Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

The Thing About That Last Baby

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“It’s like someone flips a switch,” my husband mused. “One day they’re little and cute, everything they do adorable. Then you wake up and they’re grown.”

We sat together on the front porch, sipping on our coffee in the shade, as a cool breeze blew making the morning pleasant despite the beating sun. I nodded my agreement in the quietness of our conversation. Our daughters all still slept, and in the stillness of early day, before their raucous laughter filled every crack, my husband and I talked freely about every topic from Old Testament prophets, to why Publix bakery could do no wrong in our book of sweet treats. I pondered his most recent observation, and I won’t lie; it caused my heart to whimper.

My five year old daughter was the most spirited, unique, and joyful child I had ever encountered. I’m sure I am partial, but each word from her mouth either made my eyebrow raise, jaw drop, or body convulse in laughter. A trip alone to the store with her brought the kind of content to inspire a sitcom. She currently hung in the balance between innocence and childhood discovery. She teetered in that very special place of believing in fairies, but more importantly, believing her daddy hung the moon. Her cheeks still held cherub-like chubbiness, her fingers without the lines of grown hands. Her head was larger in proportion to her body, her appearance the last of toddling giggles before Buddha bellies disappear and real childhood takes shape. She was still the pint size that made piggybacks possible and rocking in your lap a thing. Her frame was the perfect makeup for early morning cuddles, or late night hideouts under the covers. For now, at least.

Like a switch, my husband had said, and no thing could be more true. Having watched my other daughters spring up as the years rolled by had given me an educated insight, but had done little to block the blow of it happening again. Perhaps it was different this time because she was the last. The last baby.

Preschoolers, you see, have their own unique language as they’re transversing the land of phonics and annunciation. L’s are W’s, and pronouns are very little understood. Grammar unheard of, plural possessives erroneously uttered, but it’s cute. Eventually you have to correct them, but for the most part you smile, locking away in the memory banks of life that particularly adorable way they say words like pasketti (spaghetti) or aminal (animal). My own mom always reminisced over my requests for pale nolish on my toes. Nobody tells you, though, that one day your kid suddenly describes a banana as yellow instead of lellow.

One day they eat the crusts off their sandwich or they go to bed without kissing you goodnight. One day they smell like baby powder, but the next thing you know they smell like B.O. One day you’re nourishing them from your breast, but before you even have time to mentally prepare, you’re shopping for your daughter a bra. It’s crazy how that happens.

My husband’s words on the front porch interrupted my thoughts, “I soak up every bit of her being little as I can.”

I nodded some more. I think I even whispered, “yes” in agreement.

It seems, life was like a river. Sometimes the water level was low, but other times it threatened to overflow the banks. Sometimes you could sit lazily on the side, watching the ripples of the calm current, reveling in the way the sun reflected off the water. But most of the time, I reckon, it seemed like the river just flowed. Certainly faster than I preferred. You had to hang on to the raft to not fear the rapids, to enjoy the ride no matter how wild it sometimes seemed. You had to take the time to picnic on the outer banks, enjoying the company of those God put in your boat. I mean, before you knew it, they were too big to fit inside. And yes, I’m totally thinking about my king-sized bed being too small as of late.

That afternoon, after our morning quiet, coffee and conversations, I took my youngest to the store with me. I buckled her seatbelt when she had trouble doing it on her own. I sat in my seat patiently, waiting for her to put her shoes back on in the grocery store parking lot, even though I had told her not to take them off. I pushed a stray, wirey curl back behind her ear, and I held her tiny, chubby hand as we slowly plodded through the crosswalk. The thing was, the switch hadn’t been flipped yet. So, I lived each moment not in dread of the passage of time, but in enjoyment of the journey that took me there.

The Mess Won’t Keep

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“Well, that was the last of the Christmas money,” I said to my husband, as I stooped over to sweep up the pile of plastic bits and pieces. Leftovers from toy packages.

“That’s good,” he replied, while tying up a trash bag of discarded cardboard.

Our house had looked like the morning after a frat party when we got out of bed, and we set to tidying quickly so we could relax and enjoy the day ahead. As parents of three daughters, all of the age that still played with dolls and such, we were used to picking up our fair share of strewn toys. But nothing could turn a house upside down like the aftermath of the holidays. Considering we had two birthdays in December, the situation was doubled. Add in the fact that long-distant relatives sent gifts too, and the mess never seemed to end.

That was life with little kids, though, right?! I mean, it wasn’t just me that consistently stepped on tiny, plastic shoes, or tripped over a misplaced Barbie car, right?! If my kids were breathing they were making messes. It didn’t matter the rules set, boundaries placed, or chores assigned. Their trash and treasures proliferated throughout our home. Most days began (after coffee, of course) with me corralling their belongings back into their bedrooms.

“The mess won’t keep.”

These are the words my aunt spoke to me over the phone recently after I had finished another round of “return thirty, three-inch, laughing little dolls to their case.”

I knew this. I knew all the truths that little ones didn’t stay little. I had personally watched a decade fly by since I had my first child. But it was her mood this particular morning that caused me to pause and count my blessings rather than count how many times I had picked up their clothes from the bathroom floor.

