Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

The Top Reason I See More Mass Shootings Than My Parents Did

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And it happens again. You see the news reports. You feign shock. I mean, you are shocked, but not really, really shocked. Does that make sense?

“Oh, my goodness! Another mass shooting!! Could you pass the milk?”

Don’t misunderstand me. It’s awful, it’s terrible. We know this. Our hearts break, we shed a tear. We say a prayer, hold our family tight, and maybe even mutter, “Jesus, come quick.”

Well, I don’t think He’s coming as quick as you hope for. I mean, He’s coming back, but if I know the Lord like I think I do, He’s patiently waiting for some more of His children to get a clue and come back home. Like the prodigal son, half the world has taken off for greener pastures, and Abba is sitting on the front porch waiting for us to return. I know y’all have heard the old adage, it gets worse before it gets better. Well, in this world’s case, I certainly hope that’s true. Because, if mass shooting frequency is any indication of the direction we’re headed, then yeah, it’s like my Nanny said. We are headed towards hell in a hand-basket.

It wasn’t always like this, am I right? My folks watched the news. Back then we only had three channels, two that came in clear, so when the evening news came on, that’s what we watched. There were crazy people, bad people, suicide bombers, people with guns, but nothing like today. You certainly didn’t see several mass shootings in the same month. So what changed?

Some folks say it’s just access to news. They say bad stuff has always happened; we just hear about it more readily with social media nowadays. I’m not sure that’s the case. We do hear news more, in a sense that our media outlets are always open and in hand, but I wouldn’t say that’s the top cause of more bad news. If anything, social media has only opened the gateway for more loud voices to give their commentary on the news. It gives us a reason to speculate, to cause division, and it gives the devil a good way to cloud the issue. I mean, if we’re so busy debating over what causes mass crime, we’ll be unlikely to hear in our hearts the real reason. Satan loves a good distraction!

No, Linda, it’s not guns. Guns shoot bullets, but it’s people who take aim. Stricter gun laws won’t decrease murder anymore than getting rid of all the forks and spoons to combat obesity in our nation. Yeah, both a pistol and a spork can kill you, but I think the operator is the real problem.

But that makes too much sense! Instead of seeking the root cause we’ll flounder around the issue for a few more decades until it gets really bad. We’ll support sin and call it choice, we’ll march for freedom even to our own demise. We’ll even blame politicians and political parties for the direction of our country.

“It’s not my fault my son shot up the school! It’s the current, racist, political party he lives in!”

Righhhht.

I suppose it was being bullied on the playground, not getting picked to play first base, or only being able to afford to drive a used car to school, instead of a brand new one like Jimmy.

We can psychoanalyze all the live long day, but the most obvious answer eludes us. It’s right under our nose.

It’s us.

Do you know why we see more mass shootings than our parents did?

Because we have changed the future.

When we were kids we sat down for dinner together with our parents instead of grabbing a quick slice of pizza before the next episode on Netflix.

Our parents were present, not both working overtime to keep up with The Joneses.

We spent time talking at the table, reading together, or playing a board game. Now everyone has their noses in their collective, electronic devices.

Our parents spent time parenting, most of our parents, anyway. Our parents’ generation didn’t leave it to the teachers and coaches to teach us right from wrong. They knew that discipline is where right and wrong is learned, and it’s how change is taught. They knew that it took a village, yes, but they didn’t leave the raising solely in the hands of that village.

Our parents were involved. We went fishing, and we talked about the birds and the bees before we got the wrong info from the big kids at the back of the bus. Nowadays, parents figure their kids have already heard it on cable television or from the internet. And yeah, sadly, they probably have.

Our parents taught us beauty was more than skin deep, that it was about the inside, not the out. It’s hard for children of today dressed in name-brands from head to toe and snapping selfies every two seconds for another fifty followers to catch this important piece of selfless advice.

Our parents prayed in school, they said the pledge of allegiance, and they got their butts whooped with a piece of wood for disrespecting the teacher. Now, the kids laugh when they get in trouble. They know their parents will bail them out. And if someone even thought about corporal punishment? No way. Cue the lawsuit!

Do I sound old fashioned? Good! We need some good, old fashioned respect for authority. We need yes ma’am, no sir, opening doors, obeying the police, and fessing up when you mess up. But even that stuff isn’t the real answer! Those are just bandaids, like gun laws and anti-bullying campaigns. Those things are all well and good, needed even, but they’re not what we really need. What we really need, what our parent’s generation had more than we have today, and what will naturally usher in all the above mentioned good stuff, is Jesus. We need Jesus.

Does that sound cliche? The devil would tell you so. He’d say that doesn’t matter. Going to church won’t solve mass shootings. And yeah, in that regard, he’s kinda right. Church attendance won’t solve a thing, but I’m not talking about religion. I’m not talking about Sunday morning sing-a-long followed by a football afternoon with too much beer. I’m not talking about crying at the altar on Sunday, but returning to your regularly scheduled life thereafter. I’m talking about a heart change. I’m talking about a life change. I’m talking about parents being responsible for their children again.

What did our parents and their parents do differently that we’ve forgotten?

They took responsibility. They knew that raising kids wasn’t just a check mark in life, like you got a gold star if they made the honor roll and stayed out of jail. They knew it was more than that! They knew it wasn’t just about getting good grades, getting into a good college, and getting a good job. It was about being a good person! They understood that parenting was a privilege given by God to raise children for God’s kingdom.

We’re not just raising the next generation of doctors, lawyers, or politicians. We’re raising good friends who will help a person when they’re down. We’re raising children to depend on the Lord for their well-being, not to depend on what society thinks about their wardrobe. We’re supposed to raise kids who are Christ-centered, not baseball-centered or Under Armor-centered. Relationship centered, not materialistic possession centered. Not high test scores centered or high popularity centered, just Jesus centered. Cause if there center is Him, the rest will fall into place as it should.

We need to have Christ the center of our homes, and you can’t achieve that by being a Sunday Family. In other words, if you’re just talking to your kids about God at church, on Christmas, or when they’ve done something wrong, then you’re doing it wrong. To raise the kind of children who are kind, the type of children who love, and the type of future generation that doesn’t solve their hurt through more hurt, then you yourself, as the parent, must place Jesus at the center of your life. They’re watching you walk, man. They’re following suit.

You can’t leave it to grandma or their Sunday School teacher. You must read the Bible with your children. You need to pray with them. You need to teach them Godly principles from His Word. Otherwise, what they will get taught will be from the world. And it’s this worldly teaching that leads to an increase in things like mass shootings and self harm. It’s the world that says, “eat the fruit. You can be more than God!” It’s your job, parents, to show them that they’ve already been given all power and authority through Christ. In Him, they are never lacking.

So, the next time another news article is released and dozens are dead, don’t ask, “what has happened to our country?!”

You will know the answer. The country didn’t change, per se, but we did. We were the change. The good news is, we can be the change still! Do you remember when I told you Abba Father was waiting for us to return home to Him? The great news is that He is a patiently waiting, loving Father, and He wants nothing more than to congregate with us on the front porch. He wants this next generation of parents back. He wants us raising the next generation of kind, loving, giving souls. He’s not asking this of our neighbors, our teachers, or even just our politicians. He is asking it of us. It’s our job to make the change.

If you don’t like the direction things have been going, ask yourself what you’re doing to make it different? If we want to see change, it must start at home. God has given us the task of shaping and molding the minds of tomorrow, and unless we put His teaching at the center of it all, things will never get better. They’ll only get worse.

