Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

I Love My Children, But…

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I love my children, but they can turn any enjoyable outing into a miserable experience.

Like, why do we take them anywhere? Any amens from the choir out there?

I sat at the table of a German restaurant trying not to speak out loud the curse words that ran through my mind. Directed at my children. Sounds terrible, right?! But as I sent secret text messages to my spouse across the table, every GIF that popped up under the search “aggravated” seemed to fit. Yet it was more than aggravation. It was beyond mere frustration. It was the pot threatening to boil over, the kind of slow roll that only your own offspring could produce. They were exasperating.

They didn’t like the menu. It didn’t have macaroni, after all. Never mind that we had only chosen the restaurant to silence their whines of, “I’m starving! Can’t we find a place to eat already?!”

Never mind that they had grumbled the whole three or four blocks to the downtown area about being tired, chilly, or having sore feet. Never mind that I had brought jackets they forgot to get out of the truck, or comfy sneakers they had refused to change into.

I loved my children soooo much, but if I’m laying it all out for you… sometimes I want to kill them. Like, shaken child syndrome, kill them.

Why must they repeat the same phrase over and over, and yet over again, until I say, “oh yeah. Really? That’s interesting.”

“Hey, Mom. Watch this!”

*child performs some very minor, dance step/jump, or something

Crickets.

“Wow. That’s awesome,” I say.

I love my children soooo much, but dang, sometimes they are total brats. I look at them whining, fighting, complaining, and I want to know who raised these wild animals!

Oh.

Yeah.

Me.

Dang.

I love my children so much. Like, more than the air I breathe. I would die for them. When they’re sick, I want to take it all on myself. When they’re sleeping, I take photo after photo. I never want to forget! Oh, who am I kidding?! I take pictures of everything. Every day is a memory in the making, and I always want it on slow-mo so I can savor each smile, each giggle, and press into the pages of my heart every adorable, hilarious thing my four year old utters. So many days I wish I could freeze time, keeping them little forever.

But then, the rest of the time I am fantasizing about when they move out. Then my husband and I can go places and enjoy ourselves without complaints. No one will ask me to carry them. No one. No one will drink all my water, or eat all my food. No one will ask me for snacks right after I sit down, interrupt me with some mundane question right when I get on an important call, or turn the backseat of my vehicle into a garbage dump within 3.5 seconds of driving off the car lot.

I know I will cry. I know I will. It will be too quiet, and I’ll be so grateful for all the pictures we took, the places we went, and the fabulous memories we created. I know this, and I repeat it to myself every time I get a little foot in my back when they’re sleeping in my bed. I know that one day that king-sized bed will feel really empty. That’s the only reason they’re still there. I know they desire to please me. That’s why it’s always “hey, mom” and “look at me.” Even when I’m looking at her do the same thing I just watched her do thirty seconds prior. I know the reasons, and yes, it makes me feel good. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t make me a little twitchy, though. Just saying.

I love my children so much, but when I’m picking up the same mess for the eight millionth time, that day, yeah, I want to do a Calgon, take me away, one way ticket to anywhere else.

I love my children so much, but sometimes I don’t like them that much. They are rude, selfish, annoying little monsters, but they’re all mine. So you can’t call them any of that. Ever.

Because they’re loud, but they’re wonderful. They’re clingy, but they’re cuddly. They’re exasperating, but so darn cute. They’re awful, but they’re perfect. And they’re raucous, yet they’re my very best thing that I’ve ever made. They make me want to pull my hair out, but then they also make me beam with pride. They make me want to squeeze them to death! And then they make me want to squeeze them tight and never let them go. They make me cry in frustration, cry over my supposed failures, and cry over the love I have for them that my heart can’t possibly contain. It’s too much.

I love my children so much, but at the end of the day, I love to love them from the other room.

I love my children so much, but parenting is hard.

I love my children so much, and each day I pray for wisdom to help raise them into the young women God has in mind.

