain frazzled, I felt that river of contentment flowing through my being.

What made life like this? I wondered.

And just as quickly I thought, the fruit of the spirit.

It seemed to permeate most of my day. It had changed how I interacted with coworkers, patients, a stranger in line at the store, my spouse, and everyone in between. It had changed me. I had not always been so patient or even so kind. I had not always been loving, and I certainly wasn’t the epitome of self control. Even now, I am the furthest from perfect as anyone can be, but I have seen myself grow over the past few years. And because of such, my life has improved dramatically.

I know why, and I saw something run across the news lately that especially brought this to the forefront of my mind. One huge decision I had made in my life had flipped it upside down, which honestly meant it was right side up. Isn’t it funny how what the world tells us is correct, nine times out of ten, that’s just not true? I discovered real truth is only found in one place, but I’m astounded by how many don’t even consider it as important. I mean, they know it is, but knowing and doing are two different things entirely.

The national news story that I came across happened to have occurred less than fifteen minutes from the town I grew up in, and though I no longer lived there, it made me sad to see such horrible happenings become attached to my hometown. It was disappointing but not all together surprising. I had been raised there, after all, and I could recall hearing the same thing from some people in the small, Southern Baptist church that I had entered my teenage years attending, but had never returned to after college.

It seems that a woman was caught on video denying wedding services to another woman because the couple to be wed were an interracial couple. You can catch details of the story here, but to sum it up the owner of the establishment stated they were denying their services due to their “Christian” beliefs that interracial marriage was a sin. In other words, she was implying God was against mixing races, and was quoted as saying she “wasn’t going to argue her beliefs.”

I must say I was pleased with the majority response from friends in the area. They were appalled by the situation, and some very strong worded about it. A few others offered grace, and it was through such a source that I saw a personal response on the owner’s Facebook page a few days later. I have to give the woman applause for admitting she was wrong, and while I in no way condone or approve of her opinion, I do think it was very good for her to publicly admit her fault.

In her public apology she confessed that she had always assumed this particular instance (interracial relationships) to be mentioned in scripture, but at her husband’s prodding she had found it was not. After studying her Bible and seeking Godly counsel from her pastor, she realized her long-held “belief” was strictly passed down intolerance. Nowhere in the Bible did it claim this to be a sin, but since she had been raised by other humans to believe it was, that became her truth.

And that’s where our problems lies, ladies and gentleman. We are a generation of busy Christians, Christians much too hurried to have time for the Bible. We assume Sunday is enough, flipping rapidly through whatever verse the preacher reads out loud, forgetting that the man on the pulpit is also just a man. We forget that we must glean the scriptures ourselves for God’s truth, that per His instruction we must meditate on it day and night.

What happens instead is that we start accepting the world’s truth as God’s truth. We think success is found through possessions, that healing just through the hospital. We lose sight of who God is, that He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. So we assume miracles are something from Old Testament Times, and that now it’s up to us to make our own way.

What happens is we push people away from Jesus. We’re so busy relying on man-made and mankind adapted rules and religious, pharisaical dos and don’ts that we lose sight of truth. We forget the greatest command of them all because we aren’t daily submerged in God’s Word! We remember how to play church, but we forget how to love!

What happens is we become depressed and anxious. We worry about things we can’t control. We look at man to save us! Bail me out of this jam, loan man. We stay up all night long trying to figure out how to solve our dilemmas. Meanwhile God is just waiting for us to ask. Maybe we get overweight or we develop a problem with drinking, gambling, pornography. We’re just so lonely, empty, and hopeless, and we search all over for something to fill the vacant places. Never once do we crack the Bible to find the answers there.

Hard day at work? Let’s go get a drink! That’ll fix it. Smh. Hey, I’ve been there. No judgment here. All I know, from personal experience, is that the next morning my head hurt and my problem still existed. It wasn’t until I read the Bible and learned how to view my job that work no longer sucked. Just being honest.

See, what happens is we think babies in the womb aren’t a life until they get on the outside, like maybe a hotdog in the package isn’t food until we finish cooking it on the grill and throw it in a bun. Hey, my three year old holding a cold wiener straight from the pack may disagree, but I’ve heard crazier things.

