Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

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.

When Everyone Thinks You Will Fail

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“I’m gonna be honest,” he said. “I thought this was a really bad idea when you first brought it up.”

I wasn’t surprised. A lot of people had felt that way. People I loved, people whose opinion I valued. People who had a huge impact on my life, and people I desired to please. These were the people who had thought we were making a mistake, but I guess when God is leading you to something different, you have no choice but to go with it. You just hope they’ll come around.

Almost two years later, the majority of our family and friends had. They were truly happy for us as we led an unconventional life that went against the grain of everything that society told us was normal. They saw it in our eyes, our smiles, our very countenance. They saw how joyous we were after letting go of all the things that were supposed to make us happy in this world.

I know onlookers had stood agasp as we emptied our two story home of all its contents, sold our possessions for less than half of their worth, and locked the doors, turning our backs on what had once been considered our dream home. As I walked through it yesterday, footsteps echoing across the empty floor and radiating down the bare hall, I felt nothing. Once upon a time it had been bittersweet to say goodbye to our house, but that was before I truly discovered what made a home. I had only left the large house looming in my rear view because I knew God had something else in store. But yesterday, I didn’t look back as we pulled out of the long, shaded drive. I just left it behind.

Sometimes what lies ahead of you is far better than you could ever fathom. I’m glad we had believed that when the rest of the world looked at us like we were crazy.

I can still remember what it was like. I was happy. I was. But I was also tired. I was stressed out, sometimes depressed for no particular reason at all. I missed my husband, and I longed for him to really smile again. Something happens when you build a family, when you grow up. You enter into a place of anxiety and dread mixed with tiny moments of wonderful. You spend 75% of your life working to achieve that 25% of happy. You assume, “this is just the way it is,” as if working long hours, running errands on two wheels, drowning in debt, and burning the midnight oil is a part of the life you have built. Long hours at the table hammering Singapore Math equations into your eight year old. Was it like this for our parents?

Why can’t there be more of the happy? Is a quarter of joy really all you can get? You assume so.

We rush, we bustle about. We run here and there. We work, work, work. Birthday parties get bigger, Easter becomes like Christmas. The closets overflow. Time for another purge! If we pull a few more overtime shifts we can take vacation in June.

Sunday is an afterthought. Church is a place where you’re supposed to go. Gotta train up the kids right! God don’t mind if you miss for football, though. Hard to get any good news in your spirit since Sunday School is the only place you can find time for your Bible. But Monday is creeping up on you, the weekend is over, and back to the grind we go.

Gotta get new shoes, a brand that won’t cause your kid to get bullied, a style that will make them the envy of the other kids, the ones that will make you look like a good mom for buying them.

People thought we were crazy when we said, “let’s just get rid of it all!”

They thought we just meant the minivan with automatic doors and the ruffle dresses. They didn’t realize we meant the multiple car payments and dreaded mound of never-ending laundry too. They thought we were just selling the house. They never knew we were also refunding the false idea that a large living room made life good. We found out the whole world could be our backyard!

When we said we were going to travel the country in an RV, folks thought we were chasing a pipe dream, like the idea of it was more magical than the reality would entail. Some people even thought we would fail.

I get it! It’s hard to leave your comfort zone. It’s not easy to leave the way you’ve always known and embark on a future without answers. We took off with a tow vehicle we couldn’t yet afford, to pull a fifth wheel we didn’t yet own, to work a job that gave no promises of stability. We reserved a hotel we couldn’t keep paying for long term, and we carted everything we owned in suitcases and a handful of rubber-made totes. Gosh, we were a little crazy. But we were tired. So very tired.

You grow up thinking you need to obtain that Great American Dream, but when you finally do, you wonder where the joy went. It’s fragmented, kind of like your time, broken apart and unfairly divided amongst your many, overflowing responsibilities. We fall right into Satan’s plan, in student loan debt, working over in a job we hate, for a family we never see, and a vacation that will leave us exhausted. Well, dang.

My husband let another driver go first the other day. My spouse had the right of way. The other driver was very confused by my husband’s kindness and patience, and it took him a moment to pull forward and drive off. People are numb to the fast pace. They’ve become accustomed to road rage, anger management, horns honking, driving ten miles above the speed limit, and passing someone to gain a precious microsecond. That’s the way of the world. Everyone is in a hurry. But we decided we wanted to teach our children that servants don’t have a problem going last.

So, we let go of the ideas that more is better or that things like public opinion matter one iota when it comes to eternity and love. We live in 500 square feet, tiny compared to our previous floor plan, but man oh man, how our hearts have grown. For one another and others. We work less, play more. Our closets aren’t as full, but it wasn’t just designer jeans and boots we threw in plastic bags to give away; we got rid of the stress. We let go of worry, and instead we held tight to time together. We homeschool, we roadschool, we unschool the ideas of the world. We teach kindness, patience, even a little washing feet.

I think some of our friends and family worried how we would handle traveling somewhere new, holding a new job, living in new neighborhoods, away from the comfort of routine, the way things had always been. But I reckon sometimes you have to shake loose the dust of comfortable when it makes you complacent to living the life God has in mind for us all. He wants us focused on loving one another, taking the time to savor a sunset, throwing our hands up in surrender, saying, “your will, not mine.”