I love my children so much, but being a parent isn’t for the faint of heart.

I love my children so much, and I guess that’s enough for today.

If Men Only Knew

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“If men only knew.”

That’s what she had said, my patient in the hospital, and I could personally attest to how correct she was. As a daughter whose father had left (the first time) when I was just four years old, I was astutely aware of the empty pit left in a young woman’s life when the first man of her dreams left her lacking. And by “man of her dreams” I didn’t mean future husband, though it certainly affected those choices as well. No, I meant her daddy. After all, a girl’s first and true Prince Charming was always the man who raised her.

“I considered myself lucky to have experienced a father’s love,” she said.

Oh, how true that was. Although my biological father had left when I was a small girl, I too had been blessed with a strong, male role model in my life. To this day I believe God gave me the gift of my adoptive father so I could truly understand the Father Heart of God. You see, that’s what men didn’t always understand. They knew what it took to make a baby, but they didn’t always grasp the follow through. They knew what it took to help create a life, but not how important it was to also contribute to the shaping of that life.

How many woman have a hole in their heart where the love of a father was meant to go? Sadly, a lot. They attempt to fill that place inside them with the love of a man. Any man. Tragically, often times the wrong man. But what will also be missing is the example of how a female should be treated. Tenderly, compassionately, with love. A girl’s first example of true love by a male figure comes from her daddy.

Fathers have a way of conveying love through strict protection and a fierce defense that would lay down life without a forethought. Yes, Momma Bears are a force not to be reckoned, but there’s something unparalleled to the safety of dad’s big hands and the strength he provides. Perhaps it’s that spirit built within us that craves ABBA, but regardless, nothing makes you feel as secure as a father’s mantle of protection. At least until your strong spouse can take that role.

A father’s love is like a shield, and they offer this umbrella over their children to keep out unwanted influence. A daughter will feel safe and secure under his guidance, cherished and of high value when held to the guidelines of his discipline and rule. Personally, my dad was super strict, but I never minded. I knew what it was like to have a father who didn’t care about me. So, to have one who cared enough to set boundaries, rules, and curfews made me feel extremely loved.

If only men knew.

I decided after listening to my patient talk so passionately about her father who had passed away and the positive impact he had on her life that I would be sure to relay the conversation to my husband. I knew as well as anyone that parenting was challenging, especially with multiple, young children. Some days you said things you didn’t mean or wished you could take back, and other days you wondered if you were even doing anything worthwhile for them at all. I wanted him to know. I wanted him to know the huge impact his consistent presence, love, and guidance would have on our girls.

I knew our girls would grow up not lacking the love only a father can give. I knew they would feel special, precious, and valuable thanks to his affection and attention. I knew they would have the confidence they required in life and relationships, but also the Godly and wonderful example of what a father and husband should look like. I knew they didn’t lack discipline for future success, and I knew they would never experience the same feelings of poor self-esteem I had dealt with as an aftereffect of my biological father giving me up so easily. I knew, but I wanted to make sure he knew.

Men need to know more about children then just how to bring them into this world. They need to know how to ensure those same children navigate the world successfully. And they need to know what a huge impact their actions will have on future generations.

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.

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.

Your Child’s Education Isn’t Important!

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Your child’s education isn’t important!

Woah, stop the presses. Isn’t your child’s education the most important thing there is?! Well, while I’ll agree (as a strong, college educated professional) that education is important, I believe that as a society as a whole we have placed far too much value on it. So it might be better to describe it this way.

Your child’s education isn’t as important as you think.

I was watching TV with my daughters while on vacation when a particular commercial came on the screen. I won’t state the specific company, but it was a well-known educational app that was aimed towards helping children to learn. In fact, once upon a time I subscribed to this educational app for kids. I still thought it was great and really put together well. Props, you know? But the commercial? I always had a problem with them. They fed into the worried parental mind that exists so readily today.

This particular mindset of the modern parent said, “is my child up to speed?”

