Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

The Mess Won’t Keep

by 4 Comments

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

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

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

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

“The mess won’t keep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To the Moms in the Midst of a Pandemic

by

To All My Mom Friends,

You are doing great! Do you hear me? Great. Cut yourself some slack. None of the parenting books or websites ever prepared us for what we would face as mothers and fathers in 2020.

As a nurse serving on the frontlines of the COVID-19 pandemic, in a hard hit area, I’ve gotten a lot of messages from fellow mothers with questions and concerns. They always start with, “I’m sorry, I know you’re busy,” or “I’m sorry, I know you probably get a lot of these messages.”

First off, no apologies allowed. I’m honored to be asked, and the fact that you’re seeking and asking questions means you’re a phenomenal parent. Don’t feel guilty for being a conscientious mother who cares. You should be applauded.

Mothering is hard. It’s hard when they’re growing in your belly and you can’t see if they’re ok. It’s hard when they’re newborns and wake you up every two hours, so small, perfect, and incredibly needy. It’s hard when they’re older, craving independence, yet still needing your guidance. It’s hard whether you work full time or you stay home full time, as I’ve done both. The point is, it’s hard all the time, but I don’t think the worst of sleepless nights or the grumpiest of preteen moods could prepare us for the season we are in right now. It’s unprecedented. It’s unprecedented for healthcare, government, and the school system. It’s unprecedented for us.

As a mother we are responsible for the well-being, be it physical, mental, or emotional, of our offspring. That’s a challenge on any given day, but factor in a novel virus, well, that makes it an emotional rollercoaster. This pandemic has made us worry about our own health, the health of our aging parents, and the health of our checking accounts. Balance on top of that the worries inherent in motherhood, and you’re like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Where is Super Man to straighten that up?! Extra points for the middle aged moms who get the reference.

My point is, who wouldn’t question themselves during this time in our country? I mean, does anyone really know all the facts, the whole story, and all the legit answers?! But who questions themselves the most? Moms, of course. We not only want to parent the kiddos. We want to knock it out of the park. We want to not screw them up for life. And definitely not have them infected by a virus that we still don’t really understand.

Yesterday I took my seven year old and nine year old to the grocery store. It’s the first time they’ve been since March. I cleaned the shopping cart and put them inside it with little masks and instructions not to touch anything! I couldn’t keep them locked away forever, but I could be wise.

I knew some people would judge me for taking them out in public when I didn’t have to.

I knew other people would judge me for putting masks on them. They would say I was living in fear, but that wasn’t the case at all. I was living as a mom, in the middle of a pandemic, the best way I knew how.

As a nurse mom, working at the hospital bedside, I understood the seriousness of this virus, and that is why other moms asked me for advice. At the end of the day, though, I realized we’re all the same. I may have seen tragedy related to this virus that I can’t forget, and that tragedy affects my parenting decisions, but in the end we are all doing the best we can in an uncertain, ever-changing situation. Here are some tips I’ve tried to adopt and pass along. They are kingdom minded thought processes that guide my actions.

First, drop the mom guilt. Don’t feel too bad for your child. This is something you’re going through as well. At least my daughters don’t have to keep people alive. Lol. I’m just saying, it’s ok if you don’t get this right, because who really knows what that is. Feel like you overreacted about something? It’s cool. Just start fresh tomorrow. His mercies are new every morning.

Two, understand this is just a season. This isn’t forever. This sucks, but we will get through it. There will always be next summer. There will be another dance recital, ballgame, or birthday party. If it makes you feel more at peace to be the “mean mom” then be the best mean mom on the block. Say no. They will live.

Next, let’s talk about the things they legit are missing. Graduation was a big one for some of my friends. Prom. Senior year events. Like I said before, this really sucks, but it is a season. This whole existence in these failing, human bodies here on earth is a season. We are here today and gone tomorrow. So when we stand before Jesus can we be content with our actions? Did we carry ourselves in a kind, caring manner? Did we model for our children compassion, teaching them to care more for the health of others than themselves? Did we place too much importance on worldly, temporal things, or did we value relationships and actions of love?