I ended up spending some time with my aunt this particular day. She was feeling down, and we went shopping and lunching together to lighten her emotional load. You want to know the weird thing about grief? It has no expiration date. My cousin had passed away thirty years prior, but that didn’t lessen the sadness that had erupted within her unexpectedly that morning over the loss of her son.

“I’ll never get him back,” she had told me.

Even though she was eternally minded and took solace in seeing loved ones again one day, like anyone, the loss of the here and now was many times much too hard to bear.

We had a good day, and though I know I left her back at her home still working through her grief in her own way, she had reminded me once again not to take a thing for granted. Not the work. Not my daughters. And certainly not the mess. After all, the mess wouldn’t keep. The old adage was true. We weren’t promised tomorrow, and cherishing my children was about more than how quickly time passed. It was true that time was fleeting, but time also was abrupt. The time we had with someone could be cut short at any moment. That was the real truth of it.

That evening I hugged my babies a little tighter, and I allowed the kiss on my husband’s lips to linger a little longer. I promised myself to keep in mind the truth of life’s fragility. This world was a mess. My house was a mess. Many times my life is a mess! But I’m reminded to count it all as joy. A beautiful mess, if you will. My job was to embrace the mess. After all, the mess wouldn’t keep.

Raising a Challenging Child

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I sat in the bed watching some late night television, and as my middle daughter entered the room, I knew immediately something was wrong. She was a waif of a child, a tiny wisp, and somehow the slenderness of her face made her expressions all the more animated. A grimace crinkled her countenance, slowly becoming a mask of wailing, and I knew she was about to crumple into emotional tears.

“I’m stupid,” she howled!!

And my heart fell out. It literally came out of my body and dropped onto the floor. It had to of, but then it must have hopped back in, cause I could feel the ache of it all through my chest. I rushed to her.

I’m not normally one to jump up and rush to a crying child. I’m not trying to sound callous. Just being honest about parenting multiple, miniature, drama queens. I mean, it was no thing to hear a scream like a limb had been severed, only to discover the cause was something akin to a broken crayon. But this was different. My sweet, sensitive star was proclaiming insults over herself, but it was more than that. At her tone I had felt a sense of defeat in her voice, as if she was finally admitting to herself the negative connotations floating around out there.

As I reached her side she was confessing, “I spilled my drink! Again!”

A chocolate, protein drink (provided by me to help add a few ounces, at least, to her spindly frame) sat overturned in a puddle of sticky brown, soaking into the carpet, and streaked across the pages of her favorite, Bible story book. She was right about the again part. She had just spilled another of these pricy drinks in the kitchen less than a half hour earlier, but she was wrong about the “stupid” part. So I went about trying to convince her of that, while her dad mopped up thick, chocolate liquid from the hallway. Parenting was hard, man.

I mentioned as much to my husband later. I complimented his gentle handling of the situation, and he expressed my own heart in return, how hearing her ridicule herself had broken our hearts. Had we said things in the past to make her feel this way? Or to make her feel less? Probably. When you sign up for Parenting at the local job fair, no one explains how you can scar a human for life if you aren’t careful. I wasn’t one of these softie-types, who let the kids rule the roost. We believed in discipline, for sure, but we also believed in love. Every child needs both, but some need each piece in different doses.

I could correct my oldest and she’d try to argue with me about it. I could correct the youngest and she blew me off, or wrung out some fake tears of manipulation. The middle one, though. Each word she took to heart. Each word, I had learned over the years, had to be measured carefully. Like I had told my husband that same night, “she’s the child that makes you want to lose your cool the most, but she’s also the child who takes you losing your cool the hardest.”

She was my sensitive soul. She cried with pain when she felt she disappointed anyone. She was accident prone. Yet her tears were usually less about the pain of her mishap, and more about the disappointment she felt over the incident happening at all. Your human brain wanted to scream, “you klutz!” But your mother heart usually scooped in with a “it’s ok, baby. Accidents happen.”

I had learned when she was around three years old that I would need to handle her differently than I had her older sister. I could see it shining in her big, brown eyes. Something different, something spectacular. I had never seen a child so concerned with the feelings of others. I had never seen such a young child surrender her spot in line, her turn to others, or even the last piece of cake. She was a tiny thing, but somehow carried a heart bigger than the ocean. I knew God had created the most wonderful, caring spirit. I realized then that my job would be to cultivate that, and not to dim it. I wondered how many selfless souls had once existed in little bodies, but had suffered the world taking their shine away? I didn’t want to be responsible for that.

And so began the journey of parenting my special sprite. It. Was. Hard. It still is. Sometimes when she cries loudly over something I consider ridiculous I want to scream, “am I in an insane asylum, or something?!” I can’t promise I’ve never uttered those words. All I know is, God has a beautiful plan for this challenging child, and my main goal is to show her more of Jesus, and less of what I think she needs to be. Many times when I pray for her I ask the Lord not to change her, but to help me parent her the best way I can. I ask Him to give me wisdom, to help me lead her to becoming the young woman He has for her to be.

If she was in public school I’m pretty sure somewhere along the way a teacher would suggest medication for ADHD. She’s so hyper sometimes, full of energy and giggles. Sometimes I have to make her stop moving, look into my eyes and focus to hear the instructions I’m giving. I’m grateful we can provide tactile learning in an environment that stimulates her particular style of education. I would hate to see medication change the person she is.