The Thing About Loving Your Spouse

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I love my husband. I do. It’s not that hard to love him, either. He’s a great guy. But that doesn’t mean he’s always easy to love. When he does something I don’t agree with, or when he gives me the silent treatment, well, at those times it’s not so easy to love him. I mean, I still do. That’s what unconditional love means. When he’s annoying or argumentative, I love him, but I sure don’t love the moment.

Have you ever heard someone say, “I love them, but I don’t know if I like them very much!”

It’s laughable, sure, and I can think of a time or two, in the heat of an argument, when I did not like my husband very much at that moment. Thankfully, those instances are so rare that I can hardly recall the last time he wasn’t easy to love, but it did get me to thinking about something I heard at church. If we’re supposed to love like Jesus then we have to try and like them too. Easier said than always done.

But then there’s this. I was praying for my husband this morning, and it always seems like when I’m in prayer for him, that’s when God tells me something good. There I was thanking the Lord for my relationship with my spouse and telling God how much I loved my spouse, when He impressed to me something I had not really thought of quite like this before.

He said, “I need you to love him for me.”

I got His meaning right away, but allow me to explain if you’re not following our private conversation. He meant that it’s my job to love my husband for Jesus. It’s my calling to love him like the Lord would do. In this life it can be hard to always intimately feel the love of the Lord. We can’t see it like we do love experienced here on earth between one another. I mean, God doesn’t leave me a love note to remind me He cares or send me a text message when He knows I’m having a bad day. He does leave me love notes, in His own wonderful way, like a lovely sunset on my way home, or that feeling of joy that can only be explained by the Holy Spirit, but still. At times it’s hard for us humans to always see His particular love letters around us, and in those times He counts on His children to deliver the message. Are you getting it?

In other words, God counted on me to show His love to my spouse. My husband’s Heavenly Father loves him in a way I never could, but it is my job as a wife to emulate that love as closely as I can. God blesses my husband in so many ways, but one of the ways is through me. I love my husband deeply, and that is my gift, but also the Lord’s gift to him. When I love my husband, I am following part of God’s will for my life! Have you ever thought of it that way?

It’s easy to love a stranger, the homeless man on the corner on your way home, your pastor, or even that child from Africa on those commercials on TV. You know God calls you to love those people, but we forget that God calls us to love our spouse also. We don’t just love them because we’re married and that’s how it is when you’re married! We don’t just love them because of a piece of paper, for the sake of our kids, or the nostalgic idea of some words we uttered before our friends and family at the altar. We love our spouses because that is what God calls us to do. It’s what He had in mind for us all along. It’s a huge part of the ministry calling He has on our lives! And here’s an important part. In those tough times when your spouse may feel distant from the Lord because of earthly circumstances, it’s you who can carry them the heart of Jesus. In this way, we are the ultimate hands and feet of Christ. He’s calling us to wash the feet of our spouse, even when it’s an especially dirty job.

We are called to love our spouse when it’s not always easy. Why?

Because Christ first loved us.

He loved us in a perfect love. He loved us in sin, when we were especially unlovable. He loved us when we doubted Him, denied Him, betrayed Him, and even when we crucified Him. We are Judas, and He loves us still. That, my friends, is how we are called to love our spouse.

When my husband sees me, he should see Jesus. When I love him, he should feel the heart of God. The Lord has filled me with His spirit, and when I love in that spirit, I am truly loving like He has commanded me to do. Marriage is more than just the union between a couple; it is the representation of the covenant promise between Jesus and the church, His bride, us. When I love my husband I show him a preview of love divine, a foreshadowing of eternity, a piece of what greatness awaits us in Heaven. Gosh, when you put it that way it makes you feel kinda bad for hastily muttered words under your breath, am I right?

God said, “I need you to love him for me.”

I love my husband, y’all. So, so much! But to imagine, to realize, to understand that my love is a representation of Christ. Wow, that makes me love him even more.

I Cried About a Patient Today

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The day was over. A long shift had finally ended and I gathered together my belongings for the brief trip back home to sleep before returning tomorrow. I smiled at thoughts of my children. My six year old daughter had learned to ride her bicycle without training wheels, and though I had missed the momentous event in person, my spouse had been good enough to capture video evidence for me. I looked forward to dinner together, even though I knew I’d be exhausted and ready for bed. The idea of a hot supper and quick sitcom before snoozing made me smile again, but then I didn’t. Because I thought about my day. I don’t guess I had really thought about it. I hadn’t allowed such a thing. You couldn’t.

As I stood behind closed doors, the bathroom door and break room between me and the patient care world, tears began to well in my eyes.

The horror of it.

I swallowed hard trying to dislodge the lump of emotion that had taken up residence in my throat, but that exercise was as futile as trying to will the tears not to flow down my cheeks. The emotional heaviness of such a horrible happening for my patient had left me deflated. I hadn’t realized it before. I couldn’t.

And as the empathetic emotions reared their ugly head, the raw tears streaked my face in frustration. I couldn’t change my patient’s circumstances anymore than I could have prevented the befalling of such tragedy, for the patient and their family. I wiped a stray tear away. It had snuck up on me, this emotional outpouring. I hadn’t felt it all day while I was in the thick of the awful. I hadn’t. I couldn’t. That’s not how it worked.

Nurses see a lot of pain, their beyond, fair share of heartache, but also occurrences so terrible that words can’t even begin to describe. You wouldn’t know it by their face, though. In death, work continues. In patients’ and families’ grief, condolences and support are given, but efficiently. To some it might even appear aloof. It’s not that.

We feel pain. We know pain. We know it so intimately that we wish we didn’t. We have held hands, heard prayers, and passed out Kleenex more than you can imagine. We’ve held shaking daughters who never got to tell mom goodbye, and we’ve picked up inconsolable mothers off the floor when their only son passes suddenly. We know pain.

We’ve stood there silently, back against the wall, hands wringing behind us, silently praying while the physician delivers the news no parent of a toddler wants to hear. Cancer. We’ve made the long walk down the hall to the waiting room. The one where the family all look up at the sound of the door, like a group of deer caught in the headlights. We hope our face doesn’t betray the sentence the surgeon is going to have to say.

Your dad didn’t make it out of surgery.

We watch your pain, we see your tears, we hold you up so you don’t hit the floor. But our tears seldom fall. They don’t. They can’t.

Not yet.

As I stood in the private bathroom I allowed my tears to fall, tears that had been there for thirteen hours, tears that I had hidden so well, they were hidden even from myself. I let them fall, I felt the pain of the horrible things my patient had experienced, and my heart broke for my patient. I suppose it had been breaking all day; I had just been to busy to allow it to surface.

It wasn’t that we didn’t feel. It wasn’t that we didn’t care. I think, in my own personal experience, it’s that we care so much. We care so much that we keep our own emotions in check. We do this so that our patient can have all of our effectiveness and thorough care. Yes, we empathize. And yes, we support their turmoil. Our turmoil, though, it stays below the surface. The thing is, we’ve seen so much pain, year after year, that if we let in the fullness of the whole lot, we’d crumble. It’s not just understaffing or overworking that leads to burnout. Sometimes you can only hold so much pain before you must step aside. With this in mind, we have a bit of a fence in place.