In a world where personal freedom ranks higher in our home than compassionate servanthood to our fellow man, we might need to re-evaluate our perspective. We want to be more concerned about the state of our children’s souls, the souls of their friends, than we are the perfect pictures of an event they won’t remember in the long run. Let’s build their spirits, rather than their resumes. Told you this would be kingdom-minded content.

I think we’re in a fluid situation. Heck, I think we’re in end times. I think we have to get to a place where we can take things one day at a time. The Lord told me recently that this stuff going on in our world is too heavy. We can’t carry the weight of tomorrows, just the weight of today. We have to daily seek the Lord for what is right on that given day.

Do you feel comfortable taking them to a busy store? Great. You do what feels comfortable for your family. Just be wise. Be humble. Be kind. Be selfless.

Do you feel like public school isn’t safe right now? You’re not alone. Welcome to homeschooling. You can do this!

Do you worry about their socialization? It’s ok. I worry about my own. I miss talking to strangers and showing them the love of Jesus. This is just a season. Children are resilient, and we will all get through this.

Are you overly worried? Hang in there, my friend. I would encourage you not to trust in horses and chariots, but trust in the Lord who saves. Let Him place a hedge of protection around your family.

Are you not concerned at all, and you feel like this thing has been blown way out of proportion? That’s okay, too. No one said we must always agree. Just please understand if my family is hesitant to get out and run through the games at Chuck E. Cheese with y’all right now. We’re still wiping everything down with Lysol and washing our hands. We’re both just moms trying to make our way through a crazy world. I pray we can hang out when all this ends.

Here’s the thing. No one likes 2020, but we still have a ways to go. Let’s cut each other some slack. Let’s cut ourselves some slack. Let’s cut our kids some slack. Life is too short to sweat the small stuff, the big stuff, or even the unprecedented stuff. Let’s just do the best we can for each day and let God sort out the rest.

Praying for us all,

A fellow mom doing the best she can

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

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something I Learned When My Daughter Got Sick

by

I am naive when it comes to dealing with sick children. Sure, I’m a nurse, but I haven’t dealt with pediatrics since a Nursing Clinical in 2002. Yet even if I was used to working with sick kids, I don’t think it would have had any bearing on this issue, because the sick kid ended up being my own.

It’s easier not to worry about the worse case scenario when the child belongs to someone else, but when they’re your child, it changes everything. I’m thankful Jesus took the wheel for me yesterday when my nine year old began having an unexpected seizure. That’s the only explanation I have for not totally freaking out. I mean, they tell me at work that I’m totally calm in the face of chaos and everyone loves my extra chill demeanor when crap goes down, but this was totally different. It was different because the patient was my baby. My children have never been sick, hospitalized, or on any kind of medicine other than a week long antibiotic, so this was new for me.

I realize that the Lord often utilizes trying situations to draw people closer to Him. I mean, I’ve seen it time and time again, when calamity strikes, folks hit their knees. When tragedy falls, people finally look up. In the face of an uncontrollable situation, that is when God’s children usually cry out in earnest petition and pleading prayer. Even in my own past, I can think of a terrible situation leading me back to Jesus. I had fallen away from listening to the Lord, and it wasn’t until I was faced with an unexpected divorce that I cried out in surrender for His help. I had not heard His voice in my life in many years, but at that (my) lowest point I did. In retrospect, I realize I simply wasn’t listening very well until then.

This morning when I woke up in the hospital bed, cuddled up to my little girl, I found worried thoughts had returned. I had naturally experienced them the day before in the ambulance, the Emergency Room, and later hospital room as we waited for answers. Yet each time worries came, I was able to combat them with truth. This morning I wondered about why they had not done a scan of her head. My medical mind told me it was because the chance of it being anything other than a genetic cause was slim, and that made a CT not necessary. But my human heart worried for things like tumors or the dreaded ‘C’ word which I had to push from my mind.

As I sat up drinking coffee and thinking in the quiet, dim hospital room, I realized I was grateful for that auto pilot I had mentioned earlier. My husband and I agreed we had both been moved through the day before by the Spirit, and I knew it was Spirit and Truth that helped me answer the hard questions with wisdom that my young, confused daughter asked of me.