She’s frightened easily. She cannot walk by Halloween decorations or the horror movie section in electronics. If she doesn’t like the “feeling” of a place, she’s ready to go home. If it’s too loud, she doesn’t want any part of it. Yet, in the quietness of our home or vehicle, she’s the loudest kid I know. The shy, timid one among strangers, but the class clown and comedian of family gatherings. I think her giggles could fuel a flight to the moon.

She’s a happy girl. She loves so passionately. She prays for strangers at night. She teaches me how to be compassionate to others, when I am lacking that part of me. She reminds us all how to be better human beings, each and every day. Every time I look at her I am in awe of her beauty, and each night I thank God that I get to be her mommy. I sometimes feel like I fall short in raising her, but I also cannot imagine a better blessing in life. A practice in patience, but also a treasure chest of never-ending joy. That’s the best way I know to describe raising a challenging child. I only pray I can do it well.

What You Need to Know if You’re Thinking of Homeschooling

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I recently encountered a nice, little family at the community pool. Despite our efforts to social distance, the cute girl had walked up to my daughters asking, “would you guys like to play with me?”

Despite living in a COVID hotspot, and regardless of the growing number of cases I saw at the hospital bedside, I felt a peace about interacting with this family. My eldest had looked at me questioningly, and I had nodded my approval.

I had gotten in the water to talk with the mother, even though I was digging my latest novel a lot, led by the Holy Spirit to talk with her. We ended up having a wonderful conversation about her desire to homeschool this year, and she gushed at how I had calmed her anxieties on the issue. Realizing that many moms out there now face the same dilemma, I thought I would share with you what I had with her. It’s really the biggest thing you need to know to homeschool effectively.

No, it’s not which curriculum to use, although we did discuss that. In all honesty, there are so many to choose from, and that fact alone only feeds the anxiety. See, that’s the biggest hurdle you will likely face in homeschooling is the anxiety of doing it well. As women, especially, we have a desire to give our children the best we absolutely can. So, when faced with teaching your children, most women will not feel qualified for the task.

I can remember teaching my first child to read. She just wasn’t catching on. I was certain it had little to do with her and everything to do with me. She didn’t listen to me. I expected too much. I wasn’t a teacher; I was a nurse. Many days ended with me feeling I had failed miserably. My heart wanted to teach her at home, but I wasn’t sure if I was giving her exactly what she needed the most.

After a few years, a few children, trial and error, and especially the voice of God, I finally understood that I was making it way harder than it needed to be. The fact was, my eldest reads like a champ now. One day a flip switched and she just knew how. I had to understand that every child learns differently, and it’s ok to learn right along with them. I mean, God had certainly taught me a lot about myself and parenting as a homeschooling mom.

I know the world is very uncertain right now. I know a lot of parents will question if the public school classroom is where your child/children need to be. Sadly, I cannot answer this question for you. It is a decision you must come to. But what I don’t want is for you to desire homeschooling yet allow fear to keep you from it. The thing is, if you can raise a child, you can homeschool a child. If you can love a child, you can homeschool a child. That’s really all it takes.

Don’t be negatively impacted by the forced homeschooling you experienced in April. Homeschooling of your own design is nothing like that. Homeschooling is mostly just parenting, with some concrete lessons thrown in the mix. Think of when your inquisitive child asks a question, you search for the answer together, and then you both know. Homeschooling is kinda like that. If you can follow written directions, you can homeschool. Even if reading directions isn’t your thing, you’ll still do fine. My husband homeschools without a hitch. Maybe you’ll catch the joke. Wink, wink.

The thing is, grades are not the most important thing in this world. Education, while important, isn’t even the biggest thing you should desire for your child in this world. To raise wonderful human beings you need a mix of love and time. The rest comes together after that.

Never be afraid to homeschool or feel like you don’t have what it takes. I learned that none of us have what it takes if we try to teach our children like we assume we should. Homeschooling isn’t public schooling, and it will never look like it either. Imagine a 2-4 hour day instead of 8. Imagine taking a day off last minute if that’s what the student needs, and not having to worry about making work up to catch some invisible finish line. Imagine learning being fun. Imagine the classroom outside, or in pajamas. Imagine learning on a track that is tailored to your child’s interest, not just to ensure a certain test score. Imagine spending quality time with your child, rather than the majority of your time apart. Think about zero homework and only doing reading or science fair projects if the fancy strikes you.

You can homeschool. That’s mainly what I want you to know. Don’t not do it because you worry you can’t. Depending on the pace of your child, you can complete the needed work 3-4 days a week, in just a few hours. Homeschooling doesn’t mean you have to keep public school hours.

If your worry is finances, such as being home from work to teach, realize that it’s always easier than our worst fears. Whether you make the decision to downsize, share the responsibility with the other parent (if that’s an option), or tailor the school day around your work schedule, I would encourage you that homeschooling is doable. I once had a friend who taught her child every evening after a full workday, and while that may not be the ideal option for you, it’s just to point out that there’s always a way.