I guess that’s what we really did when we sold our stuff, packed up our family, and took off to travel in an RV. We just threw up our hands. We let go of what the world had said would make us happy. All of that was too stressful, too hard to maintain, too silly to sacrifice for mere scraps of happy. Why do we assume life must be a roller coaster? When do we admit all the dips and jerks are of our own design? We realized God didn’t have stress, struggling, and striving for us. He had thriving, not just surviving. He just wanted our love. The rest He would give us as needed, and I have to say that’s the best thing I’ve learned this past year. I don’t have to struggle for happy. He just gives. So I just need to receive.

People thought we were crazy, they thought we would fail, but we found that the really crazy part is how we used to live, tired and worn thin, hoping for a sliver of time together. We always felt we were failing at carving out a chunk of joy amidst all the chaos, but we realize now we only failed because we tried too hard at too much of nothing.

Maybe this all sounds like the musings of a crazy woman, but I’ve never felt more sane. We value time over treasure, we hold more highly the love we can bestow than the gifts we can get. What I mean is this. We just love Jesus and live life. We trust Him, we spend more time together than we spend money. We let go of fear and grabbed tightly to trust. We did this by selling all our stuff and moving into an RV, but I figure God can change hearts any which way He designs. For us, it took a drastic change to shift our mindset to what’s important in life, but maybe for someone else He can do it another way.

All I know is that most folks don’t think we’re crazy anymore. They think we’re onto something good. They see the experiences our children are having, seeing sights they never would before, meeting new people, and watching mom and dad trust the Lord for it all. They don’t think we’ll fall down or fail anymore. They realize that we’re actually living the dream. The legit dream. And it’s nothing like society has esteemed it to be. Nothing at all.

Where Did Discipline Go?

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I watched as my husband walked down the aisle of fresh fruit to retrieve a bag for the ripe nectarines our daughters had picked out, and as he did a voice behind me spoke up.

“Your children are very well behaved,” the voice said.

An employee unboxing fruit stood behind me, and I smiled, nodding and answering him with a sincere thank you.

I found it ironic that the comment came on the tail end of an epic meltdown I had witnessed outside the store.

“Noooooo,” the young boy had shrilled! Like the voice of a wild animal caught in a trap he had cried out in bloody murder, “I don’t want tooooooooo!!”

His father trailed behind mom pushing the shopping cart of screaming little boy. The dad held a young girl on his shoulders and seemed to ignore the screeching yelps of his son ahead of him.

Been there, dude. I thought. I mean, all kids have epic meltdowns in Walmart. That’s kind of what shopping with children is all about, right?! I wasn’t going to be one of those judgy Judy’s acting like I had it all together. I have had my fair share of cold stares and unwelcome comments in line at the grocery store. So, no sir, would I assume these folks didn’t have a handle on the situation. I walked on, with my own brood of three, all under eight years, into the store.

In the background the mother of the bohemian rhapsody singer hissed, “what is your problem?!”

Been there too, sister, I thought.

The dad kept walking. Oblivious? Maybe. Uninvolved? Perhaps. But I couldn’t really know.

Back in the fruits and veggies I gathered my chicks, and I pondered the stock man’s comment. It wasn’t the first time I had heard that comment from a stranger, nor the second. In fact, I had heard it a lot, but each time it startled me. With pride I accepted the kind encouragement, but also wondered if they knew the whole story. Did they realize I sometimes raised my voice when I shouldn’t, or that I wondered if the one daughter even listened to instruction at a regular tone of voice? I mean, I thought my children were heathens most of the time, running around like hopped up addicts on the sugar rush of a lifetime, but then I saw other children running amuck and thought, okay, maybe mine aren’t that bad after all.

They weren’t perfect, that was for sure, and I definitely wasn’t, but we tried. Sometimes I wonder where the trying went.

There’s too many friends out there, and far too few parents. There are way more equals, and not enough authority figures.

I thought back on something I said to my husband the day before.

“The dog doesn’t listen to me like she does you,” I had commented.

“It’s because I put the fear of God in her when she was a puppy,” he chuckled.

Okay, first off, that man is like putty in that dog’s tiny paws. She pees in the floor and he says in his best baby talk, “oh Lizzie, it’s not your fault. You were trying to tell me you had to go outside!”

But if he said, “get in your bed,” well, you better believe she got in her bed.

It’s a balance, you see. I think that’s what we’re missing.

Nowadays you have a lot of parents worried about their children’s feelings. Heck, I worry about my daughters’ feelings. I make sure to direct comments in a certain way to get my point across without wounding their psyche. So, I get it. But I also know, at the end of the day, I’m Mom, and what Mom says goes. When you’re a Mom, you can be in charge.

Today in the store, after the comment on my girls’ behavior, my three year old dropped a box when I suddenly changed direction of the buggy.

“Hey,” she called out in an angry voice. “You made me drop that!”

My first reaction, “and you don’t use that mean tone with me, young lady.”

Before I could say more my husband came alongside me, “she’s your mother and you talk nice to her or you get in trouble.”

