Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

The Pajama Lesson

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My nine year old got a few, new pairs of pajamas for Christmas. In fact, I asked people, when they inquired of me, to get them for her as a gift. Cause every kid loves clothes, right?! But seriously, she needed them, like, really bad needed them. So, boy, was I excited to see them rolling in at gift unwrapping time. One pair was especially adorable, and when she put them on they looked so cute I made one of those “ahhhh” sounds to emphasize my approval. She was grinning, too, so I assumed her stamp was given. She ran around all night, looking adorable in her striped, raccoon-icorn pj’s, but when bedtime came and she exited from the bathroom I was not prepared for her nighttime attire. There she was, smiling ear to ear, sporting her ratty, mismatched slumber wear. Do what?!

See, that’s why we had gotten her new pajamas, and I explained as much as I tucked her in the covers.

“These pajamas are super old,” I said. “I got you new ones so you don’t have to wear the same ones every night!”

Yes, she had worn them every night for as long as I could remember. They weren’t just her favorite; they were the only pair she’d wear. If she couldn’t find them, sometimes, it was a huge deal. She would search frantically for those ratty, worn-out pajamas. She did not think she could sleep without them.

“Why aren’t you wearing your new pajamas?” I asked.

She pulled at the thin, terry cloth fabric, covered in unicorns, and she answered, “cause they’re not comfy like these.”

She went on to explain in a variation of adjectives why her old ones were so stretchy, “bendy,” and easy to fall asleep in, and at that point I realized another reason she didn’t want to let them go.

Security.

See, for whatever reason, a year ago she began to fear going to sleep. Sure, a lot of children don’t like going to sleep, but my girl’s became a huge, irrational fear. She worried that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. Or she worried she wouldn’t stay asleep. It seems that at some point she woke up in the middle of the night, it was dark, and she got scared. And once the fear started, she couldn’t get past it to fall back asleep. She was immobilized from even going back to sleep, and after that she worried it would happen again. It didn’t matter that a year had gone by and she never had a problem again. She slept like a rock, but that didn’t mean as much in the face of fear.

At the beginning of her bedtime scare, we initiated a more solid routine. We did pajamas right at the time of sleep, we brushed teeth, we said our prayers, she watched a little bit of soothing, nature documentary with her dad to settle for the night. Before we realized it, this bedtime routine became a required ritual. She felt it necessary to hit each step. If I fell asleep (on my work nights) before her without praying for her, she would wake me up to pray. We explained that my prayers didn’t hold any more weight than her own, but she persisted that I had to be the one to pray with her. She spoke the same words in her prayer every night. The script, as much as the act of prayer, gave her comfort. I realized, after a year of wearing these pajamas every, single night (we laundered them regularly) she had built them into her much-needed routine. She felt like she needed those exact pajamas to sleep well.

I recognized that we all had our own pair of safety pajamas. And when I say pajamas, I don’t just mean pajamas. I mean that we all have routines, comfort zones, and certain people or things that make us feel secure. The bad part is those items in our life have no more power than some unicorn sleeping pants, but we give them a place of power when we allow them to keep us from moving forward into something better, or into the future God has for us.

How many women stay with an abusive man who has convinced her she cannot do better in life? I once spoke with a prostitute who remained under the thumb of her pimp because she felt that was the best she could do in life. She didn’t believe she deserved better.

How many men stay in a relationship where they are belittled and beat down?

How many of us stay in a job we hate? I can remember saying “better is the devil you know than the one you don’t.” I get it.

How many of us hate where we live, but are afraid to move somewhere new?

What about your career? I dreamed of being an actress on Broadway, but I let someone in my life convince me it wasn’t realistic to pursue, that I needed to go find a “real” job. So now, I just sing show-tunes to my intubated patients.

Yes, it’s good that I’m a nurse, but what I’m saying is, how often do we miss out on the best life for us and our families because we’re afraid to change pajamas? You see what I mean? Sometimes it’s easier to stay stuck in a routine we don’t really love, and that routine becomes a crutch. In fact, it becomes an albatross, or a millstone around our neck. It holds us down from enjoying the new gift we’ve been given, and we miss out on the fact that the new stuff may fit us even better than we could have ever imagined.

Well, I will report that she’s still wearing those old, ratty pj’s. The new ones are sitting in her drawer, still, but I’m hopeful that we can show her the truth. The truth is, change is scary, but it also brings blessing. Allowing fear to keep us from stepping out into the new, it only hurts us in the long run. We all could use a reminder of that. So, here’s to a new year of new things, new changes, new courage, and new confidence. I hope we all can embrace the new.