I’ve heard that you can fill your mind with horrific images via movies or your music, without any consequences to your spirit. I’ve heard you can ask for good vibes on Facebook while consulting your psychic and get your grandma to pray to Jesus for you all at the same time. You really want to cover all the bases for best results. It’s okay to lie if no one finds out, and cussing out someone on the freeway is fine and dandy. Oh, and you don’t really have to give 10% in the offering plate anymore if you need the money for something else. I mean, who do you think provides for us? Us, of course!

So what happens is we end up thinking we don’t need God everyday. We drift along happily with our fancy life, planning our parties and running up our credit card bills for more stuff we don’t need. But then when our child gets really sick we cry out to Jesus.

Oh, Jesus, why won’t you answer me?!

Give Him a minute. Maybe He’s trying to place your voice. After all, He hasn’t heard it in six months.

What happens is we believe lies from Satan. We don’t think they’re from Satan. We don’t even really think about him. He’s mentioned somewhere in the Bible, but the preacher only mentions the devil when he talks about Hell, and you’re not going there. You’re saved by the blood of Jesus. You’re a Christian. Your youth leader told you so! What happens is we become Christian only in title; we lose sight of living like one. We forget that to be a Christian is to be a follower of Christ, and to follow the ways of Jesus you have to read what He said, what He did, what He sacrificed for you. You have to be brought to literal tears when you read how much He gave so that you could live! But instead we spend our time binging Netflix and crying over our latest romance novel.

You know what? I love me some Netflix. I won’t deny it. But nothing comes before the truth. Nothing.

To walk in freedom, to bear the fruits of the spirit, and to lead a joyful, hopeful, wonderful life that is lacking no thing we must read the Bible! I know, I know. I too used to think that was just something people said. You think that praying is enough, that going to church on Sunday is enough, that wearing shirts with scripture on them is enough, that hanging out with other Christians is enough, that growing your hair long or being submerged in water just in itself is enough, that wearing a cross around your neck and flying the flag of Israel in your yard is enough (yeah, I saw the flag hanging next to it that evokes feelings of division and hate, but that’s a blog for another day). The point is, none of it is enough, and because this stuff can take the place of God’s Word in your life, it’s actually a lie straight from Hell. Your “salvation” is really your veil that covers your eyes, and it’s the stumbling block that makes others fall. Only in Spirit and Truth will we find the wholeness that God can provide. Listen, I’m not saying you’re going to Hell if you never read your Bible. There’s only one judge up in here. But I am saying that if you want to live a full, free, joyful life then you have to dig deeper. You have to read God’s Word.

How do I know this? I mean, besides scripture saying it’s so? I see it in my life. Over the past eight years I have been on a journey of growth with the Lord, and the biggest breakthrough began to occur when I submerged myself in the scriptures. I began to crave more of Him, and it filled me to read His Word. Over time the words of truth bled into my life and they transformed me. How I viewed myself, how I viewed others, and how I viewed the world all changed. I began to see everything through the eyes of Christ. But it wasn’t just that.

I found joy. True, lasting joy. I got rid of fear once and for all. I kicked anxiety to the curb. I learned how Jesus could help me deal with my depression. Of note, because I see feathers ruffling already, I take a medication to help with hormonal mood swings and depression. I am a nurse, after all, and I do believe God gave us the brains to develop healthcare, but I also know my Healer works in me in conjunction.

I’ve found my life is more fulfilling, my marriage is happier. Like, I fall in love with my husband more and more each day. Of note, he reads the Bible everyday also. We do it together. God’s truth carries our marriage to places it could never go without Him. Our marriage is so successful because of Jesus, and knowing the Bible helps us know how to treat one another as Christ would.

Y’all, I could go on and on about how God’s Word fed into my life has changed everything for the better, but I know you don’t have all day. I don’t want you reading this much longer anyway. I want you reading your Bible!

The point is, you can belief what your family has always said, what your friends say, and what the world deceives you into believing. You can do this, still find salvation, but have a rough road until Jesus returns. Or… you can read His instruction manual now (because He told us in there what to do until He returns), and find some joy and contentment here on earth. Am I saying life is perfect if you read your Bible? Heck, no. But it sure is a lot easier with truth on your side. Plus, the side effects are phenomenal.

Can Christians Get Offended?

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I can remember when I first started travel nursing that the first thing people noticed about me was my thick, Southern drawl. Heck, even now it’s the way people will differentiate me from others. If I’m not known as the “singing nurse,” then I’m described as the one with a Southern accent. I’ve been called Reba, and if I had a dollar for every person that tried to do an impression of my country twang I could have retired last week.