She’s three, right? She doesn’t know any better, right? Well, that’s what I’m doing. I’m teaching her respect. That’s what we’re doing as parents.

This morning she cried in her room after I had corrected her for telling a lie.

My husband said, “I don’t even think she understands what a lie is. I’ve been working on this same thing with her!”

I replied, “well, she’ll learn.”

We were teaching her right from wrong, and the consequences of her actions. She may be three, but she was learning more each and every day. In society today I see a lot of people more focused on the stage of development rather than developing their children. Parents tell themselves the child isn’t at an age to grasp the weight of their choices, what is right, or why it’s wrong. Sadly, they are raised on a foundation of slipping sand. They aren’t introduced to cause and effect at an early age. Instead they are handled like a faberge egg. We mustn’t break them, and yes, I wholeheartedly agree! But I also think we are doing more harm to our children by withholding the guidance and discipline they deserve.

I believe children crave our direction! My own mother used to have a little saying for us kids, “beat me, bore me, just don’t ignore me,” and while it’s simple, it’s also so true. Children crave the attention of their parents, but they also crave our help. A child will misbehave simply to gain your attention towards them when it’s directed elsewhere, and in the current, handheld device society, it’s done even more.

My daughters understand that we correct them because we love them. We want them to lead a successful life in the future. They need to understand they can’t always get their way. They need to know that negative actions have negative consequences, but we never forget to also show that positive actions garner positive results.

My daughters realize they’re not the center of the universe. Just yesterday I said to my eldest, “I don’t know why you and your sisters compete to be my favorite. None of y’all are my favorite. Your Dad is my favorite!”

We had a good laugh about that, but it’s true. My husband and I are a team. I don’t go behind his back. If the children ask me something he has said no to, I don’t change the script. If I disagree with him on parenting we address it privately, not in front of them. They understand that their parents are a team, and they can’t play us against one another.

We don’t spare the rod. We discipline in many different ways. Some things only take a conversation, but others require physical correction. We don’t believe a spanking is abuse, and I find it odd that the more that opinion becomes mainstream, the worse children behave in public, and the worse young adults emerge.

But we also don’t spare love. We don’t physically discipline without following it by physical love. We hold our children and we explain why a punishment occurred. We are teaching the next generation. If I mouthed off to my boss, I’d get fired. If my children mouth off to me, I teach them that kind of behavior doesn’t fly. I model respect. I respect their opinions, I respect their feelings, I respect their emotions, and I respect that everyone is human and makes mistakes. They don’t get a lecture when they spill milk; they get me on my knees helping them clean up. But they don’t get a free pass at being hateful, ungrateful, or cruel because they are young. If they hurt someone they are corrected. I’m raising compassionate, kind, respectful young women.

We show our daughters so much affection. They never worry if they are loved. One of the ways we prove we care for them is by providing them an education on human decency. Some people say, “kids are cruel. Kids will be kids!”

But I say, “let’s start now teaching kindness, respect, and love for everyone.”

Let’s not wait until they’re older, or at a more appropriate development stage. Children are smarter than you think. My three year old will fake cry when corrected. She has learned that when she cries she can get her way. I watch her manipulate her older sisters into giving in to her every request. If she’s old enough to learn manipulation, she’s old enough to learn decency, The Golden Rule, that words hurt, that lying is bad, or that cheaters never win.

Sometimes I think discipline has been passed off. Parents are too busy with overtime and social networking. They’re too busy creating a birthday party the whole neighborhood will envy rather than teaching their child how to be grateful when the gifts come. We expect teachers, coaches, and pastors to teach them right from wrong. We’ll foot the bill for the extracurriculars and new kicks. We’ll take them on a vacation they’ll never forget, but not remember to model thankfulness for the things we have. We end up with entitled brats who equate parental love with a price tag rather than an important life lesson delivered in honesty.

Integrity is reserved for the ball field, and we miss teaching it at the dinner table. We require summer sports to learn teamwork and perseverance, instead of picking it up just as easily doing chores as a family unit. Hey, I’m not against sports. Just saying you don’t need a coach to teach your kid not to be a sore loser. You can start teaching that at home. If little Billy thinks he’s a winner every time, life is gonna be quite the wake up call.

My daughters know they can be anything they want to be in life! But they also know that sometimes they can’t be everything they want to be. They know you win some, and you lose some, but you’re grateful that you got to play. My daughters are being taught to treat others the way you want to be treated. My eight year old recently got the brunt end of an angry older sister at the swimming pool. We didn’t intervene. We didn’t say, “hey, don’t yell at my kid! She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know any better!”

My daughter had excluded a girl from a group of playmates, and the girl’s very large sister had come to her defense with thunder. My daughter learned the consequences of her unkind actions. Why is it most of us don’t blink an eye when children learn lessons amongst their peers, yet we have trouble teaching them those lessons at home? How about we start the discipline at home before it becomes a black eye on the playground, or worse yet, a young adult who can’t hold down a job. We are raising the next generation of responsible adults. Of note, we used the pool incident as a lesson, building it upon ones we had already been teaching at home. She knew she was wrong. She owned up to it, and we moved on.

If a stranger corrected my children in public I would say, “thank you. My kid was acting like a little jerk! I appreciate it. Sometimes they don’t listen to me.”