It was a mindset that was seeped in comparison and anxiety.

It said, “is my child learning fast enough? Are they smart enough? Are they going to be behind?”

So, back to the commercial. This particular one showed an interview with a once-panicked mom.

She states happily, “we were so worried Billy was falling behind! But now he’s learning by leaps and bounds!”

Leaps and bounds. The camera switched over to little Billy playing happily with his tablet. He looked to be about two years old. The only leaping he needed to do was over mud puddles. And the only bounding truly required was towards his favorite playground. He was a toddler, preschooler at the most, and his parents were causing undue anxiety for not only him, but themselves when they kept sweating if a child who couldn’t yet tie his shoes recognized every letter of the alphabet and what sound they made. Just my opinion.

I’ve been there, you see. I’ve been that worried parent, and I did it long enough to come out the other side wiser and more relaxed. I still have a lot to learn about parenting, and I don’t consider myself the know-all, be-all. But my kids are pretty darn happy. That’s good enough for me.

Have you ever noticed how when you rush about trying to get out the door on time that your children fall apart? It’s that way with most things when you push a child beyond what is possible or what they’re ready to handle. I look back at many afternoons at the table, my daughter crying, and me feeling like a terrible mom!

I guess I started to realize the error of my ways a few years ago. I was so anxious about it all. My daughter was in first grade, and she couldn’t read! I mean, she could read her sight words and trudge through some Dr. Suess, but when it came to picking up a book and simply reading without the painful phonics and stumbling pauses, she wasn’t there yet.

Her cousin could read!

Other kids in her homeschool group could read.

It was me, most likely. I was messing my kid up!

As a homeschooling mother, I worried I wasn’t giving my child what she needed. I worried I wasn’t preparing her adequately for the future. I worried it was my fault she couldn’t read!

I pushed harder. She fell apart easier.

School days were often painful, and I realized my child hated reading.

As an avid reader, and an even more passionate writer, the thought of my own flesh and blood not being a book worm like mommy was especially painful. She loved her some science, which my medical field self was proud of, and she zipped through math better than I ever could, but the reading. Painful. Painfully behind.

I sat at the kitchen table going over curriculum, lessons plans, and catalogs for the upcoming school year, and at that moment I realized I was pushing my oldest child too hard. She wasn’t ready to move forward to the next grade. She hadn’t met the milestones she should for reading. Sometimes she hit the mark every time, but it wasn’t consistent. I felt in my honest heart that I needed to hold her back a year.

Y’all, I was crushed. She didn’t care. I explained she would be repeating a grade, and I let her know that her cousin (the same age by a week) would be moving ahead of her. She was fine with it. I slowly followed suit.

See, I thought it was my fault. I thought she was behind. I had set in my mind the particular path her learning should take, and anything other than that seemed like an epic fail!

We live in a world that shows commercials for teaching your baby to read. Ads tote the importance of your child being ahead, and certainly not behind. They talk a lot about ensuring your child’s successful future, as if when they learn their ABC’s will determine if they get into Harvard.

Well, here’s the truth of it. Billy may not get into Harvard. In fact, Billy may not want to go to Harvard. He may not want to attend college at all. And that’s okay! We have fewer tradesmen and blue collar workers than ever before because society has placed such a value on higher education, forgetting that it takes all kinds to make the world go round.

Want to hear the craziest part?! My child wasn’t behind. The only reason she was even in the grade she was in was because I enrolled her in it. As a homeschooling parent I had started her Pre-K early. We had moved on to Kindergarten before her friends in our neighborhood who were the same age. If she had gone to public school she would not have been able to attend Kindergarten when she did, but I had been so excited and determined to teach her. And that’s fine and dandy! But I had to know when to throttle down, when to push her, when to relax and take a breath. I look back now and wish I had that time back. I wish we had played more with toys in the floor, spent more time cuddling and giggling, and less time making her sit at a table and learn how to count to twenty before she could even pronounce the number correctly.