We joke, some often times inappropriately. We laugh, we sing, maybe we seem distracted or detached. But maybe that’s just how we cope. It’s how we cope with the pain, the grief, the patients who cause their own demise. It’s how we hold all the awful within without toppling over. Although, sometimes we spill over. We spill over the hot tears behind closed doors. You can only hold so much behind a fence, even if it’s built for your own protection.

I cried about a patient today. I know I will cry again. Maybe not tomorrow, the next day, or even the following week. But I will. I’ll cry, and I’ll probably do it when they can’t see me. You see, when they’re looking at me, I’m too busy looking at them, ready to help with their tears. That’s just how it is, and how it has to be.

My Husband is a Stay-at-Home Dad, and I Don’t Care What You Think About It

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I am a part of some different Facebook groups, and last week I got a little ruffled over some comments on a thread I was following. Well, ruffled is probably too strong of a word. I’d say I felt defensive for a moment. Why? Because I took it personally. I took personal offense for the love of my life. Wait, I guess I better explain, put it into context for you.

You see, I’m a travel nurse. And I travel in an RV with my family. So I’m a part of several travel nurse, RV, family RV travel, and RV travel nurse groups. Now, if I’ve learned anything in life it’s that the opinion of others isn’t worth my heartache. In other words, not all people will agree with me, and that’s ok. Their opinion doesn’t make me or break me, but I guess it’s a little different when the jab is towards my best friend.

I was scrolling through my feed when I came across a travel nurse asking if any other nurses traveled with their spouse, and wanted to know how their spouse spent their time. There were a lot of answers like mine. Answers of, “my spouse stays home.” And not just housewives either. There were a lot of househusbands. As you would imagine, it didn’t take long for someone to state their opinion about a man not working, and a woman being the primary breadwinner.

A woman commented, “I can’t get over all these deadbeat dudes, and you ladies supporting them. No way I’d put up with that sh*t.”

My heart rate rose as I read the comment. She didn’t know my spouse! She didn’t know he had run his own business for years, working thirteen hour days, six days a week. She didn’t know the stress of all those years, how hard he had worked to support his growing family. I had to tell her these things. I had to defend his honor!

You know, that’s the thing about people who aren’t you. They don’t know you, and they don’t know the specifics of your situation. They don’t know the roads you have walked, or even how hard it was to get there. That’s why you have to just let it slip right on by you. Because they don’t know and probably never will. Most people are so fixed on their own opinion that even if you set them straight, they wouldn’t hear you. You have to decide that you don’t care what they think. Too often we value the opinion of others, and it’s the same people who wouldn’t give you a glass of water if you were on fire. It’s the people pointing out the sawdust in your eye when they have a plank in their own. It’s the people who have been wounded, and their opinions and beliefs are often convoluted by their own negative, past experiences. Maybe this lady had been married to a deadbeat once upon a time. It didn’t matter, though.

I didn’t need to say a word to defend my man’s honor. After all, I knew he was amazing. I knew his heart. I knew he homeschooled our children while I worked. I knew he did all the housework, cooking, laundry, vehicle/RV maintenance, and outside work. I knew I didn’t lift a finger when I was home because he had done it all already. I knew what he did was hard work. I was a stay-at-home mom for six or seven years, and I knew there wasn’t a fatigue that compared to child-raising. It’s the kind that made you want to run away or hide in a closet and cry.

I knew my stay-at-home husband worked hard. He worked hard at everything he did for us, whether in the home or out of the home. And I guess, at the end of the day, I was the only one who needed to know that. The opinionated commenter on Facebook had her own opinions of men she had never met, and I’m sure a lot of acquaintances (or even family) I know have their own opinions of my life too. But you know what?

I don’t care what you think. I just don’t have time for that. I’m too busy enjoying quality time with my family.

We live in a strange world. On one hand we have women everywhere marching for equal rights, but those same women will shun a man who stays home in what has traditionally been a female role. We have women who want to hold tight to traditional and Biblical roles of the man being the provider, but these same women have no qualms about usurping their husband’s authority, domineering the relationship, or ridiculing his opinions for the family unit. We have men and women who lament about not getting enough time together, but these same couples work overtime. We have men and women who want to homeschool or not put their babies in daycare, but these same people can’t find a way to cut the budget to make a one income family unit a reality. I’ve heard so many people say that nowadays it takes both parents working, and I guess that’s true if we consider a huge home, multiple cars, or namebrand clothing a must. Yes, everyone has to work to take a Disney vacation every year. Am I stepping on your toes?

A lot of people may think a man is lazy who stays at home, but I would say he’s loving. He loves his children, and he loves his wife enough to lay down macho stereotypes, worries about his friends or family’s opinion, and his own ego to be labeled a stay-at-home father. It’s not easy being a stay-at-home dad. You fight stereotypes and stupid comments. It’s not easy being a working mom. You face the same. You have to decide you don’t care what people think.

We made a decision collectively as a couple to do what was best for our family. A couple of years ago we both worked, but we still lived paycheck to paycheck. I rarely had a day off with my spouse, and he missed everything. He missed every softball game our eldest daughter played. He was exhausted most days. He never got to accompany us on fun, summer outings or exciting holiday gatherings. We never saw him. I was almost like a single parent. He came home tired where I unloaded the bad behavior of the children. So he was left to spend his minuscule time home disciplining kids or nodding off on the couch while we tried to spend quality time together.

Now we get at least four full days a week off together. We get two weeks of vacation together a few times a year. We take three-day, mini vacays once a month. We rose above the opinion of the status quo and made our happy happen. Instead of us both working ourselves to death we found a way to divide the workload. They say parenting is hard, and yes, it used to be, but now it’s enjoyable. Work used to be so much harder because I fulltime parented basically alone and worked, but no longer. I have never been more content, rested, or relaxed in my life! And that’s with a “deadbeat dude” with me.

I say, no deadbeat here, but I do have an amazing, supportive partner who has the same dreams in life as me. We dream of a happy, relaxed life where you enjoy your children and life with them. A life where you’re not stressed and exhausted. We are truly living that dream. And you know what? I don’t care what anyone thinks of that.

A Wife’s Calling

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I recently was driving to work and praying for my spouse. I do this regularly, but this particular morning I was especially seeking the Lord to cover my husband with His Spirit. When you live with someone long enough you notice subtle cues that the world might miss, and the night before I had felt my husband was weary. His joy remained, his warm smile, twinkling eyes, and tender, bedtime kiss, but somewhere in his countenance I had sensed a fatigue. Do you know the one I mean? It’s that feeling we all get now and again. Call it a Case on the Monday’s or perhaps the Blahs. It’s that mediocre melancholy, a hint of unrest, maybe even unbalance. You feel sideways inside like an old V8 commercial, or perhaps just certain it’s a bad day.

He hadn’t said so, but I felt it. Call it wifey intuition. Never wanting to burden me with his frustration over a tough day with the kids or homeschooling challenges, he wouldn’t say even if it had been a bad day. But rather than pressing him to talk about his feelings, because hello, he’s a guy, I hugged him a little longer before bed. And I drifted off to sleep with prayers for him on my lips.

As I prayed for him the next morning to have a great day, I was reminded of a Biblical account in Exodus. It actually hit me. I was struck by how this particular, Old Testament battle mirrored my own calling as a wife.

I was called to hold up arms.