Yeah, people are not as good at impersonations as they assume, but I’m sure many a Brit would raise an eyebrow at my Monty Python impressions, so I can’t say a word. The thing is, though, if I’m being totally honest, it’s not near as amusing as people assume. Repeating a word I’ve said in your own impression of my pronunciation as you laugh hysterically isn’t funny to me. In fact, it’s eye roll worthy as I fake laugh along. But even now, as I bristle at the harmless prodding at my expense, I don’t react like I used to.

I used to be terribly offended. See, I was born in San Diego, California by a world-traveling mom, and we only moved to Mississippi to settle down when I was about eight. I could have quickly adapted the accent of my local peers, but a part was always held back by my mother’s suggestion. She raised me to enunciate my words, to use a vast vocabulary, and to make a point to sound as educated as possible. She fought hard to ward off her own Southern drawl as it crept into everyday vernacular, as her experience had impressed one, huge thing upon her.

A Southern accent=stupidity

That was the majority assumption, anyway.

This was what she had experienced. It was what traveling the world had taught her. And as such, she raised me to understand the same. When I began my own world travels so many of the things I encountered nailed home her point. In Naval Bootcamp I achieved the highest scholastic scores among my peers, earning my parents a special seat next to the Chief Officer of the base during my graduation, and allowing me to march at that ceremony in a special company. As we practiced the drill we would execute at our graduation a senior enlisted gentleman commented on my upbringing.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Mississippi, Petty Officer,” I replied quickly.

“Well,” he commented in surprise and sarcasm, “I didn’t know they made smart people in Mississippi.”

While I served in the Navy in the Washington, D.C. area I was on the receiving end of reverse racism, with people assuming that since I was from the South, I was automatically a bigot. My mother had hated this aspect the most. She had told me once that people saw movies like Mississippi Burning, and they assumed everyone from that area wanted to wear white hoods and hang black people. In my experience, I even had someone report me to my boss. I had been singing a country love song that came into my head about a man who committed suicide when his girlfriend left him (hey, I didn’t say country songs were known for their great lyrics). The guy in the song hung himself in grief, and the secretary who heard me singing reported to our superior that she feared for her life when she was around me. Because of the accent, where I was from, she assumed my song was something about hanging black people, even though the lyrics never said something even close to that.

This is turning out to be a bit longer than I intended, but I guess I want you to understand why it offended me so much when people poked fun at my Southern accent. In a way, I felt discriminated against for my accent. In my experience, people assumed I was ignorant, racist, uneducated, and the like. My upbringing and my own negative experiences had caused me to be easily offended when my accent was brought to the forefront. I think we all have really good reasons we get offended about things.

As a nurse I’ve gotten offended when a patient is rude. I mean, do they know the responsibilities I handle with limited time and resources? Why are they being angry at me? It’s not my fault they’re sick! I’m just here to help! I don’t deserve such anger aimed at me like an arrow for trying to help!

As a customer I’ve gotten offended. They’re here to serve me. What’s with the attitude?! They must hate their job!

I get offended on the interstate when people cut me off in traffic. I’m going five miles above the speed limit here, buddy!

I can get offended when my husband doesn’t read my mind like a good spouse is supposed to. Doesn’t he know I don’t really mean I’m fine?!

I can especially get offended when people don’t agree with me. As a writer I put out a lot of opinion posts, and not everyone agrees. I’ve had people say some pretty heinous things to me via comments or email. I’ve had people tell me that they feel sorry for my children being raised by me, such an awful person. I’m leaving out the graphic language, mind you. Sometimes I’m so certain that what I’m speaking is truth; I’d bet my life on it! Yet people disagree, and they tell me so quite strongly.

I’ve had close friends and family say or do despicable things to me that have hurt me so badly. I mean, when someone cuts you to the bone, isn’t that a legitimate cause of offense?

See, I’m not saying I don’t have reason to be offended. I’m not saying you don’t. Can Christians be offended? Of course they can! I suppose the better question would be… should they get offended?

Matthew 5:38-40

38 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’[a] 39 But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. 40 And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well.