The world she was growing up in said she needed to read by five, but it said nothing of yes ma’am or no sir.

The world she was growing up in said she needed to be involved in as many extracurricular activities as possible to build character, teamwork, and a competitive spirit. It said nothing about the benefit of time with mom and dad, or how much knowledge could be gleaned from sitting on the porch shelling peas with grandma.

The world she was growing up in said the honor roll was a must, but said very little about befriending the quiet girl sitting on the bus alone.

The world we were living in said I was a failure as a parent if my child didn’t keep the same pace as the majority. It said there was only one way to learn, one style, one setting, and one ruler to measure everyone’s success by. It said nothing of individuality, special gifting, unique talent, or how the planet could keep spinning even if your offspring weren’t number one at absolutely everything!

Billy could fall down and be okay.

Billy could make straight A’s, but be a bully.

Billy could hate homework, but still be successful in life.

Sally could have trouble learning to read, but create a symphony that brought people to tears.

Sally could flunk math and still lead a productive, happy life!

Good grades didn’t predict your future, but being a decent human being said a lot.

Being first place wouldn’t earn you a wonderful life, but putting yourself last would lead to a fulfilling one. Do you know what I mean by that?

We have to teach our children how to be kind, love others, and serve as Jesus did. Heck, He told His followers to drop their nets, leave their jobs, give away their gold, and even go on their journeys without a bag packed. He didn’t plan for a perfect future for them, but He did give them the tools to build up an everlasting treasure in Heaven. He showed them that kindness was cool, being last put you first, and hanging with the outcasts was where it was truly at! I wanna teach my kids that!

You know what? My daughter reads beautifully now, and learning how a little behind the average age didn’t harm her a bit. I had to learn to settle myself and not place too much stress on either of us. I had to realize what’s important in life and what’s not. The world will tell you a lot of things are must-haves and have-to-be dones, but nothing is more important than relationships with those around us and learning to be a better person tomorrow than you were today.

I am a college educated professional, and I make really good money. I have so many options with my career, and I could live anywhere in the country. There’s tons of room for growth, promotional potential, and retirement benefits. My education allows me a lot of freedom in my life, and I think that’s awesome. But it’s not the most important thing.

I could have the highest degree possible for my vocation, and I could have obtained the highest GPA in my graduating class. I could have attended the most prestigious program out there, and have a billion certifications behind my name. I could keep my educational level ever-growing, learning everything I could possibly know about my changing field, but it would mean absolutely nothing if I was a jerk.

I am a successful nurse because I treat my patients like people rather than just a number or diagnosis. My patients love me because I consider my job a privilege to serve mankind. I do well in my career because I’m a good team player, I have a positive attitude, and I’m easygoing in what is a difficult, changing environment. Yeah, I needed the degree to get me to the bedside, but it’s my love for people that keeps me there and happy. I don’t want to be that person who hates their job, and I don’t want my children to be that person either.

You’ve seen technology. The world could be run by robots if we wanted, but one thing prevents that. Love. We need it to make the world go round. We need humanity. We need a smile. Everyone hates self checkout at Walmart because they want the friendly checker to say hello. We need more friendly hellos.

We need more people who love what they do.

We need more people who are passionate about one another, about helping the planet move forward in harmony. We’ve become a selfish place to live. We cut line, cheat, and win by whatever means necessary. We think that will bring happiness. A bigger degree, a more successful career, a fatter bank account, a larger home. Surely these things will bring us happiness! We spend so much time running faster for something better that by the end of our lives we lay there exhausted wondering where the time went. When did the kids grow up? Why don’t they ever come to visit? We sank all that money into our savings account, we built up that retirement cushion, but now that the time has come, no one is there to enjoy it with us. We’re alone. A bunch of highly educated, loners with a huge, extremely quiet home. Where’s the laughter gone?