See, back in the day, Moses was leading the Israelites when they came upon a fight. Another group tried to attack them. Moses was led by God to raise his staff and arms high in the air as he stood on a mountain looking over the battle. Whenever he had his arms raised they were victorious, but when his arms grew tired and dropped, they started losing. Immediately Aaron and Hur pulled him up a seat and held his arms up for him. They were victorious in their battle! A large part of their victory was not only the faith of Moses in God to deliver them, and Moses walking out that faith, but also the support of his companions as he led.

That morning God reminded me that this was my calling as a wife. I was called to hold up arms.

We all face battles, and if your family is seeking to wholeheartedly serve the Lord, then you will be attacked. It’s inevitable. The enemy seeks to destroy our families, and when he comes against us we must be ready for war. As the head of the family unit, husbands come under attack hard, and they understandably get tired. A wife’s job is to support her husband when he is weary from constant battle. Sometimes these battles are in the unseen, so wives must commit to always be prepared to hold up arms.

I hold up my husband’s arms by praying for him faithfully, but also selflessly. I don’t pray my will over my husband, but God’s will for him.

I hold up my husband’s arms by loving him unconditionally. None of us are perfect. If we only loved when everything was perfectly in line with our tastes, we would never love at all. We all have faults, but to love like Jesus is to love despite idiosyncrasies or downfalls. To hold up arms is to love your spouse even on the early, rushed mornings when they’re not being particularly lovable. Holding up arms is loving in grace.

I hold up my husband’s arms by respecting him as the leader of our family. I value his opinions, I seek his advice, and I listen to his concerns. I support his dreams, I listen to his heart. I respect my husband in the presence of others, and I only seek Godly counsel regarding our marriage. I don’t gripe about my spouse to my girlfriends; I lift him up. I speak life over my spouse, cultivating the very best characteristics of Christ in him.

I hold up my husband’s arms by loving him in action. I tell him I love him, but I also show him. Whether with a physical embrace, a love note, a good meal, or an apology when necessary, my husband never doubts the support of his wife.

He knows that I am here to hold his arms, but I hold them even if he doesn’t notice at the time. I don’t hold his arms hoping for some type of reciprocation, but I do receive just that. I hold him up, and for me, he does the same. He serves me in love, and I am never lacking. He carries so much of the load, and he’s always eager to give me time to rest. He holds my arms up too.

As a wife, I am called by God to hold up arms, and when the battles of this life come against us, it’s our arms that open the floodgates of Heaven for God’s blessings to flow.

After the Israelites won this particular battle Moses decided to build an altar (a place of remembrance) and he named it The Lord is My Banner. By Biblical definition, a banner imports the presence and protection of God. When I hold up arms I am doing my part to usher in the presence and protection of God for our family. By holding up arms I am helping my husband to win the battle for our family, and I can think of no higher calling for myself than this.

How I Made Laundry With a Large Family Stress-Free

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I think one of the most dreaded words in a mom’s mind is laundry. I never particularly hated it, but I did have to admit it took a huge chunk of my life. Because it never ended. It was a continuous cycle of washing, drying, folding, and putting away. I had a huge laundry chair. It was like a mini sofa, and I usually had piles of clean laundry surrounded by little stacks of half-folded clothing. Thank goodness no one actually needed to sit in that chair. They’d be out of luck!

I hear a lot of women complaining about their own endless laundry cycles, and I get it. Totally. I never really minded the washing part, but after that it usually unraveled. I mean, I wish I had a dollar for every time I forgot the wet clothes in the washer. That would usually mean washing them again. Heck, sometimes I’d be so busy that I remembered to put them in the dryer, but would forget to start it! Typically, though, they lay dormant in the dryer for much of the week.

“Honey,” my husband would ask. “Have you seen my favorite shorts?”

I’d call out, “have you checked the dryer?”

Yep. The dryer. The land where clothing is forgotten. No problem, though. There was always more clothes to choose from in the abundant closets and drawers.

Ah, yes. The closets. God gave me girls, and with my first daughter I discovered I loved dressing them! I would stop on my lunch break to buy a new outfit, or I would frequent consignment sales for frilly, Sunday dresses. I would hang them neatly in a row. We could have a new dress for each church day of the season, and of course shoes to match! I loved little pajama sets, ruffle pants, and well, basically anything. I loved buying little girl clothing!

Now, here’s what rarely happened. The clothes getting put away in a timely manner. Never could get to it. One pile became two, and only when they were falling down would I rush to put stuff away. My daughters weren’t much help. Even when they did start getting old enough to help put clothes away, they were overwhelmed by the task. As overwhelmed as me. I had to hang the dresses for them, and their drawers were usually too packed for them to add anything to them.

Here are some laundry facts pertaining to children:

Children get dirty. They use their sleeves as napkins, they like playing in dirt and mud, and if they’re eating, it will end up on their clothes.

In fact, if you say, “be careful not to get that ______ on your shirt,” they will definitely get it on their shirt.

Children put clean laundry in the dirty laundry.

You ask, “how did this basket get so full so quick?!”

Easy answer. They put clean clothes in there. They put clothes they tried on for two seconds in there. They put clothes they didn’t want to put away in there. They change clothes frequently for no reason, and it all ends up in there. They don’t do laundry. They’re not mindful of what they put in there. You will probably find doll clothes, stuff that hasn’t fit in over a year, and clothes you were certain you got rid of in the dirty clothes basket.

You cannot keep up with children’s laundry. The moment you wash it all, they are in the process of dirtying more. So you never really finish.

Accept this and come along with me. Doing laundry with children is a bad deal, but I feel like I finally figured out how to make the best of it.

We downsized. The cluttered closets and overflowing drawers? We got rid of it. All of it. I had boxes and bags of favorite dresses I passed down through my daughters, but then I also bought more. It. Was. Too. Much. The majority of us have too much! We spend a fortune back-to-school shopping, and half of what we buy is so our children look good. For other people. It’s silly. Hey, I did it myself. I bought outfits that photographed well. I bought outfits that were for a single event, such as Easter, a wedding, or a party. So, not only did I waste money, but I also created a never-ending supply of clothes to get dirty. It’s a fact. The more clothes you have, the more laundry you do.

This is a picture of totes my children put their clothes in. It was hard to give up all the many, many cute outfits I had “invested” in, but we really had too much. And if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit your kids have too much also. We can’t really keep complaining about the problems we create. I mean, we can, but it’s much better to solve them instead.

I cut the girls’ wardrobes down to enough articles of clothing to last them about two weeks at the most. I also did this for myself. It was really hard, but if you take an inventory of your closet you’ll realize you only wear maybe 1/4 of it anyway.

If I had not worn it in six months, out it went.

If I still hadn’t lost enough baby weight to fit into my favorite jeans from high school, it was time to let them go.

Your children have favorites too.

“I want to wear the unicorn shirt!!”

I realized I couldn’t hold on to clothes I liked for my children. If they didn’t like it, I let it go.

More facts:

Children are tough on clothes.

They outgrow them quickly.

I stopped breaking the bank for name brands. I stopped loading up on gorgeous dresses I would only let them wear for special occasions. If they couldn’t play in it, out it went. We downsized our clothing to what would fit in a suitcase a piece. And the pieces we selected were interchangeable, easily laundered, not elaborate, easily stored, and truly our favorites (downsized favorites).

Next, I changed the way I did laundry. This section may not settle well with some, and that’s ok. To each their own, but it’s a good idea sometimes to explore why we approach things the way we do. It’s interesting to see how modern society has led us to perform tasks. There are some things I began to rethink as my circumstances changed. It’s quite easy to throw everything in the hamper when your washer is two steps away, but take away that convenience and mindsets change.