An interesting thing happened as I began to dive deeper into my walk with Jesus. As I began to read God’s Word more and more, I found myself taking on the pages. I mean, I began to act more like scriptures said I should. It wasn’t like I was trying to follow some religious teaching or law. It’s just that the more time I spent reading about Jesus, the more I loved Him. And the more I loved Him, the more I wanted to be like Him. I wanted to see with His eyes and love with His heart. I wanted to be a servant, not selfish. I wanted to encourage people, and help them to see their worth in Christ.

When a patient was undeservingly rude to me, I laid down offense, and instead I asked myself to imagine how hard it must be to be the sick person in that bed. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t my fault, or even if it was theirs. It didn’t matter that I was trying to help, or that I didn’t deserve a cussing. Why would it?

See, we get offended a lot because of bad treatment we don’t deserve. Check. I get it. It’s offensive. Jesus didn’t deserve to be crucified. Remember what He said?

“They know not what they do.”

As a follower of Christ I realized the best way I could show His love (a commandment He gave me, by the way) was to love like Him.

When people hurt my feelings, I laid down offense. Instead of thinking of my own hurt, I wondered what hurt they must be under to make them act that way.

When someone cut me off in traffic or a cashier was rude, I offered grace. I smile really big at them!

When my husband doesn’t read my feelings I remind myself that we are different.

When people don’t agree with me, I remind myself that everyone won’t. That doesn’t change my eternity.

And speaking of eternity? Have you ever stopped and realized that 99% of the things that offend us actually have no eternal impact? But, how we respond to the people who offend us, well, that can have an eternal consequence. We may push people away when they offend us, but we shouldn’t push them away from Jesus. If someone stumbles because of me, well, I don’t even want to think about it.

I am who God says I am. Thirty-four years ago, in His great wisdom, God placed me and my mom in Mississippi. He orchestrated my mom meeting my adoptive dad, and my subsequent adoption, the one that would positively impact my opinion of fathers and my life. God placed me in the South, and God loves my Southern drawl. After I laid down my offense I realized that most people love my accent as well. They weren’t all making fun of me or judging my intellect. My offense told me that, but it wasn’t true. I’ve discovered that my patients love the soothing sound of my slow, Southern drawl. It puts their souls at ease in a harried, uncertain environment. It implies caring and it easily earns trust. I cherish my accent, and I’ve found lately that in difficult situations at the bedside, like when I must break bad news, I draw out my syllables a little longer, and I dredge them in sugar a bit more. The patients like that.

I’ve learned that although many times I have every right to be offended, and that God won’t love me any less because I am, I am better able to fulfill my calling when I let go of offense. When I can turn the other cheek I am actually showing the face of Jesus. When I take off the red rage that veils my eyes under my own offense, I am better able to see where and who needs love most.

Will every situation we encounter require us to lay down our offense? No. I’m not saying to let yourself be filleted open for the masses. But I am saying that when we can let go of ourselves and see other’s pain, Jesus smiles. When we can love someone despite their hurting our feelings, they’ll see Jesus in us. When He calls us to lay down our life for a brother, He even means the ones who disagree with us. We can lay down offense, and we can pick up love in its place.

When God Doesn’t Answer Your Prayers

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Back in February of this year I found myself looking for another job assignment. As a travel nurse, every three months I took on a different contract, with a different hospital, in a different city. I’ve learned that nursing is pretty much the same no matter where you go, but the venue, well, that makes all of the difference. I travel with my husband and three daughters in an RV. We love it, and earlier this year we were excited to go somewhere new. We had enjoyed our time in South Carolina, but we were also ready for new sights to be seen.

Arizona. That’s where we wanted to go! We had never traveled out west, and though I was born in California and had family in New Mexico, I had never done more than drive through the state of Arizona. My husband and I scanned the internet for all the fabulous, outdoor activities, and we imagined ourselves hiking within the scenery of the lovely pictures we saw. We picked out the perfect, family friendly campground near the city we wished to go, and I excitedly salivated at the KOA Resort photos.

I worked with a recruiter, and immediately made him aware of our desires. He submitted at a couple of hospitals in Tucson and nearby Phoenix, and I eagerly awaited an interview. First week, nothing. No problem, I told myself. New jobs come out every week. We submitted again, and again no phone call. We submitted applications the third week in a row, and after no interview I began to wonder what was wrong with me.

“You have the best resume out there,” my recruiter consoled me.