Ahh, man, I could go on with this forever, but if you’re not getting it by now then I don’t know if you will. But I hope you do, before it’s too late. When you’re on your deathbed it won’t be Billy’s great grasp of phonics that flashes before your eyes. It will be all the lost time with those you loved, all the missed opportunities to build a treasure for yourself and your family beyond this world. It will be regret. And you will finally see that all the things you spent so much time worrying about were meaningless.

Do You Know Who’s Watching?

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If you were to take a poll of what’s important for fathers to emulate to their children you’d have quite a few answers. Up at the top would be things like hard worker or good provider, great attributes that my own dad certainly gave. Many would tote honesty and integrity, both of which are definitely characteristics to be modeled and held in high esteem. Heck, I’ve even written about the importance of husbands treating their wives with dignity, respect, and love since their children will base their accepted norms on their parent’s behavior. And while I think that’s a huge responsibility of utmost importance, I expect even more of my husband in regards to training his daughters up correctly. I mean, loving me is easy for him. Treating me well isn’t a stretch. Certainly not as hard as loving the rest of mankind. No, I think my girls aren’t just watching how dad treats mom. They’re watching everything.

“Daddy is kind,” my eight year old spoke softly across the table to me.

“Yes, he is,” I responded with a smile.

I looked over at my husband laughing, smiling, and having a full conversation with a stranger. The man’s eyes crinkled at the corners and radiated a glee to match his smile as he conversed with my spouse. His atrophied hands gestured animatedly as he spoke. His head turned to the side to watch my husband dispose of his lunch trash as he sat still in his weathered, electric wheelchair, pulled up to a lone table in the eatery of our local shopping mall.

I had noticed him sitting there all alone at a table near us, eating Chinese noodles as best he could with the plastic utensils provided. He didn’t have a drink to wash the salty meal down, and I watched as my husband offered him the new bottle of water he had just bought for himself. I watched as he held the bottle up to this stranger’s lips and slowly tilted it up so he could drink. I watched as he dug through the fella’s backpack, per the man’s request, retrieving a pack of gum. I watched as my spouse helped clear his table, and I watched as he held a conversation with him. But I wasn’t the only one watching.

My eight year old spoke again. “Daddy says you should be kind to everyone because you never know when your actions might just make their day. I’ll bet Daddy made his day!”

I smiled.

“Yes, perhaps he did,” I mused.

A little later my husband said his goodbyes, the stranger in the wheelchair drove away, and my spouse took his seat beside me.

“Do you know who was watching you?” I asked, nodding towards our eight year old.

He glanced at our eldest daughter.

“Good,” he said.

Then he started eating his own lunch.

It was easier for a man to love his children, even easy to love his wife. He could work hard for them, help a next door neighbor without a thought, or give his time without hesitation to the church. And these were wonderful, great things! But what of the strangers? What of the people that everyone else ignored? The ones that people diverted their eyes so as not to stare. The invisible strangers who needed a hand, but usually just got walked on by. What about the people we didn’t know, the ones we didn’t feel obligated to assist, the awkward, unknown people that walked in our periphery? The stranger on the side of the road, beaten by life, alone and silent. Did we often walk to the other side of the road, look away, push it from our mind, keep moving? Usually, yes. It was a bit harder to help someone outside our own circle, beyond our front porch, or different from us. Yet weren’t we called to shine light on all the world?

My girls were watching their father, and I was proud they were. He treated me like royalty and with love, but then again, he showed his love to everyone he encountered. That love opened his eyes to everyone he encountered, even the lone, disabled guy at an empty table that a hundred others had ignored. His love came out as kindness to his fellow man, and his children saw this as just normal behavior. They saw it as the way you were supposed to be. They saw his kind heart, the impact it made on others, and my hope is that they would model it, growing up to always be a helping hand to those in need, a loving friend to all, and a bright light in a too often dark world.

They were watching him, and I was glad.

Come To the Table

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Come to the table.