So, in conclusion, what’s the thing you need to know if you’re thinking of homeschooling? It’s that you can. You can do it. I told my new friend by the pool, kids are so resilient and flexible. They catch on quickly, they adapt, they overcome. It’s the limits we place on ourselves as parents that make it a problem.

The Gift of Giggles and Gal Time

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As I drove to work this morning the sun had yet to peek over the horizon, but a smile had already risen on my face. Despite the dark hour, sleepy brain, and still full coffee mug, I felt a joyful energy flowing through my veins. My thoughts came back to my eldest daughter’s giggle, the one that had just recently tickled my ears, and I beamed anew. I realized her sweet spirit had injected itself into my marrow, and I felt rejuvenated by the memory of her smile. What a gift!

Just to let you know, my oldest daughter, still age nine, loves to sleep. In fact, she reminds me of a teenage boy. If we didn’t make her wake she would Rip Van Winkle her life away. Even on school days, she didn’t get up until at least nine or ten, thanks to her homeschool schedule. Yet there she had sat when I opened the bathroom door. After a hot shower I had opened the door to allow the steam to exit, and sitting on the floor, waiting patiently, she smiled underneath sleepy eyes.

This wasn’t the first time my girl had woken up as I got ready, and as I hugged her tight I commented, “I hoped I’d see you.”

It had all started a couple of months ago. My big girl had heard me leaving for work, and she had woken brightly to give me a goodbye hug and kiss. Later that night, when I had returned home, she had exclaimed with conspiratorial glee, “I saw you this morning!”

It was like it had been our secret meeting, something that she as the eldest child could take part in alone, and it became apparent it was a big deal to her. So much so, that she started telling me before bed to wake her in the morning before I left. At first, I tried to let it go. I had whispered her name, and when I didn’t get an answer, gone about my way. I liked the quiet time in the mornings to reflect and pray, and surely she didn’t really want to wake up intentionally at 6:00 am!

Boy, was I wrong. I had to hear all about her disappointment. Then she took to adding to her bedtime prayers, “and let me wake up before Mom goes to work.”

Gulp.

The first morning the Lord answered her prayer, you would have thought He had caused the sun to stand still like He did for Joshua in the Old Testament. She had gushed to me at bedtime about how God had heard her. Spurred by her childlike faith she ended her prayers in the same manner, petitioning the Lord to wake her when I got up.

Well, He did. She woke up, and it seemed to make her so happy, I didn’t tell her not to. It got to where I found myself praying in the shower for God to help her wake up, and I assumed I was praying that prayer for her benefit, but this morning I started to wonder if it wasn’t also for me.

“Bark, bark, bark,” came the sound of our family dog.

She had giggled, holding a hand over her laughing mouth, and I had snickered along with her. That was the scene this morning when we had sat on the bed together before I left for the day. While I pulled on my compression socks she had shared story after story with me, like we were two gossiping girls at the back of the school bus, and the driver, aka dog, had let us know we were getting too loud. As I heard my husband grumble, “be quiet, Lizzie,” I stifled more laughter, and I exchanged amused glances with my daughter. We almost got caught!

As I later drove to work, still feeling the high of giggles and great big hugs, it hit me the absolute gift of these unexpected yet joyful meetings. I had not known I needed them, but now felt myself abundantly grateful for them. I couldn’t believe I had almost brushed off her attempts to meet with me, assuming we could always find a better and more convenient time. I had almost forgotten that one day she wouldn’t remember to pick up the phone and check in with her ole mom, much less get up hours early for daily gab sessions.

I didn’t know when might be our last morning to hug, or lay on the bed together while I played with her hair, neglecting thoughts that I needed to hurry up and get moving. I had grown to adore our morning prayers and hearing her middle-school-age thoughts on life. And I knew I better savor these precious moments while I could. I had to savor the fact that she wanted to spend time with me even more than she wanted to sleep in, and it humbled me to realize I must be pretty darn special in her book. The thought made me smile again.

Then I pondered, “is this how God feels when His children take the extra time to have a conversation with Him?”

All I know is, I’m grateful for this morning. I’m glad I took the time, that I enjoyed the time, and that I recognized that time with those you love is so very precious. Sometimes you might have to carve that much needed time out of your day, whether it’s to wake early, stay up a little late, or curtail your lunch break. I’m certainly glad my daughter felt I was worth it, and I’m blessed to see the gift that arrived this morning in the package of giggles and gal time.

Snags: Everything Happens For A Reason

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I haven’t shared many personal stories of our little family lately, but after today’s events especially, I felt the need to tell you about it. Today we were finally able to move to another RV Park. The state of Florida had opened back up (kinda), and we packed up our moving home this morning to go elsewhere. The camping membership we hold allows us to camp for free as long as we shuffle between parks within our membership, and even a couple of weeks free at sister parks. It just so happened we had been at a sister park when the Governor decided to lock down the state. The company communication we had received early April said if we happened to be in a sister park we wouldn’t be kicked out, but we would be required to pay rent. We initially tried to get back to our home base park, but when it became apparent we weren’t being allowed to move by law we accepted our fate. No anxiety, no stress. We knew God would provide.

I paid the park around thirty days of lot rent, and we settled down to ride this one out, come what may. It was closer to work, at least, and we focused on bright sides like that. The day after our payment I received a call back from them to inform me they would be refunding our money.