Neither of us could understand it. With almost twenty years of experience and a stellar record, I was a shoo-in. What was the deal?! I hadn’t been silent in my desires for this job. I had prayed to land the Arizona contract not once, not twice, and not even just three times. I had prayed every single day to get that job! But no call came.

This morning I was reading a familiar story from Daniel about three guys named Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Most of you recognize the names as the fellows who were thrown into the fiery furnace of the king after refusing to bow to his idol. The climax of the account is found when despite the blaze the men suffer no harm, and they are saved by the son of God from the fire, not even smelling like smoke when they get out. My husband’s favorite part is when the king looks down and sees four men instead of three, and that was my favorite too until something else stuck out to me this morning as I read.

When King Nebuchadnezzar tells them they better bow down to his idol or they’re going in the furnace they reply that they’re not worried because their God will save them, but it’s the flip side of their reply that got me.

They continued, “but even if He doesn’t…”

Even if He doesn’t.

They knew God could do it. They had faith He could. But the real faith came in the statement that even if He didn’t, they still believed their God was the one and only true God. They wouldn’t bow down to anything else.

When I first realized I wasn’t getting a phone interview I was upset. I blamed it on my own lack to stand out, but then I was reminded of my prayers. Much like our fire repellant trio, I had prayed in faith.

“Lord,” I had prayed, “I really pray I get the job in Arizona, but above all, I want your will.”

I had wanted the job in Arizona, but even more than that I wanted to serve the Lord. I knew His sovereignty. I knew His omniscience. He knew from beginning to end, point A to point B, what was best for my family, and how best we might be used. Knowing this, I prayed for Arizona, but more than that I prayed He would take care of us and take us where we needed to go.

God didn’t answer my prayer to land the job in Arizona, and sometimes God doesn’t answer our prayers. It’s in these times we must decide if we will continue to pray in a state of “even if He doesn’t.”

Even if He doesn’t, I love Him.

Even if He doesn’t, I trust Him.

Even if He doesn’t, I am blessed.

I am blessed because He loves me, and many times a part of being a loving Father is saying no.

When my six year old wants to get a 20 ounce Coke from the store, my husband says no.

When my eight year old wants to spend the night at the friend’s house who she met ten minutes prior, her father says no.

When my three year old wants to play with a cell phone instead of using her imagination outside, her dad says no.

None of these things would kill the kids if he said yes (unless those new friend’s parents were psychopaths), but it was, in the very least, much better for them if he said no.

God loves when we ask because He loves talking with us, and He always answers. It’s just that His answer isn’t always yes. Many times it’s no, because more than anything He loves us and desires His best for us, not our best for us.

When we can face the fiery furnace of this life and say, “but even if He doesn’t,” then we are truly blessed. We’re blessed because we understand that the hot pits of this world mean nothing when held in comparison to eternity in His presence and love. It may get uncomfortable for a little while, it may even be painful, but it doesn’t last. Even if He doesn’t save you from your present fire, He promises to deliver you forever to a lasting afterlife of no more pain. Sometimes fire is just meant to purify us, to burn out the places that don’t belong. Sometimes you gotta smell like smoke a little to remind you of the truth.

And the truth is…

Even if He doesn’t,

He still loves you. He still has plans to prosper you. He still has plans to work out all things for your good.

Even if He doesn’t,

He’s still God, and we won’t bow down to anything less just to avoid a little fire.

When God Doesn’t Answer Your Prayers

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Back in February of this year I found myself looking for another job assignment. As a travel nurse, every three months I took on a different contract, with a different hospital, in a different city. I’ve learned that nursing is pretty much the same no matter where you go, but the venue, well, that makes all of the difference. I travel with my husband and three daughters in an RV. We love it, and earlier this year we were excited to go somewhere new. We had enjoyed our time in South Carolina, but we were also ready for new sights to be seen.

Arizona. That’s where we wanted to go! We had never traveled out west, and though I was born in California and had family in New Mexico, I had never done more than drive through the state of Arizona. My husband and I scanned the internet for all the fabulous, outdoor activities, and we imagined ourselves hiking within the scenery of the lovely pictures we saw. We picked out the perfect, family friendly campground near the city we wished to go, and I excitedly salivated at the KOA Resort photos.

I worked with a recruiter, and immediately made him aware of our desires. He submitted at a couple of hospitals in Tucson and nearby Phoenix, and I eagerly awaited an interview. First week, nothing. No problem, I told myself. New jobs come out every week. We submitted again, and again no phone call. We submitted applications the third week in a row, and after no interview I began to wonder what was wrong with me.