We live in world of drive-thru, take-out, and fast-food. Fast, fast, fast. We stand up to eat more than we sit. We multitask, eat and run, eat on the fly. We do not come to the table. It simply takes too much time.

Come to the table.

Taste and see.

This was what the Lord was beckoning me to do this morning. Every fiber of the old me wanted to run, to rush to the next stop. We had one more leg in our trip to arrive at the RV park where we would be staying for my next travel nurse assignment. The control-freak, duck-in-a-row persona was ready to get there. She wanted to see the new surroundings, to ensure there wasn’t a problem, to map out the drive to work (a full three days ahead of time), and to get to the next step. That part of me wanted to hurry and be done, but my spirit said, be still.

Slow done. Relax. Take a breather. Enjoy yourself. That’s what the Holy Spirit whispered to my heart.

Come to the table. Dine with me.

That’s what my Father invited. To commune with me, to sit down together, purposefully, and to make that concrete decision to taste and see that the Lord is good. When I rushed and ran I missed those moments with Him. When I hurried here and there I couldn’t hear His voice. When I raced about frantically I allowed my to-do’s to distract me from His presence. I missed out on the banquet table. I missed a sit-down dinner with Dad in favor of busyness. Life had demands, always, but there was also the choice. The choice to sit.

Come to the table.

We had driven what was supposed to take four hours to our current stop, but that had actually taken seven hours with horrible traffic and bathroom breaks. We had setup our fifth wheel after dark, on a hilly, uneven site, with grumpy, hungry children. We had slept long and hard, but as I sat alone on the couch drinking coffee with the Lord this morning I felt like He was calling me to rest some more! It was so easy to get in the routine of rushing, to dive into distraction unaware, to stand up eating so you could move on to the next task, and in that hurried lifestyle you missed family dinner. You missed time with the Father. And in missing dinnertime you also missed the blessing. God speaks health, healing, and abundant blessing into the lives of His children, but we have to stop and partake to even receive.

Come to the table.

Today I accepted the call to be still, to rest, to wait, to taste and see. We extended our stay at the park we had stopped off at, we delayed our arrival to the next. We hung out together, we rode a golf cart, we enjoyed the beauty around us, we drank it in. We saw the gift of God through nature, time with one another, and simply slowing down enough to enjoy His goodness to us. Where stillness of heart resides, so too does peace.

Come to the table.

Is God inviting you to dinner, today?

A Father’s Biggest Responsibility, That He Might Not Know

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I am blessed to be able to raise my children with my partner, my husband. Parenting is hard, so having someone to share the responsibility with is huge. I have utmost respect for those women who do it alone for I cannot imagine raising my daughters on my own. There are so many things that my husband does with our children that I feel he is better suited for than me. For example, it’s easier for him to say no and lay down the law. I guess I’m a pushover for those sweet smiles. But his ability to set much needed limits isn’t the main reason I’m thankful for his presence. Not even close.

For many families the father may be the main disciplinarian. After all, who can raise their hand in agreement that waiting for Dad to pull into the driveway after doing something dumb was the worst punishment of all as a kid? “Just wait until your father gets home,” was a dreaded phrase many of us heard growing up, and I have to admit I’ve used it on my own girls a time or two. But Father Fear Factor isn’t the main reason I cherish my spouse’s involvement in child rearing. Nope, not it.

Traditionally the father had been the breadwinner for the household, bringing home the bacon while mom holds down the home-front. And although I happen to be the one working currently while my hubby homeschools the children, I’ve truly enjoyed being a homemaker in the past while he earned the majority income for us. He’s proven himself an excellent provider, and I’m blessed to have a hardworking husband to take care of me. But his ability to provide financially isn’t the most important thing he brings to the table in our family’s journey.

I’ve always enjoyed allowing my husband to lead our family, standing firm as the head of the household, guiding the decisions we make together as a team, and protecting us from harm, be it physical or spiritual in nature. His strong presence, stoic nature, and wisdom in life is an asset to us all. I place much value on his role in our family, but I’ve discovered something even more important that our daughters get to witness each day.