I had several times in my stress yesterday where I wanted to pull out my Bible and read God’s Word. Several times where I wanted to seek His wisdom through prayer. But there was always something going on, people coming in, tests being done, my daughter needing my assistance. By the time we finally settled down for the night my eyes were seeing double, and even though I cracked my Bible open to Zechariah and then John, I could barely focus on the words.

This morning I was grateful that I didn’t wait until personal illness struck my family to seek Him. It’s hard to seek Jesus in the middle of a storm. But for me, I found that I could feel Him in the midst of the tumultuous waves and thundering roar. The fiery trial attempted to consume me when I watched my baby convulse, and later when I tried to help console her steady tears. Yet I could see Jesus in the fire with me, just like the people who looked down in the fiery furnace where three Hebrew men were tossed saw Him.

When she asked me tough questions, God spoke wisdom and truth to me through His Word that popped up in my mind. When I felt worried, His Spirit soothed me. When I wanted to be angry (and say things I’d regret) for hospital policy that said my husband couldn’t be in the room with us, the Fruit of the Spirit prevailed. When my emotions were more than I could handle, His comfort covered me like a blanket. Faith prevailed, fear was abolished, and I saw my daughter also miraculously change from being scared to pieces to speaking the most mature knowledge and spirit-led prayers. We didn’t have to seek Him for truth, comfort, and wisdom in the midst of our situation. We simply walked in what we already knew and held in our hearts, and I can’t explain how much of a blessing it was to have this occur!

I would encourage anyone reading this post right now to understand that you don’t need to wait until a struggle occurs to ask the Lord to get you through it. I think that would be really hard. Much harder than it has to be. I would encourage you to seek Him in the calm. Seek Him in the ordinary, in the seemingly perfect. Don’t wait to seek Him when things fall apart; seek Him now. I read the Bible every day, and I didn’t always do this. I was almost forty years old before I began to daily saturate myself with scripture. So, please understand I don’t come to you from some “perfect Christian” place. There’s no such thing! I simply wish to impart what I have learned.

By taking in God’s Word daily, praying continuously, and thereby investing in my relationship with Him, I was more able to deal with stress and uncertainty when it came my way. I was grateful for the scripture that flooded my thoughts. It soothed me. I was grateful for the prayers of so many saints, but I was also thankful that I didn’t feel dependent on their prayers. I knew my Father heard me. He’s used to my voice. We slipped easily into conversation when I needed His voice the most. This doesn’t happen overnight, but rather through persistent time with Him. You never know when tragedy will strike, but when it does, you will want an open, easily accessible, and comfortable line of communication with Christ. For me, I found I was at the end of myself. I could barely find the way to walk upright, much less hear the whisper of a voice if I did not know what to listen for. My gift through all of this was my connection to Jesus.

I am thankful for the hospital, the fine doctors and nurses, and modern medicine. I’m thankful for our wonderful family and friends. I’m abundantly thankful for my strong husband. But above all, I’m thankful for Jesus. He held this momma up, so I was able to hold my baby up. If I learned anything through this illness of epilepsy so far, it is how blessed I am to have someone walking through the fire with me. I depend on the presence of my wonderful spouse so much, but yesterday a fever kept him from being able to be with us. Yet even in Ben’s absence, I had a solid rock to stand on. I had a tower of refuge and strength, and that Spirit helped me help my child. I watched that same Spirit transform her mind. I am grateful that in a difficult situation, when seeking the Lord would have been hard, I did not have to look far for Him. I only had to look for Him in me.

Why Do Bad Things Happen?

by

I feel surreal right now. There’s been a lot of that lately, I suppose. I mean, I know I’m not the only one who looks around at masked men and empty store shelves and thinks, “is this real life?” The last three months have felt more like a SciFi movie. But even more than the craziest day of pandemic pandemonium, today I feel like I’m in a haze. As I sit in a very uncomfortable hospital recliner, watching my daughter sleep, through my own grainy eyes, I feel off kilter. Was that really me that lowered my seizing daughter to the floor this morning? It seems like something that happened in a dream.

This morning my nine year old had a grand mal seizure. She was napping on my lap, when suddenly I felt something and looked down. Her body was clenched tight and stiff, her muscles tensed up, and her whole body shaking vigorously. Her eyelids half open, and her eyes rolled back.