When I was a missionary in the interior of South America I remember hand washing my clothes with a bar of soap in the river. And hey, I’m not telling anyone to pull out a washtub and scrub board, but I am suggesting you ask yourself how you might approach laundry if it wasn’t so convenient.

We found ourselves living a traveling lifestyle where we didn’t have a washer and dryer in our home anymore. We now had to make a trip to the laundry mat, and while sometimes it was just a short walk away, not being able to switch it out during a commercial break, or paying quarters upon quarters to do it made a difference. When doing laundry became less easy I gave myself permission to re-evaluate my definition of dirty.

If you wear a shirt to an office job in air conditioning for eight hours, is it dirty?

Hey, that’s up to you to answer. I’m just saying, if you reassessed your idea of what requires laundering, would it really, really be dirty?

Let’s say your children sit at home all day while it rains and don’t get any viewable stain on their clothing? Is it dirty?

Ok, you can’t budge me on the underwear issue. People in my house change their undies and wash their booties every day, but with that in mind, is a towel dirty after just one use? What about two? Or three? My laundry usually consists of more panties than anything.

Did your mom teach you to wash your linens every week? Did her mom teach her that? If you’re showering before bed and not sweating in your sheets, how dirty do they get? Are you wearing muddy cleats to bed? If your comforter never touches your body, is it dirty within the week too?

Do you do a sniff test of your husband’s shirt? If there’s no visible stains on the preschooler’s outfit, can’t she wear it again tomorrow? Who’s she trying to impress on the playground? Is there a societal rule that says a kid has to change outfits every day? Hey, I’m just asking. I will say, the best part about moving to a large city with no one around that you know is that you don’t really care what your kid wears to Walmart. Just saying.

If something makes you miserable or stressed out (like, laundry, per se), why not simplify the process?

And before you judge my stinky kids (wink, wink), who by the way, do not smell bad (or really bad, anyway), just realize you’ll also never hear me lamenting about laundry. True story.

The last thing I did was simplify my most dreaded part of the monster that is laundry. Folding. I stopped it, all together. Well, I still fold my own clothes, but I stopped trying to do things that others would only undo.

What happens when you put folded clothes in your child’s drawer? They sift through there and upend all your hard work, right? You leave a nice, tidy drawer that easily closes. They, on the other hand, leave a disheveled pile of wrinkled clothes crammed into a drawer, coming out the top of a now unclose-able drawer. Sound familiar?

So, I stopped folding clothes they would just pull out and not put back properly. Each child has one tote for shirts, one tote for shorts (pants in the winter), and one drawer for panties, socks, and limited pajamas.

I don’t match socks. It’s a pointless exercise. Kids don’t care if socks match; why should I?

I wash the clothes. I don’t separate colors from whites. Gasp!! Y’all, this is an outdated concept. Your grandma did whites alone so she could use really hot water to get the stains out, but the detergents and stain removers on the market today can work very efficiently in cold water. Unless you have a brand new, red article of clothing that is a material composition that bleeds, there’s no reason to separate into colors or temps. I wash everything in the same temp, all together. All my stains come out, all my clothes are clean and wonderful smelling, and are undamaged in the wash. We don’t have to wash anything on delicate, or dry clean, and this is because of the low maintenance lifestyle we have adopted. It’s ok if you don’t agree with my practices, but I thought I’d share so someone else can feel the freedom to loosen the reigns of laundry stress.

After washing and drying I will have each child bring me their totes into the living room. I will separate according to who’s whose, and toss the top or bottom into the appropriate tote. Then they take the totes back to the shelf in their room. This process makes it easy for them to put away their own clothes, pick out their own clothes, and since there’s not tons of clothing pressed together, it doesn’t get wrinkled. But what of it even if it did? Childhood isn’t about creases and designer labels, in my humble opinion. It’s about having fun and being loved! Less clothing and laundry makes life more fun and easy to love in our experience. No worries over what to wear, no concerns over what someone else will think, and no laundry chair. Thank goodness!

Currently, I do about three loads of laundry every two weeks for a family of five. And one load of that is my scrubs I wear to work at the hospital. That’s like, the only laundry I’m really particular about. Lol.

Of note, my children are 8, 6, and 3. This is what works now, but I’m sure it will change as we change. What I do know is that I refuse to stress about laundry. Life is simply too short! It’s like dusting. Sure, I could spend a lot of time doing it, but isn’t my time better spent with the people I love? I think so.

So, is it time to re-evaluate how you do laundry?

I’ve Always Been a Bad Friend

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I’ve always been a bad friend. Or maybe, perhaps, it’s simply that being friends isn’t my forte. I mean, I consider myself a nice person. I’m polite, kind, honest, loyal. All the attributes of a good friend. Yet when it comes to being friends, I’m usually like, nah, I’m good.

Call it a loner, call it an introvert, call it anything, but don’t call me. That’s my motto. It’s not that I hate people; I love them actually, but I’m not sure I trust them. Can anyone relate?

I don’t think I’ve always been this way. I’m sure I wasn’t born this way. I’m certain that in the preschool play yard I was cordial and inviting, but somewhere along the way I developed the notion that most folks weren’t worth the effort. Well, now, that sounds harsh. People are worthy of my effort, but somewhere deep inside I fear my efforts will be in vain. I avoid the possibility of rejection, and I run from betrayal. Being left at an early age by a biological parent injured my confidence, I suppose, and an ugly and painful bout with bullying in junior high and high school left me distrustful of most females. I had found most women to be mean, backstabbing even, and I did not have time for such a thing. Non-confrontational by nature, I preferred no company to treacherous company.

Maybe it was growing up the new kid in the neighborhood. My family moved five times in less than three years. Or perhaps it was being the sick kid with epilepsy. Everyone thought seizures were contagious. Or maybe it’s just the fact that I was a weird, little kid. Quiet, contemplative, yet also so eager to please others. I desired love more than anything! I wanted acceptance, to be liked, to feel special. Sigh. If I’ve learned anything in forty-one years it’s this. Only God can give you the worth you desire. That doesn’t mean, though, that I didn’t spend a good thirty years or so seeking it via my fellow man. Better late than never I guess.

Anywho, whatever the root cause of my particular traits concerning friendships, in the end I came to a conclusion. The majority of people didn’t give me that warm, fuzzy feeling I craved. Instead they gave me quite the opposite. They hurt me. A person can only take so much hurt.

I became very selective in my friendships, especially with females.

I had one best friend from third grade through middle school.

In junior high I branched out. I tried the cool crowd. I hung out with groups. I did the whole cliquey scene. Yuck. As you can imagine, I got burned. I crawled back into my cave.

I finished junior high with one close girlfriend.

I experienced a major case of bullying despite keeping my head down. I guess sometimes it’s a jungle out there. Like how a hunting lioness will sniff out the lone, weak prey, so too was I targeted for high school annihilation.

I spent the rest of my high school years skimming the surface. What I mean by that is skimming the surface of relationships. I had a lot of “friends,” but I didn’t really have any friends, if that makes sense. I didn’t share my innermost feelings with any of them. I didn’t trust anyone. I had things going on in my home life, but I kept it all inside. I smiled on the outside; on the inside I cried.

I was the girl who could keep a secret. If cell phones would have been around back then, I would have been the girl who always texted you back. Immediately. No matter what. I wouldn’t ditch you, lie to you, or use you. I had the makings of a good friend, but I didn’t want that. It was too dangerous being someone’s friend.