My husband is honest, fair, and kind to others. He always has a smile, friendly response, and love truly guides his actions. He works hard, does his fair share around the home, and watches his language around the children. He doesn’t drink alcohol or hang out, partying with his friends. He’s a great example to our daughters every day on how to live life, love people, and serve the Lord. Yes, I’m blessed. But something he did recently really highlighted to me the example he is setting for our girls. It stuck out as something very special.

I was laying in bed, about to doze off, since I had to work in the morning, when suddenly I caught snippets of conversation coming from the living room. I strained to hear whispered voices through the closed, bedroom door, and I began to smile at the words spoken by my spouse. He was reading from the Bible, and he explained the verses as they went along.

I heard him explain, “it’s my job to love your Mom like Jesus loves us all, and to treat her right.”

I could just imagine their bright eyes and eager faces as they soaked in every word he spoke, and it was at that moment I understood the importance he had in their lives. As a father of daughters he was their first example of how a man acted, or rather, should act. He was the plumb line by which they measured a man’s intentions as right and true. He was the model they would call upon when choosing a spouse of their own. His model he set forth would directly impact their future decisions on choosing a mate and on successful, healthy relationships, and that was paramount! He set the standard for how they should be respected as women, and he laid down the precedent for how a man should love and honor his wife. They watched his treatment of me, and that illustration of unconditional and selfless love would be the pattern they would likely follow years down the road. His impact on their future happiness in marriage was real, and I knew the biggest truth of parenthood:

They’re always watching!

So Dad, your daughters are watching how you treat their Mom. They will utilize your example as the norm for male behavior. Are you ok with that? If not, something needs to change.

Dad, your sons are watching how you love and honor their Mom. The model you display will mold their future behavior in their own marriages. Is that something you can be proud of impacting? If not, something needs to change.

Fathers have many responsibilities in their children’s lives, and other than leading them closer to Christ there is none so important as the model of behavior they set forth in marriage. Your actions impact their future actions, and it’s always wise to keep that in mind. So I leave you with a question. What legacy do you pass down to your children for a happy, healthy married life?

When I Saw My Husband’s Painted Toenails

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It’s so quiet in my house right now, which never happens. My six year old went for a sleepover at grandma’s, and I’m holding a napping baby. My four year old went to work with her daddy just moments ago, and as I read the text message from him I thought again about his pink toenails. 

“Enjoy the quiet time alone with the baby,” he had said. 

I looked down at her sleeping, so peaceful, so beautiful, but so big! She wasn’t the tiny baby she used to be. She was starting to repeat every word she heard, and if she couldn’t say it she would try in her own toddler gibberish. She was growing up quick, but thankfully still loved to snuggle with me more than anything. I needed to soak it up, for sure. After all, that’s why my husband’s toenails were pink. 

I had noticed the changes in my husband lately. A working man, he enjoyed his quiet, restful time in the evenings. He had his own way of relaxing, which typically involved playing a game on his computer, but last week it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen his game on in a while. 


“Sometimes I wish they could stay just like this,” he had said to me recently as we drove along together to the store. “This age is perfect. I wish they could stay little.”

At night, instead of playing his game, he had started putting on television shows that our six year old enjoyed watching with him, shows about building spectacular fish tanks, or catching river “monsters” in other countries. They would make plans before he left for work of what board game we’d play when he got home, or how they’d have a soccer tournament, just the two of them, on his next off day. He cuddled with our middle child, and made up fabulous, elaborate bedtime stories that would rival J.K. Rowling. In the mornings I would smile as I picked up stray rubber bands and hair bows left over from a late night game of beauty shop makeover. A girl daddy for sure!

So last night as I hugged him before bed I looked down and saw his feet. Bright pink toenails stared back at me, and I giggled loudly at the sight. 