Her exact words were, “we were told not to charge you for your stay.”

I didn’t ask who told them that, but rather took the good news with a smile. I’m connected with other members through social media, and it became apparent that not everyone (in fact, no one I knew of) received this same exception. I saw a lot of people angry over having to pay out of pocket. I don’t know if it was because I’m a nurse, but I just took it as a God is good to us moment and moved on.

I just had to share that story, but that’s not even the real message of my post today. As we seek God’s will He continues to bless us more than we deserve, and the above was simply another example of that.

But back to moving… we worked together in fluid motion, despite sitting in one spot for a month and a half. We were just about ready to roll, but as we closed up the slides we hit a snag. I watched one of the three close, but then nothing.

I heard Ben say, “ut-oh. We got a problem.”

The slides had stopped going in, and I knew this could be a number of things, some being quite costly. But even putting the financial aspect aside, we didn’t really need the delay. I had a few days off, and we were taking a much-needed getaway after we moved our RV. We had found a secluded state park, and since the children had not left the house in 8 weeks, we were all excited for the trip. Naturally I wondered if we’d even make it.

My husband ran through all the things he knew to do. The awning also wouldn’t move, so we knew it was a power issue, not just a slide issue, thank the Lord. He checked fuses, breakers, GFC outlets, the power box outside. When we came up empty on our end, we wondered if perhaps it was a problem at the electric box. So I called the park office, and they said they’d send a maintenance man out to check their box.

As I stood outside wondering what it might be I felt led to pray this. “Lord, what do you want to show us through this? How can you use this situation to impact your kingdom?”

See, I’ve learned something through the years. Ever heard that old adage “everything happens for a reason?” Well, while it sounds cliche, it’s actually true. Although some problems arise because of our own poor decisions rather than God’s will, I am of the belief that He has His hands in all things, especially when we invite Him to be a part of all of our life. I was the kind of person that knew delays were part of God’s plan, whether to protect me or redirect me, and I trusted Him no matter what the situation. Time and time again He had proven His ability to work all things for our good, and I had come to a place in my life where I also wanted Him to use me for His good. Hence, the “how can you use this” question. He had done so much (and continues to do so much) for us that I desired to do for Him.

Within a few minutes of my prayer a golf cart rolled up, and I knew immediately the why. As I watched the maintenance guy and my husband speak together I had no doubt in my mind. This was the purpose for our problem. I was to pray for this man.

Now, before you misunderstand, it’s not that I felt my prayers specifically were the key to this man’s salvation. God is all powerful and able to do as He wills, but the fact is He likes to get His children involved. It’s like a family business, and Poppa gives His kids the keys to His empire, and all the tools they need to run it like He models. When His children pray, filled with His power and strength, they are able to make things move in the spiritual realm, and I felt like there was a spiritual battle going on for this man’s soul.

I felt like this man had a part to play, much like we all do, and God needed him in our family to work His purposes for his future. It’s like life is similar to the ripples on a lake after a stone is thrown. You never know how the waves you make when you jump in will impact people on the shore, for generations to come even. I didn’t know what the Lord had in mind for this man, but I felt like it was important. I felt like my prayers were strengthening the angel armies, like a battle cry prior to sounding the charge, and it helped tip the fight in the favor of good.

The gentleman didn’t stick around long before he determined there wasn’t a problem with their box, but he had shown up long enough for me to know to pray for him. And boy, did I! Meanwhile we knew the problem rested with our rig, and like a veil was lifted suddenly I heard my husband pronounce, “I think I figured it out.”

It was something he had already checked, right at first, and somehow missed. As he set to check the issue I knew in my heart this would fix it. God’s purpose had prevailed, and we could go now. Sure enough, the slides went in, we hooked up, and we took off. Somehow we were only 30 minutes behind schedule, even though that snafu had seemed much longer.

I felt such joy as we drove away, and not because we had escaped a hefty repair bill, or even due to the white, sandy beach that awaited me. I felt joy because of Jesus, and I have never felt so full than I do when I live a life loving and serving Him. I’ve discovered that a life serving the Lord isn’t perfect and without pain. A perfect life would have let us move to our home base RV Park when we tried to, but then I never would have seen how God can move mountains out of the way for me. A perfect life would contain slides that never stopped working, but then I would not have seen how God can use me to work in the middle of my mess, for His glory.

Stepping Out in Faith Isn’t as Hard as I Always Thought

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This morning I was reading in the book of James again. There’s a lot packed into such a small book of the Bible, so it didn’t matter that I had just finished it last night. I started it over this morning, and then I jumped to Galatians. Funny how the Spirit leads, and I smiled as both chapters I had read from those particular books talked about the faith of Abraham.

Abraham. He’s the founding father of us all, that guy whose faith was counted as righteousness, and something we can all desire to be like. Although I am not sure I’d pass the test if God asked me to sacrifice my daughter on the altar. And I guess that’s what God talked to me about this morning. Faith, and how/why the stepping out in it part isn’t as bad as I had always imagined.

I bounced back and forth this morning between verses of the importance of faith in action, deeds that went along with the faith we proclaimed. Abraham had not known where God was going to have him end up, but when God said go, he did. It reminded me of our own experience in the fall of 2017.