In college I found a bit more freedom to be myself. I stopped pretending to go with the status quo. I found a world full of more people like me, and I made my first friend in a long time. She was my best friend, and I would have laid down my life for her.

Seasons change. People change. Marriages come, children come. New jobs, new cities. Sometimes friendships fade. Sometimes people don’t keep up with one another like they should. Life just gets too busy. Gosh, that hurts. It hurt then. I understood it, but it still hurt to try and hang on to a friendship that had moved on without me.

I would not entertain another female friendship for eighteen years! That’s weird, right?! I mean, I had a couple of gal pals I hung out with over the years. We laughed, we had a good time, but I didn’t invest in them like I could have. I was a bad friend. I don’t guess I knew how to be a good one. I didn’t want to know.

I spent years seeing these other women growing into adulthood and middle age with their tribe. They went on girl trips, they had girls’ night out. A part of me envied the photos of females smiling together for the camera, but I knew I couldn’t put myself in their place. To open your heart to female friendship also meant opening your heart to female drama, gossip, betrayal, heartache. I wanted none of that! I’d give up the happy nights out if it protected my delicate heart. So, a lot of time went by without a girlfriend in my life. I figured it was better that way.

Good friends are funny how they sneak into your life. My very first, true friend in third grade came up to me in the playground with the corniest comment ever.

She said, “why don’t they call a hurricane a him-a-cane? Why’s it got to be a girl storm?”

We were inseparable thereafter.

The same kind of friendship slipped into my forties. I can’t remember what corny thing my clever friend uttered, but I knew immediately she was my kind of weirdo. More importantly, I knew I could trust her. She made me comfortable, and I wasn’t afraid she would hurt me. She was my friend, almost immediately, and it came about very naturally. It was nice to say I had a friend outside of my husband and sisters.

My bestie recently traveled a long distance to come see me. I liked how we fell into easy, relaxed conversation. That’s how it is supposed to be. This morning I thought about her. She had just flown out of the area. I thought about all the time I had let lengthen in-between our phone conversations.

I’m just not a good friend, I thought.

And at that moment I felt like God said, “but being a good friend is what I have for you.”

God made relationships. I knew this to be true. Man (or woman) convoluted this a lot of the time. We messed up relationships and friendships big time. We hurt people, we got hurt by people, and we in turn shut people out. We isolated ourselves, or maybe sometimes we couldn’t even be ourselves. We sought worth and being in other people, or we based our future experiences on our past, bad ones. But God made us for relationships. I knew this was true.

I haven’t always been a good friend, and perhaps it’s due to no fault of my own, but then I let it change me. I let bad friendships keep me from good friendships. I let past pain prevent future happiness. I gave up on something good God had for me. Well, I almost gave up.

I’ve decided God sends us the relationships we need exactly when we need them. He even slips them in if He has to, via a corny joke or business trip happenstance. He lines up relationships for His glory, but then it’s up to us to keep walking the path He put down. I haven’t always been good at being friends, but that doesn’t mean I have to stay bad at it. I can let go of fear in favor of faith in friendships. I’m trying anyway. Relationships can bring us pain, but they can also bring so much joy and laughter.

The Lion King Lost That Loving Feeling

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Some of my readers may not be old enough, but I’ll bet most of you are of the age to remember the debacle that was the New Coke back in the mid 80’s. Coca-Cola decided to improve their formula, creating a new soft drink that was supposed to be better than its predecessor of the same name. Much to Coke’s dismay, it was an epic failure. Like, seriously, it was no where near as good as the original. They gave it a solid go, but in less than three months the executives of the soft drink giant admitted defeat and reverted back to their original formula. The good, ole Coca-Cola came back; after all, some things you just can’t improve on. And maybe you shouldn’t try.

I have seen nothing but great reviews from friends for the remake of The Lion King. Everyone I know has loved it! So, I expect this review to hit with a dull thud, but it is what it is.

For me, The Lion King has lost its loving feeling.

I wanted to love it. I did. And maybe that’s where I messed up. Perhaps I anticipated something more grand. Perhaps I expected too much. I mean, I’ve watched many of the remakes and been quite impressed, but for me this one fell flat.

I’m a crier. Yes, I admit it. I’m that person who bawls when they watch a Disney movie. Like, every one ever. Every time my children pop in the 1994 original cartoon Lion King I cry when The Circle of Life belts out through the speakers to accompany a young lion cub held up high for the kingdom to behold. It’s very emotional. I had lofty expectations for watching this reenacted on the big screen, and while I’ll admit a tear or two crept down my cheek, it didn’t induce the lump in my throat I’m used to pushing down. And certainly didn’t produce the monumental outpouring I expected it to induce. It was just okay.

I know, I know. Out with the boos.

But seriously, it was lacking. I kept watching in anticipation of that joy that I remembered, but I wasn’t amazed. I wasn’t taken to a magical land of imagination, and perhaps I set the bar too high, but isn’t that where the old, original Disney cartoons took us? They. Were. Magical.

The Little Mermaid, Aladdin, The Lion King. Through the late eighties and mid nineties these cartoons were the bread and butter of childhood. They were Saturday morning on steroids, and I’m not sure why we think we can recreate that. Why we think we can do better. But that’s the world we live in now. It’s one that assumes it can take it all to another level, and make our experience an enhanced one with its technology and expansive budget. Well, this remake proved that assumption to be false.

It’s not that it wasn’t cool. It was. It had some amazing scenes and awesome computer animation, but almost every scene seemed awkward to me. That’s the only way I know to describe it. The animals would say something, and then there was a weird pause before the next spoke. Couple that with little ability for them to achieve either an animated or real-life expression on the creatures’ furry faces, and you’re left disappointed. I mean, I knew what was going on because it almost word for word followed the original script. And that’s a good thing. If I depended on the emotionless faces of Simba or Pumbaa to lead the storyline, I’d be lost.

It’s not like it was a torture to watch or anything. I enjoyed the characters of Timon and Pumbaa together. It’s hard not to chuckle at their antics. And when they sang The Lion Sleeps Tonight, I even laughed out loud. In fact, if this was my first experience with a film called The Lion King, I’d probably think it was pretty swell. But since I had the comparison of the original animation, I was sorely disappointed.

Bottom line. Some things you shouldn’t mess with. Some originals can’t be outdone. Sometimes the first one is the best, and any attempt to recreate it will fall flat. Instead of being a generation that wants to be bigger and better than the ones before us, maybe sometimes we just need to appreciate the talent that proceeded us. I’m all for striving for better, technological advances, and all that, but for a lot of things we can admit you don’t have to fix what’s not broken. You can leave well enough alone. You can enjoy the original formula and stop trying to make each and every thing new and improved.

For me, The Lion King fell flat. It lost that loving feeling. It didn’t bring me the joy the original did. If I was to take the advice of Marie Kondo, I know which version I would keep. No need to wait 79 days to admit the original formula was better like Coke execs were hesitant to do. The 1994, animated classic will remain king of the pridelands in my heart, but I do thank the newer version for reminding me of who I am and taking me back home to my DVD player. Maybe some folks liked the new Coke in 1985. And perhaps the majority of my Facebook timeline is jazzed about the Lion remake. But for me, I’m a Coca-Cola classic kind of gal. And I’ll take my old animation over CGI. At least when it comes to this particular tale.