“Yeah,” he mused, “she wanted to paint my toenails, so I let her.”

As I lay later drifting off to sleep I uttered prayers of thanksgiving for a present husband who saw the importance of time with me and the children. He inspired me to enjoy this phase more. Many times it was absolutely exhausting and chaotic, but then it was also perfect. It was so wonderful that you just wanted to freeze time, keep them little, and enjoy all the cuddles that came without coaxing. So you watched the baby sleep a little longer instead of folding that laundry, and did an impromptu take your daughter to work day. You didn’t mind playing that board game for a billionth time, retelling the same old bedtime story again, and you even let them paint your toenails a vibrant, girly pink. 

They say the days are long, but the years are short. And I’ve certainly found that to be true. Each day that my eldest daughter grows taller and taller, it becomes more difficult to picture her chubby, newborn cheeks, or the way she suckled on the air when she slept, dreaming warm, milky dreams. The knees become knobby, replacing those fat, dimpled joints from before, and the time they spend out of your lap lengthens. Each day that goes by is the last. The last time to rock them to sleep, the last time to kiss a booboo better, or to read a bedtime story. The last time to bend down and tie a shoe, the last time to cut their meat into little pieces, or the last time to turn on the nightlight before bed. You have to enjoy each moment as if it’s the last.

My husband’s pink toenails weren’t just about a silly night of playing beauty shop, or even about being the dad of girls. It was about time, time that passed so quickly, and enjoying that time no matter what it might entail. We enjoyed a crowded bed at night, with swift kicks planted in our back, because we knew one night would be the last time they wanted to cuddle under our covers. One day would be the last time to hold hands crossing the street. So, until the last time came, you made the time count. You made each and every moment count.

When I See Your Face

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I watch you sleeping. You don’t know it, but I do. 

  
When I see your face I see myself, and I’m reminded how you landed in my life like a cataclysmic event, altering my everything, and changing me into the woman I needed to be. Sometimes I wonder, what was that life I led before you came?

When I see your face I’m reminded how much I want to be for you. You make me want to be the very best me. You make me want to be a better person, simply by being you. 

  

When I see your face I see your Daddy. I see the very best part of me, and the most special parts of him, combined to create this dynamic package that has taken our life and hearts by storm. We’ll never be the same, and I’ve never been so glad. 

When I see your face I’m reminded of all the ways I mess up. You see, I want to give you the best. I want to be the momma you deserve, but I know sometimes I fall completely flat in my efforts. Forgive me. 

  

When I see your face my breath catches, and my heart feels like it stops. I wonder, what did I do to deserve this? I feel like the luckiest woman alive, if I were to believe in such a thing. As it stands I know I’m supremely blessed, and when I see your face I’m floored by just how much. 

When I see your face I see my own fear. 

Am I doing this right?!

When I see your face I see my dreams made into reality.  

I was made for this. 

When I see your face I see my own heart on display. 

Have I ever loved this much?!

When I see your face I feel elated. 

I must be doing something right. 

When I see your face I feel like I have the strength of ten men. 

No one will ever hurt you!

When I see your face I feel limitless. 

I would do anything for you. 

When I see your face I see my motivation. 

I’m doing this for you. 

When I see your face I feel God’s love made concrete.

Thank you for my babies, Lord. 

When I see your face I feel unworthy. 

I don’t deserve such perfection. 

When I see your face I feel grateful.

Thank you Lord for trusting me to be their mother. 

When I see your face I see everything I’ve ever wanted to see, and I know I was made for just that moment. When I see your face I am complete, and I feel as if I could conquer the world. 

When I see your face all the frustration I encounter melts away, and I am left with a marvelous awe. Any hardship I’ve come against seems trivial, any sacrifice I endure seems worth it, any pain I’ve felt seems distant, and any feelings of failure fade.

I can try and fail many things in this life, but when I see your face I feel like I’ve done well. All is see is you. Your face. And when I see that it’s all I need to see.