I called her name, even though I knew she wouldn’t answer. “Chloe!!!” I screamed.

It turns out she heard that part, but she told me it sounded like a whisper. The music that had been playing was barely audible to her, she had relayed. Later, in the ER, she said she was trying to sit up when she heard me, but she couldn’t move.

When I say I lowered her to the floor, that sounds graceful. I think it was more of a klutzy descent. I threw us down to the ground, more likely, and turned her to the side as I’d always been taught. As I turned my slobbering, seizing baby on her side, stroked her hair, and whispered reassurances, the familiarity of the situation didn’t go unnoticed. I had been the same age when my mother witnessed me having a grand mal seizure. I prayed, “no satan, this ends with me. This curse does not follow my daughter.”

I can’t believe I had the clarity to look at my watch when it started, but I did. I was so happy when her convulsions stopped just before two minutes, and I kept wiping her tears off her face while repeating, “momma’s here, you’re gonna be ok.”

She was seemingly unresponsive at first, but a mild knuckle rub of her sternum caused her eyelids to flutter. I smiled at that small victory. Within five minutes she could tell me in a slurred voice where she was, and by the time I got into the back of the ambulance I could see her perking up. I could tell because she looked scared.

She cried most of the ambulance ride to Orlando Health’s Pediatric Hospital, and I prayed with her for God to help her be brave. I guess that prayer was for me too.

They decided to admit her and have attached her to a continuous EEG monitor to watch the electrical activity of her brain. It was all so familiar. The gel and electrodes, even the strobe light test in her face. I wanted to call my mom so bad and ask her, “how did you deal with this when it was me,” but I couldn’t. That made me cry, but I waited until she was asleep.

In the ER she asked me if God knew this would happen, and I answered yes. Then she asked if He knew, then why He let it happen? I was reminded of this verse.

John 9: 1-3

As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

I told Chloe that He let it happen so He could show His power by healing her, that she could have a testimony like mine. I was miraculously healed of epilepsy. After taking medication three times a day since eight years of age, I was totally healed of my seizure disorder. If you’ve never heard that story, you can read it here.

I have had the opportunity to share my testimony of healing with every EMT, doctor, nurse, and tech we’ve encountered since we arrived. It’s easy when I have to give the significance of my history in light of her situation.

At one point a doctor said, “so it just went away, then?”

And Chloe interrupted, “no, Mom, you were healed!”

She was very confused in the ambulance. Imagine the last thing you remember is feeling weird, your hearing being almost gone, and you can’t move, then waking up in an ambulance. In the ER she was frightened, but now she feels better. She told me, “thank you for making me feel brave and not afraid.”

I told her it was all Jesus. He’s certainly holding me, and I’m grateful for that. I still feel like I could cry again, but I also feel God’s hand. I am grateful that we are right where we need to be. I wasn’t sure in November of this last year why I felt so certain that we needed to take a permanent job in Florida. We all loved the travel nurse life! When COVID came and travel jobs became scarce, unless you wanted NYC, I knew God’s will had placed us in a secure place. For the past two years we’ve been without traditional health insurance. With super healthy children and great health ourselves, it was easy to forgo the coverage, but I find that when we really need it, here it is. I am constantly in awe of God’s goodness to us. All I know is God is unchanging, and His goodness to us remains.

I will keep you all updated at this proceeds, and I look forward to telling you how God has used it for good. I covet your prayers. I am tired and very emotional. Ben and I are separated during this. He had a 100.0 temp, either due to rushing here in Central FL heat or a current tooth infection being treated with antibiotics, but regardless he wasn’t allowed to come inside the hospital. No children under 18 allowed either. I’m super grateful for FaceTime and Video Messenger. I’m also thankful for all the prayers already given, the hands laid on Chloe (in person and in Spirit), and the wonderful support of family and our church.