An Open Letter for the Disillusioned Christian,

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I recently received an email from someone who read one of my blog posts. I felt led to respond to this gentleman, but also to share my response with the world. I don’t think he’s alone in his feelings, so perhaps my response can help him, but also another one or two.

Comment: I just read your article, I believe the title was “You can pray to save your marriage but god won’t give you this,” dated August 9, 2017, I just have a few comments and questions. I was a Christian until god lead my wife of 18 years to have an affair with a man he introduced her to through church. We divorced shortly after in 2013.I was a Christian and faithful in teaching my kids about Jesus and the Bible and how to be good people in this world. Then god failed us. My family was not worth saving to him. I don’t know why and neither do my for kids which I got custody of 6 years ago. I have no answers for them now. 
Now I don’t teach them anything they must make their own decisions. God failed us so how do we continue to pray to the same god who abandoned us when we needed him most? The love of my life is gone, the kids have a terrible example of a mother, and a father that is not half the man he once was. Why did god do this?

There are many couples that I know, including my parents, married 65 years and both my brothers who are happily married for over 30 years. Why did god not protect my family like he has protected theirs? 

I am happy for you in that in the article you mention that you found your happy ever after but what about those of us god has forgotten? Why has he forsaken us?

I know this will probably never be seen or answered like hundreds of others I have sent over the years but I still have to try for some comfort in this world. God surely doesn’t hear my prayers anymore.

My reply:

Hi (name withheld for privacy),

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back in touch with you, but I would like to address some of your questions and concerns. I wonder if perhaps your view of God’s character might be a little skewed? Like, perhaps the hurt you’ve received from humans is being projected onto God? Let me explain. 

Immediately upon reading your email the first line grabbed me. You said, “God led my wife to another man that she met through the church.” First, I truly believe this WAS NOT God. God holds marriage in high regards. The marriage covenant represents His covenant with us, a fallen world. He loves us more than anything, and He wouldn’t want the covenant that is supposed to be an example of His commitment and unconditional love to us broken. I repeat, God will never lead ANYONE to cheat on or leave their spouse for another, especially for reasons of adultery. That goes against His character and view of the marriage covenant. 

Mark 10:9 NIV Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.

God didn’t lead your wife to leave you. She made that decision all on her own without God’s approval. 

Next I noticed you said you had always tried to teach your children about God before and how to “be good people.”

The only reason is bring this up is because I want you to understand that God is not a works-based lover. In other words, He doesn’t count you worthy based on how good you are. We are all inherently sinners. It’s Jesus in us that makes us good. This means that no matter what, God loves you. He loves your children. He would have sent His son Jesus to die just for you. It’s not about goodness. It’s about love. You love God, you love others. The goodness will just naturally follow those two things. 

Ephesians 2:8 NIV For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith–and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.

At one point you mentioned that God failed you and your family. At another, He had forgotten you. And yet again, He had forsaken you. Let’s start with scripture, which is the Word of God, 100% infallible, and we can count as Spirit-breathed truth. 

Deuteronomy 31:8 ESV  It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed. 

Joshua 1:9 ESV Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

Matthew 28:20 ESV Teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.

You describe with certainty that God has left your family, that He pulled His favor from you, that He abandoned you, and that He doesn’t even hear your prayers. I tell you the truth, my friend, and please listen closely:

That’s not true! This is a lie from Satan! It’s not flesh and blood we fight, but powers and principalities of darkness (Ephesians 6:12). Satan desires nothing more than to separate you from God. He used this terrible tragedy to do just that. The Word states that nothing can separate us from the love of God (Romans 8:31-39). So see, Satan doesn’t really have any power. He can’t take God’s love from you! What he can do is trick you and blind you to that love. You have been blinded to believe God doesn’t love you anymore, or that He forgot your family. This simply isn’t true. The Bible says it’s not possible. I could continue to quote about thirty more scriptures where it states that, but I won’t bludgeon the point. Just know it’s repeated so many times because God knows we forget it and He really doesn’t want us to. 

Psalm 73:26 ESV My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

God doesn’t fail us. He is perfect (Matthew 5:48), and we can obtain perfection through Him, but He doesn’t expect perfection from us. Thank goodness! He does want our trust and love, though. In the Bible Peter got out of the fishing boat at sea when He saw Jesus walking on the water. He wanted to be like Jesus! He stepped out onto the water, but then he saw the waves and became frightened. He sank! Jesus asked him why He doubted (almost hypothetically), but then He embraced him and pulled him out of the water. Jesus knows we will have doubts. God knows we will trust the boat we’re in (our life, finances, secure relationships) more than we do the One who controls the waves and sea (Jesus), but He loves us still. Our flesh will fail us (meaning we will doubt God, as you’re doing now), but He will never fail you. 

He has not left you. He is there. You just can’t see Him for the waves. 

You mentioned that God felt your family wasn’t worth saving, and again I say that is a lie straight from hell. God did not make your wife leave. She did that on her own. God doesn’t create the problems or tragedies that befall us. He has only good things for us (Jeremiah 29:11). God will often times allow the bad things that others decide to do on their own free will to us, but that doesn’t mean He abandoned you. It means He has something better for you!! He allows bad things to happen, but always redeems and makes it better for you in the end!

Romans 8:28 ESV And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

Even when we can’t see the good yet, He’s still working. It’s easy to forget that! God is omnipotent, unlimited, and can see from beginning to end. We cannot. Therefore we assume He’s not working. It’s ok. This is common. The wonderful thing is God is there with you waiting for you to embrace Him and fall into His loving arms (in spirit, through prayer). He loves you, He’s not mad, and He beckons you back to trusting Him. He didn’t make this happen, but He will strengthen you and bring you through it if you will believe He can. 

Lastly, you wondered why some relationships such as my own, or your parent’s, were happy relationships, but feel like God didn’t bless your marriage. Again, don’t mistake human error for God’s doing. God will bless every marriage covenant, but both partners must walk in that blessing. Your wife abandoned your covenant. Seeing that God grants us all free will, He couldn’t work with your wife’s decision to go. He can only work with the aftermath, and He will if you allow it and ask Him. 

Last thing…

Hebrews 13:6 ESV So we can confidently say, “The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?”

Seems like an odd scripture for me to share, I’ll bet. You might think “what can man do to me? Leave me and break up my family, for one!” And yes, that is true. But in this scripture the Lord wants you to see and understand that when it comes right down to it man (or woman) has no power in our lives. Only God has power over His people! So while people can cause us pain and harm, they cannot impact our lives forever and all eternity. If you believe Jesus died for your sins then you will live forever, and in Heaven you will have eternal peace and joy. No more tears! Now, that’s not to say you have to wait until Heaven to find happiness! God has happiness for us here on earth too. You just need to understand that your ultimate happiness and long lasting joy is found in God, not man (or woman). People will fail you, but God will never fail you. That is why your joy must be dependent on the Lord, not earthly relationships. 

The Word tells us that as we love the Lord God with all our heart (Luke 10:27) and delight in Him, He will give us the desires of our heart (Psalm 37:4). He wants you happy; you’re His child. So many scriptures describe how He clothes the flowers and feeds the birds. Don’t you realize how much more He loves you, His son. He will bring you new happiness, but He also wants your love. It’s a reciprocal relationship. I mean, He’ll love you abundantly regardless of if you love Him, but you will discover new happiness and a fuller life as you follow Him, from my experience. 