Our dog listens to my husband because he set firm boundaries with love. She respects him, she loves him, and she knows not to act like a crazy mutt!

Have you noticed that we live in a society that takes their dogs to obedience school, but won’t even tell their children the word no?

We don’t use the word no in this house. It’s too negative.

Uh, okay Nancy. We’ll see how well that works out when they’re forty, still in your basement, and asking for another loan.

Children need discipline. I don’t know where it’s gone, but it needs to come back. My kids are wild as bucks! But if I have over half a dozen strangers walking across the room to tell me they’re angels, then the comparisons out there must be pretty paltry. I’m half joking, but seriously, I’ve seen those hooligans at the mall playground. Where are their parents?! I’m afraid my kid is gonna take a dropkick to the face by the next WWF wannabe. Yeah, sometimes it’s easier to ignore bad behavior, but maybe that’s lazy parenting. Just saying.

It’s okay to teach your child voice modulation. It won’t hurt their ability to express their feelings. It’s okay to teach your child manners. They won’t have Mommy issues twenty years down the road. How about this? It’s okay for the man to step up and lead the household, be the Alpha dog, model respect, and correct behavior that needs a revamp. You can tell your child “no” and still respect their autonomy. You can reward good behavior but not bad ones. That’s kinda how the world works. Only God dishes out undeserved favor.

Which leads me to this. In discipline we give love, but we also model grace. Our daughters know that we all mess up. When I do, I apologize, no problem. I model forgiveness and unconditional love. They know that no infraction will ever change my love for them. Basically, my husband and I read the Bible. A lot! We take what we learn there, and we apply it to parenting. We treat our children like Jesus would. Don’t you think God disciplines? Of course! He’s a good Father. He also loves. He forgives. He gives great grace. But He never forgoes correction. A loving parent can deliver all these things. Naturally, not as perfectly as our Heavenly Father, but we’re trying. Maybe that’s what we need more of today… parents trying. Trying to be more like Jesus. Trying to love like He loves, teach like He teaches, prepare for a good and prosperous future like He does, serve like He does.

Where has discipline gone? Maybe it’s still there. Maybe we’ve just forgotten how to apply it. We’ve forgotten how a good Father can discipline in love, that discipline is love, that a good Father never withholds His wisdom, and always teaches us to be the best us we can be. We need to remember this. The future depends on it.

Giving Your Children Grace

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I’m all for discipline. In a world that’s gone soft on some issues (like telling kids “no”), but far too harsh on others (like the lack of patience at a red light), I am completely in favor of making children listen to reason. After all, we are raising the future generation. It’s up to us to instill morals, model compassion, and correct erroneous behavior for a productive future for them. I mean, if kids think they can always win, get their way every time, and throw a fit when they are opposed, then they’re going to be in a world of hurt one day. Yep, you have to create an environment where they understand they’re not number one, yet still let them know they matter. There are so many lessons to be learned, but sadly we often miss the most important one.

As a mother of young children, I think nothing tries your patience like trying to get out of the house on time with your kids in tow. They move like molasses, whine like a broken down washing machine, and couldn’t find their shoes if you were paying them to. Make it a Sunday morning and it’s even worse. Like, can we just make it to church on time once?!

This past Sunday morning I was doing my usual routine. I had gotten up before everyone else. I had picked out each child’s clothing and placed them in neat piles on the couch. All they had to do was comply with simple instruction, basically. As I assisted my youngest two daughters with getting dressed and untangling their long tresses, I noticed my eight year old had fallen back asleep on the couch. I called her name, asking her to get dressed. I even added a please. I deserve some extra credit for that.

Then she pulled out the whine, like nails on a chalkboard. She lamented, “I don’t wanna go to church!”

My first thought was all the mornings I rose before 5am, while my daughter snoozed on. They were homeschooled! It’s not like they had to get up earlier than they wanted every day of the week. It was just one day! Instructing my child of all of this sat on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to tell her how lucky she was to not have to get up as early as I did. I needed her to understand that one day she wouldn’t be so lucky, that she needed to get used to doing things she didn’t feel like doing! I wanted to tell her that she should have gone to bed earlier, that she was reaping the effects of her own stubborn refusal to go to sleep. This was my job as a parent, right.?! To prepare her for a cruel future!

So, with all this in mind I called her over to me.

“Come over here,” I instructed.

She plodded lazily in my direction, and as she got closer I reached for her lanky arm and pulled her quickly into my lap.

“My sweet baby,” I whispered, as I squeezed her gently, placing loving kisses on her forehead.

I held her for a few moments in silence, rocking back and forth. I could feel the frustration and attitude melt away from her. She eased naturally into my embrace, and the body that had at first felt heavy suddenly became light.

She giggled, “I’m your baby!”

I held her another minute, and then I questioned, “you ready to get dressed for Mom?”

She popped out of my lap with renewed motivation, “I sure am!