“You have the best resume out there,” my recruiter consoled me.

Neither of us could understand it. With almost twenty years of experience and a stellar record, I was a shoo-in. What was the deal?! I hadn’t been silent in my desires for this job. I had prayed to land the Arizona contract not once, not twice, and not even just three times. I had prayed every single day to get that job! But no call came.

This morning I was reading a familiar story from Daniel about three guys named Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Most of you recognize the names as the fellows who were thrown into the fiery furnace of the king after refusing to bow to his idol. The climax of the account is found when despite the blaze the men suffer no harm, and they are saved by the son of God from the fire, not even smelling like smoke when they get out. My husband’s favorite part is when the king looks down and sees four men instead of three, and that was my favorite too until something else stuck out to me this morning as I read.

When King Nebuchadnezzar tells them they better bow down to his idol or they’re going in the furnace they reply that they’re not worried because their God will save them, but it’s the flip side of their reply that got me.

They continued, “but even if He doesn’t…”

Even if He doesn’t.

They knew God could do it. They had faith He could. But the real faith came in the statement that even if He didn’t, they still believed their God was the one and only true God. They wouldn’t bow down to anything else.

When I first realized I wasn’t getting a phone interview I was upset. I blamed it on my own lack to stand out, but then I was reminded of my prayers. Much like our fire repellant trio, I had prayed in faith.

“Lord,” I had prayed, “I really pray I get the job in Arizona, but above all, I want your will.”

I had wanted the job in Arizona, but even more than that I wanted to serve the Lord. I knew His sovereignty. I knew His omniscience. He knew from beginning to end, point A to point B, what was best for my family, and how best we might be used. Knowing this, I prayed for Arizona, but more than that I prayed He would take care of us and take us where we needed to go.

God didn’t answer my prayer to land the job in Arizona, and sometimes God doesn’t answer our prayers. It’s in these times we must decide if we will continue to pray in a state of “even if He doesn’t.”

Even if He doesn’t, I love Him.

Even if He doesn’t, I trust Him.

Even if He doesn’t, I am blessed.

I am blessed because He loves me, and many times a part of being a loving Father is saying no.

When my six year old wants to get a 20 ounce Coke from the store, my husband says no.

When my eight year old wants to spend the night at the friend’s house who she met ten minutes prior, her father says no.

When my three year old wants to play with a cell phone instead of using her imagination outside, her dad says no.

None of these things would kill the kids if he said yes (unless those new friend’s parents were psychopaths), but it was, in the very least, much better for them if he said no.

God loves when we ask because He loves talking with us, and He always answers. It’s just that His answer isn’t always yes. Many times it’s no, because more than anything He loves us and desires His best for us, not our best for us.

When we can face the fiery furnace of this life and say, “but even if He doesn’t,” then we are truly blessed. We’re blessed because we understand that the hot pits of this world mean nothing when held in comparison to eternity in His presence and love. It may get uncomfortable for a little while, it may even be painful, but it doesn’t last. Even if He doesn’t save you from your present fire, He promises to deliver you forever to a lasting afterlife of no more pain. Sometimes fire is just meant to purify us, to burn out the places that don’t belong. Sometimes you gotta smell like smoke a little to remind you of the truth.

And the truth is…

Even if He doesn’t,

He still loves you. He still has plans to prosper you. He still has plans to work out all things for your good.

Even if He doesn’t,

He’s still God, and we won’t bow down to anything less just to avoid a little fire.

What Christian Parents Need to Know

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“Have you ever had a car wreck?” she asked.

Boy, had he ever, I thought. Our six year old daughter had directed the question at her father, and I listened with raised eyebrow for his response. Wow. He didn’t disappoint.

“I sure did,” he answered. “A really bad one!”

And yes, it had been a really bad one. One of those accidents that obliterate the vehicle beyond recognition, the ones where EMS arrives and know they’ll find someone dead.

Except he hadn’t died.

It was quite miraculous, actually. My husband (before he was my husband) had been unrestrained, and his vehicle had flown fifty feet or so into the air. Heck, I’m the worst at calculating distance, but I do know they found where his vehicle dinged over halfway up a power pole before it descended back down to the ground. I do know they found his body sitting in the passenger side, despite the fact that he had been driving. And I do know he should not have survived that accident. They found his front teeth sitting on his chest and a gash about a centimeter from his carotid. God spared his life, and I had always joked with him that it was so he could marry me.