God had spoken something very unusual to us. He had told us to go.

Go?! We had just bought our home, didn’t even have our last baby out of diapers. How was that supposed to work?!

But He had said it. The interesting part to me, in hindsight, is that we never doubted it. Y’all, I have doubts about my ability to always hear God correctly, but in this instance I knew without a doubt. My husband knew too, and that surprised me. For a man normally so contemplative when it came to God’s will, even he seemed solid as a rock. We just knew what we were supposed to do, and we did it.

There were naysayers. People we loved and respected questioned our decision. The world at large questioned our decision. I mean, why would anyone want to sell all the stuff they had worked twenty years to obtain? Why would you drag your children away from family and friends? Why would you trade a safe, comfortable job, retirement vested, for an uncertain, possibly unstable one? Why would you trade 2,200 square feet for 200?! It didn’t make sense to the world, I’m sure, but it made sense to us. Why was that?

I had always been a collector of things. I had things I had obtained from all around the world, and after my mother (a fellow collector) had passed away, I also held her things. I loved my things. Really, really loved them. Yet when I felt like God said to get rid of it all, it wasn’t an issue. I took a corner, gave myself 15 minutes, and I sorted into give, sell, or toss piles. I did it with my whole house. Everything. Gone.

My daughters loved their toys. Like, seriously loved their toys. Yet when I gave them one rubber-made tote and said, “fill it with what you want, the rest is going away,” they jumped at the chance. It didn’t make any sense to me, but they never complained. They never cried. In fact, they made a game of it. It was as if they enjoyed taking a room full of toys and paring it down into a little box. They smiled as they showed me their chosen treasures. Weird, right?

I read about Abraham this morning, and I thought back to when God told us to go. I remembered how easy it had all been. Despite the challenges, we had gone through with it. Despite the naysayers, we had moved forward. Despite the uncertainty and wackiness of the Word, we had left our home with a few suitcases and even less boxes, and we had hit the road to go wherever God said to go. I remember being scared, a little anxious at times, but nowhere near as bonkers as you would think a total life shift would make me. I took my children to a new city, with nowhere long term to shelter, a job that could fall through at any moment, and we had a ball. We loved it!

Now we live in an RV, and we live each day still with a “whatcha got next, God” attitude. I realize that when the Lord asks you to walk out your faith, He doesn’t ask you to walk alone. When the Lord requires deeds to follow the faith you profess, He gives you the strength to carry it out. I realized that a couple of years ago when we struck out for the unknown, we were able to move forward because God willed it. There was nothing extraordinary about us or our faith. He had simply given us the ability to step out in what He asked us to do. He had stripped away our flesh, and He had led us in Spirit. After all, our flesh would have flipped out at what we were doing back then, but our Spirits had simply obeyed.

It helped me understand that no matter what God has in store for our future, He will equip us to walk in it. It will never be something we must do on our own strength and might. All He asks is for a heart that seeks His, a heart that listens for next step directions, never being so distracted by the noise of the world, that you never hear His suggestion. After all, God never makes us do anything. He simply asks. It’s up to us if we will hear, and what we will do after that. I recognized today that we never have to worry that we can’t do what He asks, because He never asks us to do something He isn’t willing to make a way for. Where we lack, He will act. And looking back you’ll marvel at how stepping out was so easy.

Making it Not Meaningless

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God is doing something in me. I’m not yet sure what that is, but it’s something. Do you ever feel that way?

Three years ago my husband and I had reached an odd place in life. We found ourselves for the first time feeling anxious, downtrodden, and like things just weren’t right. We didn’t know what it was, but we knew who we could turn to in times of trouble. With that in mind we both took a greater interest in scripture. I mean, we had liked the Bible before, but at this stage in our life it became a deep need. We were thirsty, and God’s Word became our water. We were feeling empty, and His Bread of Life became our sustenance. We loved life, but we knew there was more than what we were doing to live it. I suppose that empty, strange time taught me that feeling like you’re lacking isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps it’s just God forcing you to seek a solution.

Towards the end of 2017 we realized that God had big change in mind. We sold everything we owned. We left our dream house behind. We left family we loved. And most importantly, we left what was known and comfortable. I mean, being in your comfort zone isn’t the best thing in life, but it can sure feel that way when God leads you towards the unknown. Uncertainty is scary, but I discovered that’s where you go to find your faith.

Today as I talked to the Lord about what was rumbling around in my head lately, I felt the leading to read Ecclesiastes. Ugh. I had always found it such a depressing read. Meaningless?! The guy just droned on and on about how life sucked. Or that’s the way I remembered it anyway. Funny how your perception can change.

Today I found myself nodding along. I had sought wisdom, gone to college, gotten that degree and dependable job my dad had suggested. I had enjoyed my toil, finding pleasure in helping others in healthcare. Certainly nothing wrong with that. I had worked hard, built my credit score, and got the house I always wanted. I had beautiful baby girls and all the fancy frills that went along with it. I had obtained the perfect life, and I was happy!