We have a huge responsibility as parents. There are so many lessons to be taught, but the one we most easily forget, especially in such a fast-paced world, is the lesson of grace. It’s given when we least deserve it, and it’s given in love. Out of the many life hacks I want to teach my daughters, the most important is how to lead a successful, emotionally and spiritually healthy life. One of my biggest ministry callings in life is the one I live out each day as a parent. So much of what they learn about Christ will be not just from my words, but also modeled in my actions. They see the love of God through me. I am the hands and feet of Jesus to the little ones, and they learn about saving grace when I bestow it.

I think back on all the ridiculous, unsavory choices I have made in life, and through it all, God loved me. Yes, He taught me lessons when I was less than my best, but above all His great grace called me back.

He said, “you are mine. I love you, child.”

I still have a tendency to be a brat. I can sometimes imagine my Father God shaking His head when I fear things like financial loss or hardship. He could rip the rug out from under me and show me that He is my provider, but instead He speaks to my heart with loving patience, He holds me in the comforting arms of His Holy Spirit and reminds me, I’ve got this, daughter. Do not fear, for I am with you.

When I doubt, He loves me still. When I blatantly sinned against Him, He waited for my return with open arms. When I am weary, bone tired, likely due to my own fault, He takes me in His arms. He bestows grace. And if there’s anything He gives me that I in turn can give to my children, it is that great grace, that loving patience, and that tender mercy, even when it’s not deserved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Righhhht.

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

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

It’s us.

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

Because we have changed the future.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

I Don’t Want to Forget

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They sat side by side along the edge of the pool. My husband patted the leg of our middle child affectionately.

“It’s alright,” he soothed.

His face showed zero frustration and abundant love. I watched the way his head dipped low to meet her eyes, and she stared back in obvious adoration. He had jumped into the water with his clothes on when she cried out in fear. After swimming too far into the deep end and growing fatigued, our young, novice swimmer had called for dad’s help, and he had answered. I watched them together, and I knew I never wanted to forget this.

I never wanted to forget the tender, yet protective way my husband parented. I never wanted to forget the way his face changed when he looked at them, or how his eyes crinkled at the corners in joy when he was especially proud. I never wanted to forget the way his countenance transformed, taking on a look of total peace when he hugged our babies close. I wanted to see that look of contentment, the fierce protector on guard, or his proud grin forever. I never wanted to forget how my husband looked raising our daughters.

This morning I stood in the shower with my little girl, and I washed the thick conditioner from her long, blond locks. The water bubbled up slightly as it cascaded down her thick tresses, and I realized I never wanted to forget the feel of my hands in her hair, or how she giggled when the water first hit her. She wouldn’t always come tapping on the shower door asking to join me. She wouldn’t need my help much longer with the hair rinsing, or beg me to blow it dry. I didn’t want to forget how grateful she was for my help, or how much each child needed me. It was easy to get flustered or aggravated in the midst of the mess of being depended on so much, but I never wanted to forget the feeling of reward.

Yesterday my child had been walking ahead of me in the restaurant. She knew her own way back to the table, and she bounded ahead while still staying close. She skipped as she walked, her feet dancing with glee at every step. She found joy in every moment, she smiled easily. I watched her tiny frame, spindly little legs moving, blond hair bouncing up and down with her footfalls. I felt such happiness watching her in the everyday mundane, and I wanted to store away each bit of bundled joy. I never wanted to forget that moment. I wanted to lock it away in my pocket, press it between the pages of my heart, never let it slip from my memory. So perfect was that moment of pure love; I never wanted to forget.

I never wanted to forget the hugs. You know, the way their little bodies fit inside your arms. Or the way they’d rest their head against your chest in total surrender, complete trust, and unconditional love. A small child can sleep so deeply and peacefully in their parent’s arms, and I never wanted to forget that feeling that you get when you hold a little human being who trusts you totally with their life.

I never wanted to forget the utter joy of nursing an infant, looking down in your arms at the tiny person whose complete sustenance depended on you. I never wanted to forget the way their tongue would curl into a little loop afterwards, like they were still trying to drink milk in their dreams.

I never wanted to forget baby giggles, first steps, or the initial “mama” they spoke. I never wanted to forget how my kisses healed scrapes or how my hands wiped tears away for good. I always wanted to remember the way they greeted me with excitement when I came in the door, or the sweetly whispered prayers before bed.

I want to hold onto the memory of phrases like, “hey, mom, can I talk to you,” or “I’ve got something to tell you.” Those softly spoken words prior to pouring out her heart. The fact that she can’t keep a secret from mom, or that I’m the person she wants to share uncomfortable situations with, the person whose advice she seeks. I pray I’m always that person, but if I’m not, I never want to forget how it feels right now.

I always want to remember how easily amused she can be, getting excited over a sucker or a dollar store toy. I never want to forget the shrieks of excitement over going to a new park or driving for an ice cream cone. I want to always remember the joyful, “this is the best day ever,” proclamations, or how she giggles with glee over taking a bath in the kitchen sink. Please, Lord, don’t let it fade.

Parenting is a struggle. It’s tiring, and some days I don’t want to snuggle. I want my bed back, I want a moment of quiet conversation with my spouse. I want to not have to pick up the same things over and over, clean up spills, or scrub cups of curdled milk. I want a day where my name isn’t repeated 5 bazillion times, or where I never hear, “hey, mom, watch this.” But then I’d miss the look of accomplishment when I do “watch this,” so there’s that. I never want to forget the sweet is stronger than the sour, or that time is cruel in how fast it speeds by.