He continued, “it was so bad that I should have died, but God needed me to meet your mom so I could have you.”

And there it was. The one thing every Christian parent needed to know, and more importantly, needed to impart.

“God has a plan for your life,” he finished with a smile.

He spoke to our middle child, our most unique daughter. She was overly sensitive, and when she bawled about basically anything, this one part of me wanted to scream, “quit your crying!!”

Long ago I realized she would make my job a challenge. I think maybe God gives you a pass with that first one.

He’s like, “she’s a new mom. Let’s take it easy. Gabriel, go catch that kid before it rolls off the changing table!”

When my second daughter arrived I realized she wasn’t as easy to figure out, and since they didn’t come with instructions taped on the back, I did a lot of praying. In all that praying (you know, the kind you do in tears after all the yelling), I felt like the Lord told me something really important.

“I made her that way.”

That’s what He impressed on my heart one particularly tough day, and I’ve tried to remember the same for the humdinger of a third child I had a year later. That one! Lord, help me. But that’s a blog for another day.

Anyway, I realized that one day, hiding in my closet of shame (but literally my closet), that my middle child was sensitive for a reason. She held in her tiny frame the capacity to love the whole wide world if she needed to, and her specific characteristics were for a reason. God had big plans for that little lady, and I made sure from that day forward to keep that in mind.

When I wanted to get frustrated, I remembered, when I didn’t understand, I remembered, and when the world made me want to change her, I remembered. He knew her even before He formed her in my womb, and He had plans for His creation. My job was to work with His model, my job was to cultivate that, and most importantly, my job was to point her towards Him always.

We let our children know that their life has purpose. As parents, we remind ourselves that we’re raising little humans who have a purpose for God’s kingdom. That’s a lofty job, so we take it quite seriously, making sure we read the only thing close to an instruction manual for parenting, His Word.

My eldest knows that her life is already spectacular, that she changed my future with her arrival, but that God has even greater things in store for her. We don’t hold back the compliments, the love, the discipline, or the instruction that is required. We pray for guidance continually as we raise these little girls to accomplish whatever the Lord has in mind.

We don’t bend to the status quo. We don’t follow the crowd, hang in there with the herd, desiring an easy life so that our children will “fit in.” They know they’re set apart by God, but I don’t mean that in some prideful way. They know that each human ever born has a plan that God ordains, that their plan is no better than someone else’s, but that their life will succeed when they follow His face. Not everyone follows God’s plan for their life. Most get lost in the world’s plan along the way. They get caught up in trends, what’s popular, or what society may say is valuable. Our goal is to raise our girls to realize that couldn’t be farther from the truth. They know that the things the world values are fading, but what holds true worth is eternal.

Gosh, they’re so young. How can they fathom eternity at such an age? Well, I guess we model it each day by being an example of His love.

When I pray with my daughters at night I make sure and include two things.

  1. I pray that they know how much they are loved by God.

  2. That they will, in turn, pour out that same love to everyone they meet.

As Christians, we are called to love, and as a parent we are called to love our children. Seems simple, right? Of course parents love their children! But do they show that love in the best way possible? Do they show that love by ensuring their children know from where that love derives?! It is of God. And that same love has been built into their DNA. That love will guide them, but His love in us as parents will help lead them. A parent’s greatest role is to lead their children to the Lord, and if that one thing is the biggest thing I’ll ever do in this life, then I am abundantly blessed.

Jesus left the 99 to find the 1, and know it’s my turn to shepherd the lambs He has given to me. Each child will know that they are the 1. They are that special 1 that He would leave the whole flock to find. He has a purpose for their lives. They need to know it, and I need to remember it. I just happen to have a role in getting them there.

My husband has said before that if God only has for him to raise babies to love Jesus, then that is enough for him. Listening to the car wreck conversation I know he believes it is true. I think God has much planned for my spouse, but fathering our children was certainly one. He takes that purpose quite seriously. And now our middle child is reminded of the purpose her life holds, that God would miraculously intervene to ensure she was born. Each child, in my opinion, should feel the same about their life, albeit different circumstances. They all should know that their life has great purpose, and we as parents should know it too.