If Men Only Knew

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“If men only knew.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only men knew.

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

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

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

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.

What God Would Say to the Woman Who’s Not Enough

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Most of us women, at one time or another, feel as if we’re not enough, like we’re lacking some fundamental trait that will magically transform us into the women we wish to be. Not a patient enough mother, or perhaps you’re a wife who suffers to serve. We desire to be that mighty woman of God, to get it right at least every now and again. A fight with our spouse, or a harsh, thoughtless word screamed in frustration at our children prove to us where we have fallen short once again. If only we could be the kind of friend our girlfriends need, or have the time and energy to volunteer at church. If only we could keep the kitchen clean, laundry basket empty, or keep up with our graying roots like other moms seem to do.

We see our Facebook friends dressing trendy, our Instagram idols redecorating their homes. The lady next door doesn’t have trash falling out of the backseat of her minivan, and the mom of four at church, her kids are always so well behaved! A condescending look at the grocery store, the well-intentioned yet hurtful advice from an older woman at church, and the thoughtless comment from your husband all cement the idea that you need to step it up. You need to change, improve, work on you!

Wash your face, wipe your eyes, and work on you! Make time for yourself, yet cherish time with your children, time that is fleeting, and that you’re constantly reminded passes too quickly. How does that work?!

You’ll miss this, they say, all while taking afternoon naps themselves that you can’t personally enjoy.

So you strive to do better. You endeavor to be a Proverbs 31 woman, even though you feel like a Prozac 24/7 kinda gal. If you feel depressed you must not be godly enough, so back to the drawing board for you. Watch your weight, exercise, pray, repeat. Count backwards from ten, take your vitamins, and drink more water. Go out with your girlfriends, read a book, take time for yourself. Stay attractive for your spouse, serve him in love, and give him the affection you yourself feel like you’re lacking. Be in the mood, even if you’re not. Meal prep, crockpot, freezer meals. Keto, Paleo, Weight Watchers, Hello Fresh. So much advice, yet so little time. I don’t know about you, but I just want to not be tired anymore, and to wake up without a sore neck and back. Also, why am I anxious about nothing at all?!

Being a woman is hard, but working to be the woman you think you should be is even harder. It’s not easy being everything for everyone, yet still feeling like you’re not enough. Not good enough, pretty enough, young enough, thin enough, strong enough, happy enough. You’re not everyone’s cup of tea, sure, but maybe you just want to be the cup you yourself could enjoy. You want to be the mother your children deserve, the wife your husband desires, and the woman God needs you to be. Why is it so hard?!

Well, take a breath and listen. This is what God would say to you today.

Stop! Don’t work on you. Work on knowing me better. Stop striving to be the “mighty woman of God” you think you should be, and instead simply rest in who I have created you to be.

I don’t want you to be like her. I created you to be you. The things you see as flaws, I put those there. I thoughtfully formed your crooked nose and short legs. And even the flaws that the world has harshly placed upon you, I can work with those too. Don’t doubt what I can do.

The world will say you are not enough. Even my other children will tell you that is so. Satan will whisper lies so stealthy you will think they are truth, but I promise you this. You can only find my truth in my Word. If it’s not in the Bible, then it’s not for you to believe.

Stop seeking self-improvement, and instead seek my face. Spend time with me. Pour over my truths in scripture, and let that truth flood your soul. Allow it to take over your thoughts so that when lies from the enemy come, because they will, you can overpower them with who I say you are.

Stop working on being better, and start being better in me. Remember that my strength is in your weakness, that you have been made perfect in me, that I am in you, and you are in me. Together, there is no lack. There is always enough.

You are what I say you are, and you are enough. You can rest in my perfect peace, knowing the plans I have for you, plans for a wonderful future.

Stop fighting battles I have already won. Stop waging war on yourself. I take it personally. I created the stars in the sky, ones you cannot even see, ones that shine so fiercely they are blinding up close, but you are still my most precious creation. Just as you are. Stop trying to alter my design.

Stop planning to do better, and simply follow my path I have laid out for you. You cannot see it for your own anxieties of becoming lost. When you feel lost, go back to my map. Read the words there in red. They tell you the way.

Stop working on being a better you, and focus on residing in me. I am your safe place. I can block out the whispers that say you’re not enough. There’s nothing wrong with desiring to be a better you, except when you begin to think you alone hold the key to change. Only I can change hearts, and only in me will you find the completeness you desire. Stop trying to be everything, and rest in the fact that I already am. In me you have fullness of life. In me, you are already enough.

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.