I never want to forget how to appreciate each moment for what it is, a passing morsel of time that tics away far too quickly, a moment that could fall away and be forgotten if I don’t take the time to look and lock it away. And I never want that. I never want to forget that each childish laugh will fade, each body grow taller, and each toy will be boxed up and given away. When the air is silent, the bed empty, and the cupboard full, I want my memory to be overflowing with each cherished moment I have right now. I don’t want to forget.

Raising Tiny Humans is Hard

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Raising tiny humans is hard!

Yeah, yeah, we know. Sleepless nights, whether they’re two months old or twenty-one, and whatnot. But it’s not just the snotty noses wiped on your shirt or the mounds of laundry that multiply prior to folding. It’s not even worries at every sniffle and fever, or how you never stop putting your hand on their chest at night to make sure they’re still breathing. I kinda wish it was just the sibling bickering, repetitive calling of my name, or how they never hear you when you need them to, but catch every word if you don’t.

No, it’s harder than that. The hardest part is that you’re raising smaller versions of yourself. So you question every step you take, wanting to leave out the parts that scarred you, but add in the things you wished were there. Do you know what I mean?

It’s like you want to not make the mistakes you may have felt were made in your upbringing, make the kinds of memories that you personally still hold dear, yet go above and beyond the best you ever got. We want to be a better version of our parents, even when our folks did an outstanding job. Our dreams for our children are huge, insurmountable even, yet we still work towards making their childhood great. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but can make parenting all the more difficult. We desire to raise better tiny humans, learn from our mistakes, and most importantly, not totally mess it up.

This topic really came to my mind this past week.

My daughter said, “for example, one time at Chick-fil-A you said we could trade in our toy for an ice cream. So I traded in my toy. But Izzy and Bailey didn’t want to trade theirs in. But you got them an ice cream anyway. Cause you knew they’d cry. It’s hard cause of stuff like that.”

I nodded slowly, a truckload of thoughts spinning wheels in my mind. This had been her example of how being the oldest child is hard. It had been her example of how it was often unfair. And while, as an eldest child myself, I totally understood her plight, it didn’t escape me that this example had been over three years ago!

Had it really hurt her so badly that it was etched in her memory?!

Like, how good memories from childhood were the ones that came to mind in middle age, was that how bad memories were too? Did my kid seriously have a cavern full of times I had failed her as a parent?

The conversation had come about after she was punished for hurting the middle daughter. Ahh, the middle child. I remember when she was still a toddler an elderly patient warning a pregnant me to make her feel loved.

“The middle ones. They’re the ones who often feel forgotten. I made that mistake, so don’t you do it too,” he had warned.

She was the one I worried about most. Her heart was so kind, but also it was fragile. You could crush her spirit with a cross look, so I made sure to lift her up frequently, telling her how special she was. And apparently, I realized as I sat on the bed with my eldest, I had more often chose her side in sibling rivalry. Because she was so tiny, she was the one we guarded. Her tender soul needed our gentle touch, but I wondered if in my cultivating I had made my oldest girl feel less. I mean, she certainly wasn’t the baby.

Sigh. The baby. My sweet, precious, adorable youngest daughter who shined brighter than a thousand stars. My baby girl, always getting into mischief, but always winning me over with a mischievous grin and clever quip. She had us all wrapped around her chubby finger, and she knew it. Heck, we all knew it, and not a week went by without me worrying I may be raising a spoiled brat as my last child. Oh, Lord, help me.

Between worrying I was spoiling one, not building the uniqueness and confidence of another, or neglecting the first, I was in for a challenge. I contemplated if I was putting too much responsibility on my eldest, being too coddling with my middle, or lenient with my last. And that’s when I muttered to myself, raising tiny humans is hard.

And that’s when God spoke to my heart, “it leads them to me.”

I nodded in understanding, yeah, God, I get it. Parenting was tough, and yeah, I probably messed it up frequently, but praise the Lord, I didn’t have to get it perfect. Where I fell short, He picked up. I had devoted myself and my family to Him, and He was faithful to take care of us. I could try my best, but with my human hands I might fumble. Thankfully my girls were His girls. I could relax in the fact that I wasn’t raising serial killers with my mistakes, and my God drew my daughters to His heart. Even if I failed, they were His. I was His.

Raising tiny humans was hard, but my God worked all things for our good. He placed them within me, and before they were even a spark He knew I could parent them well. He has given me a task, and He equips me each day to do my best. And when I do less than His best, He is faithful to draw my daughters closer to Him. Maybe it’s hardest when I try to do it too much on my own, but when I can release my worries to Jesus, He can smooth out the rough spots and fix my focus. Instead of seeing it simply as hard, instead I can count it all as joy.

Dads, Take Time With Your Daughters

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Dads, take time with your daughters. Take the time to play, the time to laugh, the time to give chase as they scream excitedly with glee.

Let go of adult responsibility, if only for a moment, and pick her up to spin her around. One day she’ll be too heavy.

Forget about the pending project. Start a new project of her choosing. One day she won’t ask for your help.