Then I had let go of all the things I had worked so hard for. Not because they weren’t enjoyable gifts. I let them go because I knew there was more. If the past month during a pandemic has taught me anything, it’s that there’s more for us here on earth. When you watch the world (as you know it) fall apart, you’re reminded how little you actually fish for men. When existence on this side of Heaven is questioned, you recognize that a kingdom mindset is the only one that really matters. It’s the one that’s not meaningless.

What an unpopular opinion that one is, you know? Society today knows little else than to toil. We have been raised to believe that is what gives us value in our lives. How hard we can work to achieve stability and station. Nothing like a nationwide lockdown to show things in a different light, eh?

Over the past couple of years I have discovered how to put my trust completely and totally in Jesus. We asked Him where to work, where to live, and how to go through each day. Where do we sow our time, our money, our focus, Lord? And as we asked, He answered.

This afternoon I found myself feeling like even though I had yanked myself from the familiar to the unknown, it still wasn’t quite far enough. It’s like once you’ve touched the hem of His garment, the rest seems fairly mundane. As I walked further from the pleasures of the world, I felt Him whisper, “just a little bit more.”

What is God doing in me right now? I’m not sure. I do know each day He leads me closer, and He shows me what’s important in life. I know the Lord wants His children to be happy. I mean, I bought my daughters some electronic tablets during this quarantine. I know it’s not the best thing in this world for their little minds, but I do know it gives them joy too. My Heavenly Father smiles at me enjoying life, enjoying my gifts, enjoying myself. That’s not meaningless. I suppose it’s just good to remember that the happy gifts aren’t always the lasting gifts. The lasting gifts are relationships, appreciation of the people in my life, and fulfilling the role God has for me in this life.

I felt like God told me today, “it’s not for you to have the knowledge of good and evil. It’s for you to have the knowledge of my love. Life without my love is meaningless.”

So, what’s God doing in my life right now? I’m not completely sure. But I imagine it has something to do with helping more people gain the knowledge of His love.

No, I’m Not Buying a House

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I think everyone totally understood my vagabond lifestyle when I was traveling as a nurse, but now that I have decided to stick around an area more permanently, people just assume I’ll put down roots in a traditional sense. I mean, that’s what you’re supposed to do. Especially if you’re a middle-aged mom, wife, and working professional. For those reading this who are unfamiliar with my lifestyle, my family and I travel in an RV. The craziest part? We do it by choice.

When my husband, three daughters, and I were traveling across the country while I worked at different hospitals, I suppose it just made sense that we’d move place to place in our fifth wheel. It gave our children a greater sense of stability having the same bedroom wherever we went, and we had developed a “home is where you park it” kinda motto. But ever since I announced the decision to stop travel nursing and sign on as a staff (permanent) nurse at a specific hospital, I’ve gotten the same question over and over.

So, are y’all gonna buy a house now?

My answer is always the same, and though it may shock those who inquire, when I explain my reasoning, they get behind me with it. You see, I’m not buying a house. We’re going to keep living in our RV. That’s right, five people in 500 square feet, and nope, we’re not crazy.

If I’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that much of the life we create is out of habit rather than necessity. We choose the life we do because that’s the way it’s always been, or the way it’s supposed to be. Folks get married, get pregnant, buy a house, buy a bigger car, and subsequently buy bigger debt with their bigger “more successful” life. It’s as if happiness comes on the back of mortgages and car notes, or that contentment comes only by checking a certain box on the “I’m a grownup now” worksheet. Yet when we build a bigger, better life, it usually comes with not just a larger price tag, but also a truckload of stress. So, I guess you could say, we create our lifestyle, yet we also create our stress. Or much of it, anyway.

From our personal experience, we found the bigger lifestyle (as far as square footage and belongings go) created a bigger sense of urgency. I had more dusting and laundry. My husband had more yard work and “honey do” lists. We both certainly worked more. For us, it just seemed like the lifestyle that society had always told us would make us happy only made us more rushed and busy. Traveling in an RV wasn’t just a convenience for work, but rather a decision for future happiness. And boy, did it exceed our expectations.

We found that we could live happily in 1/4 the space we had become accustomed to in our prior, traditional lifestyle (let’s call it living in a sticks and bricks). Turns out we didn’t need even half of the stuff we sold or gave away when we downsized. It’s actually not just a way to cut down on material possessions and re-evaluate what’s important in life, but it’s also a great way to payoff debt! Cause debt is crippling, am I right?! When I tell people my monthly living expenses (in a popular and large metropolitan area) are $200 a month (yep, that includes my utilities), they’re usually like, “yeah, I think I’d stay in the RV too!”

The fact is, a happy life isn’t built on two stories and a white picket fence. It’s built around the ones you love. It’s not held together by how much you have, or even how it looks to those on the outside, but rather by the ties that bind you. For us, that’s time together, less time working, and more time enjoying ourselves. It’s less time running here and there, and more time simply enjoying life. It’s less stress and more smiles.

So, while our circumstances have changed, our priorities have not. We don’t stay in the RV for necessity with traveling, but simply because it’s worked so far. Why change anything? Will we buy a house in the future? Perhaps. But it will be small. This tiny life fits us just fine, and I’ll tell you a secret. Going small has given us big happiness.