I am sorry this happened to your family, but never forget God’s love. I would encourage you to get to know Him more AND better through scripture. You say you don’t hear from God anymore, but I wonder if you’re really listening. It may be hard to hear Him over the lies that have tried to blind you to His heart for you. He loves you, He has happiness for you, and a lovely future for your family. 

Find trust again, for people and God, through Jesus. Find hope, through Him also. There you will find peace, and you will also find healing. 

I hope you don’t mind, but I am going to share my response to you via my blog. I truly believe many people are where you are, and these words can bless them. I’m essence, God has used you to bless others through this email to me. The wonderful thing is that even in our brokenness God can lift us up while using our healing to glorify His kingdom. I’m proud of you, and I’m proud that you are reaching out for answers. That shows you haven’t given up. And God certainly hasn’t given up on you!

Praying for you,

Brie

I’m Not Living My Best Life Over Here

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Things have been a little trying over here lately. I hate to use the word stressful because I promised myself I had let my ole worrywart persona go, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than mildly concerned for a second. Initially came the feeling of anxiety, quickly followed by the voice of reason.

“Haha. No need to get upset,” it sang. “You know God’s got this!”

Of course, He does, I’d chuckle to myself, and then I’d do my right best to walk forward in that belief. Well, if you know anything about life you know that believing something, telling yourself the truth, and abiding in that afterwards is the true test. So, even as my heart was proclaiming that God was in control, I still found myself feeling bummed. You know how you’ll have that underlying feeling of melancholy? Or perhaps it’s better described as a trigger-finger feeling. It’s like you’re on the edge, on pins and needles, like you’re expecting the worse to happen, and you’re readying yourself to jump into action. I guess that’s how I found myself feeling. It’s like I was sitting on the end of the bed waiting for a knock at the door, wringing my mental fingers, despite the fact that my Father told me I had plenty of time to get ready before company came.

After a year of renting our home the time had come for our renters to move on. The thought of losing them saddened me. It meant I had to face the anxiety of paying a large mortgage in a vacant home. It meant the decision of whether to rent again or sell. It meant the hassle of going back on the market, the frustration of paying for electric I wasn’t there to use, or yard maintenance I couldn’t even enjoy. It meant things like unexpected repair costs and trying to reconfigure our budget, for only God knew how long, and of course, the anxiety that is waiting. Waiting for someone else to fall in love with our home like we had once done. The spirit of truth told me it was taken care of, but the fleshy thorn of worry made me feel on edge regardless.

Today we walked back to our enormous truck. It was a huge, black dually (six tires total) 4×4, complete with an engine that could haul 21,000 pounds! Good thing, too, since it’s what we used to pull our traveling home. There’s one thing about moving your house from here to there. You need dependable tires. It’s not just vehicle damage you worry a blowout could bring, but the possible damage it could have on the fifth wheel you’re pulling behind you. We had just left an auto shop, and the gorgeous, deep tread, front wheels gleamed like the best sought treasure. Wow, they were really good looking. Seeing them made me realize how much we had needed ones that weren’t slick like a seal.

“It was a bit more than I thought it would be,” my husband commented, head down, trying to hide his frustration.

“How much more?” I asked.

“The quote I told you wasn’t labor or mounting and balancing included like I thought,” he answered.

I tried to push down the knot of concern in my throat as we drove back towards home on our brand new, pricey tires. I did mental math in silence.

That’s all the overtime I pulled.

We still need to pay to have the yard work done and floors cleaned.

Mortgage is due next paycheck.

Then the truck payment.

We’ll need to get gas…

I tabulated debits versus credits in my head, cursing the stale housing market of a small southern town.

“Can we go eat,” my eldest asked in a whine. “I’m hungry!”

“No,” my husband and I chimed in unison.

We drove in silence, my brain having a mental pep talk with my nerves.

It’s going to be ok. It’s going to be ok.

“They’re really good tires,” my husband finally said. “We got the best, safest tires, with a great tread rating.”

“Yes, we did,” I answered, taking his hand and looking softly at his strong profile beside me.

Yes, we did.

There were so many things going so right. We had found someone to do some cleaning inside and out for our sticks and bricks home, and at a price well below all the quotes we had received. We hadn’t looked for this particular answer, but it had come. We had found a way to rent an RV spot for the summer for only $160 a month. That’s nothing. We had spent over a grand at places in the past. I knew we couldn’t afford that kind of high rent and a big mortgage at once, and just like that a solution had come before we even knew a problem was behind it. We may not have tons of cash to give away, but we certainly had what we needed. Just like how God provided just enough manna each day for the Israelites, so too did we always have just enough. If some kind of trouble came up, the solution always popped up too. He was so faithful to us.

I reminded myself that when a strong gale blew on tumultuous seas that my trust wasn’t in the boat that held me, but rather in my Savior, the creator of the ocean, that carried me.

I realized I was the happiest I had ever been, and despite any concern or anxiety I had to push away about finances or selling our house, I realized that I felt better than ever before. There was hardship, and there was sickness. Unexpected bills came, or my old knees ached. I worked long hours, and we needed to replace the slide-out seals on our RV before they started to leak. I had no idea where those funds would come from, but I knew that for now it wasn’t leaking. Despite it all a river of peace ran through me, below me, above me, like never before.

I’ve found that you go through different seasons in life, some more difficult than others, but if you can find joy in the season you’re in, no matter how hard you have to look, it’s a blessed season.

I’ve found that storms will come and problems will rear their ugly head. That. Is. Life. There isn’t a life without trouble on this planet. If you breathe air, then you will experience some sort of turmoil in life. That’s just the reality of it. You have to understand and accept that, but then still make the decision to keep going forward. It’s not the storms that define us, but how we walk through them. I’ve discovered I like holding the hand of Jesus as I walk. Then I forget it’s raining.

I’ve found that it’s easy to look at the things that make us unhappy, the mess that makes life so far from perfect. But it’s also easy to see the joy. You can find it if you look. Somehow that makes the journey more enjoyable, the season more fulfilling, and the everyday more appealing. It makes the worrisome, bothersome buggery seem less. It makes the sunshine seem more… I don’t know, sunshiny. You cannot find a perfect life, but you can see it perfectly clear as the blessed life God gives.

I’m not living my best life over here.

My life is full of uncertainty. But it is also full of a certain God. He is ever present, and He has good things for me, even if I can’t see how He’ll get me there.

As we drove down the road, my mood becoming more positive as I reminded myself of God’s goodness to us, my husband spoke about the armor of God.

“Have you noticed,” he asked, “that the shield of faith is something you must pick up?”

He went on to describe that the helmet of salvation we always wore, the same with the belt of truth, or how we shod our feet in peace. But when the fiery arrows of the enemy came, we had to take up our shield. We had to raise up the sword of the spirit to battle. In other words, we always had our armor on, but when adversity came you had to be intentional in your defense.

I wasn’t living my best life over here. And that was ok.

Real life was too uncertain and chocked with difficulty to be practically perfect.

I wasn’t living my best life over here, but I was over here living life the best way I could.

When trouble came knocking, because it would (that was life), I took up my armor again. Seasons change, adversity comes, but my God is constant. And He is constantly looking out for me. My flesh tells me to fret, but my spirit tells me to be still. It shows me His kindness, His past provision, His future promises.

I am the happiest I have ever been not because I’m living a perfect, dream life. I’m not living my best life. I’m just enjoying life as it comes the best I know how. And somehow, gosh, that makes it seem like the best.