Dads, take time with your daughters. Take time to notice she brushed her hair. She took extra time with each stroke of the brush, smoothing her long, blond hair, just hoping you would notice how it glinted in the light. One day she may not care if you notice.

Take the time to compliment her dress, her new shoes, the way she partnered her pink, flowery shorts with that purple, mermaid top. She’ll use your example for measuring a future admirer. One day your opinion won’t be the one she seeks the most. Take advantage of it now.

Dads, take time with your daughters. Slow down and notice her smile. If it’s there, or if it’s not. Bring it out more often. Teach her the world takes notice at her laugh, it seems brighter and more hopeful when she smiles. Capture those smiles in your pocket. You’ll want to bring them out when the pitter patter of her feet no longer fills your home.

Take the day off. Take the week off. Take the time to invest in what really matters. It’s not a trip around the world she wants. It’s just you.

Put down your phone, turn off your video game, save the ballgame to watch later. Take the time to listen, really listen. What makes her giggle uncontrollably? What brings stars to her eyes? What does she want to be when she grows up? Tell her she can be anything she dreams to be!

Dads, take time with your daughters. Show them that time with them is precious. Set a standard their future husband will need to follow. Don’t leave an example to chance, or allow the example to be absence.

Let them know work is second, that a career is just that, but family is everything. Let them know they can achieve anything, but let them know they don’t have to do great things for you to know they’re great. Tell them they are priceless while they still have ears to hear your compliments. Let your loving, tender praise be the norm rather than the exception.

Dads, take time with your daughters. Take time to lead them, guide them, correct them, discipline them, teach them. Love corrects wrongdoing, but loves despite it. Let them know your love isn’t based on good performance, but because of your love you model such a thing. Don’t leave discipline to the teacher, the pastor, the coach, or just to mom. Because even in discipline they will see love, and then they will see grace. Give them the example of grace.

Dads, take the time to comprehend the enormous impact you have in your child’s life. Understand you are their rock, their strength, their protection, and their first glimpse of what true love really means. You are the goodness they will see in the world, or you are the emptiness they will carry. You are the initial builder of confidence and the example of how to understand true beauty in the long term. You fill a place in their heart than no one else can, and if you don’t insert yourself into their life from the beginning, they will hold that empty spot for the rest of their life, never knowing why they feel like they do.

Take the time, dad, to see the task before you. It’s not just breadwinner or clog fixer. Your role is actually one of utmost importance. The thing is, you can kinda do it, like halfway work at it, and she will be ok. She’ll still grow in beauty and knowledge, but with your presence and attention she will actually flourish. Take the time, dads, to watch your daughters bloom, and realize that you had a hand in the lovely women they will become as you nourish them with your attention.

Take the time, dad, before the time is gone.

The Benefits of Having Babies in Your Forties

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I always knew I wanted children. When I was a little girl I played with baby dolls and nursed puny, infant animals to health and vigor. As I grew older my parents had more children, I was the perfect, built-in babysitter, and had a natural, easy way with little ones. But wanting babies one day and actually finding the right person to have them with are two different things. Sometimes finding the right formula (perfect time + intense desire x the correct baby daddy) can be difficult. So you find yourself like I was. Thirty years old, divorced, sitting in my parent’s spare bedroom alone with my cat, wondering what happened to my life.

Thankfully I did find love again, and it met all the right calculations. And even though we weren’t even kinda close to ready, we certainly became ready when the flame got turned up on high in the way of a positive pregnancy test and the baby that followed. We were madly in love with parenthood, and before we knew it we added a couple more ladies to our passel of girls. Fast forward ten years and the joy keeps growing each day.

This morning as I drove to work I thought about how happy I was with life, and as minds tend to do I pondered on the possibility of how things could have gone differently. What if I had married my college sweetheart (who’s my husband now) at nineteen when he first proposed, and then we had started our family straight away? I mean, I’m certain we would be extremely blessed and happy like we are today, but I’m not sure it would have been quite as sweet. Let me explain.

One thing that brought these thoughts to my mind this morning was the echoing words from my father-in-law. My in-laws had traveled into town to visit with us all week, and as we said our goodbyes last night he had taken my head in his hands, kissed my cheek, then looked intently in my eyes and said, “trust the Lord, and He will steer you in the right direction.”

I had smiled at his words, so true and full of love. Since his son and I had dedicated ourselves to following Jesus, life had taken on a fullness and even simplicity that it had never held before.

I responded to him, “it took us a while to get our heads screwed on straight, but I think we’re headed in the right direction now!”

Then he replied, “well, y’all certainly got it figured out sooner than it took us!”

I thought about all this as I drove to work this morning. My in-laws were awesome folks, and I couldn’t remember a time they weren’t amazing examples, but perhaps he had meant during the “tough years.” You know what I mean if you’re a parent. It’s those rocky, ever-changing years of young babies and sleepless nights. It’s those years that you beg the long day to hurry by, but look back and wonder why the months zoom by so cruelly. It’s those younger years, those tiring years of early parenting that show you what you and your marriage are made of. Sometimes you feel like passing ships in the night between colicky babies and the morning alarm for work. It’s so easy to get stressed beyond the max, it’s too easy to sweat the small stuff, too easy to miss the joy in the seemingly mundane, and so hard to simply enjoy the moment.