Btw, this was our Christmas card one year

Investing in the Future

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Today I was going through an app that allows me to see pictures I posted on social media from the time I had a smartphone, and as I was swiping left I came across a cherished photo. It was a black and white shot of my firstborn from six years ago, and I felt a bittersweet ache in my heart that got stuck as an emotional lump in my throat. As I gazed at the precious memory my eldest girl walked up.

Y’all, my child has gotten so tall, and when I saw her standing over my lounge chair poolside, in contrast to the tiny, chubby-cheeked babe on my phone, I was struck straight through the heart, as if an arrow representing the swift passage of time had pierced through to my marrow.

The most peculiar part, to me, was that I didn’t remain melancholy over how fast it all goes. Instead I felt a sense of contented joy, like everything was progressing as it should. I had zero regret for the things I should of/could of done, and though I wasn’t claiming a perfect parenting plan, I was pleased with our journey thus far. I didn’t feel so much like it was a cruel, fleeting season, but rather one I was savoring with vigor.

When I first became I mother I realized it was my greatest responsibility and most enjoyable tasking of life. I quickly discovered I wanted nothing more than to leave my nine to five and find a way to mother more. I was blessed at the time to find a position at my hospital where I could work less and be home more with little financial difference. Cause, come on, although a lot of men and/or women desire to see their children more, it doesn’t seem like it can always work out that way. I never took for granted the opportunity I had been afforded to spend time with my children while also working as a bedside nurse.

As life changed and seasons followed suit, I found circumstances altered, but my greatest goal never changed. Here’s what I didn’t want. I didn’t want other people raising my babies. They were my reward, and I didn’t want to hand that prize to another. But more than that, they were my legacy, my responsibility (which I took very seriously), and the ministry God had given me for this particular time of my life. I knew that my largest and most monumental heart desire was to be able to instill in my children the things I had been unaware of until adulthood. I wanted to raise them wholly aware of God’s hand in their life, and I desired to equip them with the wisdom of knowing they were not alone in the battles they faced. I needed them to see firsthand how joy-filled a life serving the Lord could be. I wanted them to have the opportunity to see things it had taken me forty years to discover.

This hefty, utmost knowledge I knew couldn’t be passed along in a thirty minute Sunday School lesson. It was something that must be instilled, but also modeled. It was something I had to walk out, showing them daily, and I wanted to be able to do it. As parents, my husband and I have made sacrifices to maintain our goals. We have downsized and let go of materialistic treasures, in favor of investing in what we consider our Heavenly Treasure. Our babies. To gain time with them we had to let go of the things that stole our time from them. I’m grateful we were given the desire and insight to make this work.

Not that I’ve obtained it yet, like, where I totally want to be, but I can look backwards and see improvement over time. Heck, a mere two-three years ago I was stuck in the hamster wheel too. I was running ragged, overbooking my schedule, over-extending myself, and sadly teaching my children that was normal. We were always going, rushing, and trying to fill commitments that weren’t necessary. Laundry was a chore, grocery shopping grueling, and the supper-time crunch exasperating. Why we call this normal, I’ll never know. I guess because it’s the way it’s always been, but with the addition of everyone critiquing our lives as we narrate them, or coveting how smoothly someone else’s story appears.

Thankfully, I can now proceed without regret, knowing I’m investing the most in what matters most. I don’t feel like I’m missing out on my children’s childhood. I have a ringside seat to their life. We homeschool largely in part because of our desire to not miss the majority of their life. I saw a story recently of schools possibly extending their hours. Can you imagine?!

We found an area of the country where we can work less but make a larger income, and on top of that we found a way to cut down our expenses. It was scary leaving our comfort zones, but totally worth it in the end. As the world gets faster and the focus convoluted, I see more people choosing to do things the way we are doing. Downsizing, minimalizing, and seeking opportunities to focus on family more. I’m thankful we realized it’s okay to step outside of the norm and pursue something different. Almost every day I see people voice their unhappiness with the pace of their life or with the lack of quality time with loved ones.

I guess I would just say to every discontented parent, “you can do it!” If you’re not happy with life, change it. Don’t be afraid to try something new. Don’t be afraid to step out of your comfort zone. Don’t be worried about what other people think, and don’t be scared to fail. You will never know if your life can improve if you stay stuck in your rut. Break out.

Maybe you’re happy with the way things are. That’s wonderful! But if you’re not consider this post your call to duty. It’s time to invest in what’s important in life, and it’s the people you love. I took care of a patient once who was on his death bed. In pleasant conversation I had told his wife about my life, how I traveled in an RV with my family, homeschooling, working a little, and having fun a lot. She was intrigued and enamored, as most people are, but I’ll never forget her words.

“I wish we had done that.”

You see, they had wanted to travel as a family, but they had waited. They waited until things settled down. They waited until a certain season passed. They waited until Junior finished school. Then they waited until retirement. One month into traveling her husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

“It’s too late now,” she had said.

Consider this your wake up call, your sign, if you will. Don’t wait another minute to follow your dreams and spend time doing what you love. You just think there’s no way out, but there’s always another way. It may involve sacrifice, and it might be frightening. People may try and talk you out of it, but I am encouraging you to try anyway. You will never know unless you take that step, and you’ll only regret what you didn’t do.