There was still a lot I had to learn in life, but looking back I was astounded at what the years had done to me. I had matured in ways I didn’t even realize I needed to mature in, and I had grown personally more than I could have ever fathomed.

I wish I could remember who said it, but I once read a quote that stated, “children don’t become tolerable to be around until about the age of thirty-eight.”

As a forty-something woman reading that, I had laughed, naturally, but more-so because of the truth it held. If only I knew at sixteen what I knew at twenty, and if only at twenty I realized the things I had figured out by thirty. But in all honesty, my life was a total disaster even then! I thought I was getting somewhere by thirty-two, but even reading a diary entry or blog post from when I was thirty-four makes me shake my head in shame. What is it about years and life experience that changes everything?! Isn’t it wonderful that we never stop learning the lessons life gives?!

Having the privilege of hindsight makes me think that I started a family precisely when I should have. I mean, I certainly can’t see my crazy, twenty-something self keeping anything alive for more than a week. I barely kept myself above ground. I wasn’t the epitome of good decisions, after all. But seriously, I’m grateful that I had my children later in life. It’s easy for me to see how raising babies at forty was best.

For one, I got all my wild oats sown, so to speak. By twenty I had already traveled out of the United States and even lived and gone to school abroad. By my mid-twenties I had served my country in a time of war, sailed across international waters, and totally (and finally) figured out what I wanted to do when I grew up!

I had partied myself into a stupor (too many times to count), blacked out, passed out, fell out, and whatever else you can think of. I had gotten arrested, done things in New Orleans that stayed in New Orleans, gone clubbing with Russian strangers who couldn’t speak English, and played Truth or Dare challenges we can’t even discuss in this forum. I popped pills I wasn’t 100 percent certain of their origin, drank flaming shots, and flashed strangers at a strip club. I’ll stop before I shatter anymore innocence. Suffice to say, I tried living life to the fullest by whatever means necessary at the moment. I’m no better for it, if anything I have regret, and you’ll never find me wondering if there’s more to life than what I see in front of me.

I’ve been the life of the party. Now I’m more content to quietly sit at home with my family. While there’s nothing wrong with going out with friends, that’s something I don’t even do. I did enough going out already to last me a lifetime. I don’t feel as if there are areas of life undiscovered for me, I don’t long for greener pastures. I’m content (abundantly so) with something as simple as a sunset, and I’m never so happy as when I watch my children play. I don’t feel like something is missing, or like I had my youth stolen from me. I don’t need to seek sweet release after a rough day at work; my best release is found in a hug from my three year old.

And then there’s my career. I had the privilege to attend college for a cumulative five years with no responsibility for anyone but myself. I was able to spend the time discovering my career path, the time to pursue my studies for it, and even the time to work extensively in my field. I was afforded the freedom to try different areas of my vocation to determine what suited me best, never feeling stuck in a position because I needed to support someone else. By the time I started a family I had found fulfillment in my career. I was able to fully devout myself to motherhood when I desired to do so, not because I had to out of necessity. I didn’t give up one for the other, and I never felt as if I did. I was able to embrace motherhood, feel confident and seasoned in my vocation when I went to the bedside, and not let one interfere with the other. I was able to separate the two, and more importantly, find peace and joy in each piece of my life.

But aside from traveling, being a prodigal child, and getting an education, I also went through the natural transition we all do as we age. I was able to grow in confidence and appreciate who I was as an individual. I was able to finally see that it didn’t matter what other people thought of me, how they did things, or how I performed in comparison. As I grew older I was able to see that God created me to be precisely me, and that I was perfect to Him. Utilizing this mindset made being a mother so much easier. I didn’t expect perfection, and especially not someone else’s idea of what that meant. I worried less and enjoyed more.

Being an older mom gives you a special perspective. You no longer worry about the little things, and you laugh easier. You can relax in your good credit score, financial stability, and stress-free life. Most of the time, anyway. Wink, wink.

Being an older mother opens your eyes to appreciate your own mom more, or in my case, the other women in my life who fill that role. I’m able to see how special it is to have family, their advice, and willingness to help. I don’t take a critique or correction/suggestion as a personal affront to my parenting style. I’m able to see the wisdom others have and not think I’m less for knowing less. Nowadays everyone gets so offended! But us forty-something mommas are just sitting here sipping our tea. Mmhmm.

I’d never say my way was the best way for someone else, but I do feel it was best for me. I can see precisely how beautiful parenthood has been to me as a middle aged woman. I appreciate my role so much, never taking it for granted. Is parenting still hard? Of course! But I never let that overshadow the blessing of it. I think that’s a perspective that’s easier to obtain with age.

Yes, being pregnant as an older woman was hard. Heck yeah, I’m tired. But then there’s how young I feel. Something about having babies in your forties is like a fountain of youth. In the past week I went down two killer water slides and gleefully screamed as I rode Orlando’s tallest, fastest, and longest roller coaster. My daughters keep me young, and most days I don’t feel “middle aged” like my years on earth proclaim. The benefits of having babies in my forties are too many to count. So, I just count my blessings instead.