The Gift of Giggles and Gal Time

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gulp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God’s Word for Your Challenging Child

by

I watched the rise and fall of her small chest, and I noted her tiny, bird-like frame. She reminded me of myself as a child. Tiny, petite, frail. I had spent most of her childhood pushing away worries of broken bones or illness, since even a stomach bug made her look like she was at death’s door. Who could forget the purple lips and labored breathing that accompanied her first bout with vomiting, and the antsy anxiety of the provider who saw her that day. I don’t think either of us expected the happy, waving tot who waddled out of that office an hour later, following some good ole phenergan gel. Point being, a part of me always worried for her physically, even as I knew the Lord held her, but that wasn’t what dominated my heartfelt prayers for her this morning.

I thought back to the night before, her torrent of tears, the way I stroked her blond hair while whispering softly, “it’s ok, baby.”

It wasn’t the first time she broke down with emotion, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. She cried when she was sad, happy, scared, or regretful. Her tears fell easily, but it wasn’t simply show. She felt each emotion, and she felt them deeply. She always had. I worried about that.

“Give me wisdom, Lord,” I prayed.

It certainly wasn’t the first time I uttered that particular plea to God. One of my biggest worries for this child (beyond any anxiety I held for my other daughters) was that I’d mess it up big time. I mean, I worried about that for all my children, but especially the sweet, special soul before me. God had a plan for her life. I just knew it.

She was sensitive like me. Over-sensitive, even. She was a mercy gift like her father. She loved others, like us both, and her servant heart made me smile. I knew the Lord had made her sweet spirit to empathize with others, but still, nights like last night made me worry. Feeling her racking tears shake her little body. Wiping away salty sobs again and again. It was those concerns that flooded me while I kissed her forehead before leaving for work, depositing not just the brush of my lips, but my most heartfelt intercession also.

It was at that moment, as I looked at her light and airy beauty, in contrast to the heaviness of my heart, that a verse came to mind.

Romans 8:28 (NIV) And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who[a] have been called according to his purpose.

I knew the Lord meant this word for my girl. I often questioned if her particular character traits were God-instilled, or if perhaps (and maybe that’s the deep, dark part of all moms) I had done something in her upbringing to cause such fragile emotions. Yes, I worried I had wrecked things, and continued to wreck things, even though I knew I hadn’t and wasn’t. But with the Lord’s truth, I knew it didn’t really matter one way or the other. Whether the world or the spirit drove her tender heart, it was our Father in Heaven who guided her life. He would (and could) use all circumstances for her good. The outcome didn’t rest solely on my thin, human shoulders. He could work with a mustard seed, and He could certainly work with my faltering attempts at motherhood. He could work with her kind heart, shining His light through it, and His truth could shatter any lies the world tried to pepper into her mind.

It isn’t always easy raising an emotional, anxious child. It can be frustrating dealing with a hyperactive, easily distracted child. It is hard letting the reins loose for a physically fragile, or easily ill child. But despite the difficulties, one thing is true. Christian parents do not parent alone. That’s a relief! But the even better news? Despite it all, the Lord will work all things for the good of His children. Because, you see, my daughter isn’t just my girl. She’s His too.

I Love My Children, But…

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Mom. Watch this!”

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

Crickets.

“Wow. That’s awesome,” I say.

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

Oh.

Yeah.

Me.

Dang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Pajama Lesson

by

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.

A Letter to the Woman Who Wants a Better Husband

by

To Desperately Praying Wives Everywhere,

Marriage isn’t what you imagined it to be, huh? I get it.

I remember being a young woman, daydreaming about building a family with the perfect guy. Maybe you too imagined how the Christmas cards would look, matching red pajamas, and beaming babies. Or you pictured sitting at the large, mahogany dining table together, sweet smiles, grateful bellies, an aura of well-earned pride over the most tender potroast ever. Sitting in the den, cuddled on the couch together, the doting children at your feet, a blazing fire crackling.

You didn’t ever see yourself screaming as you set up the auto-timer on your camera, “I said look this way! Smile or so help me, God!”

As your hurriedly tell your honey goodnight, taking your turn to tuck in exhausted kids at the end of another monotonous day, you realize, life is nothing like romance novels.

“It’s your turn,” you grumble to your spouse, in reference to the sink full of stained Corelle (the only dishes the children don’t consistently break), the aftermath of being a short-order cook for picky eaters.

Did anyone even say, thank you?!

It’s hardly ever movie night. No, it’s crying over homework right up until bedtime. It’s envying your partner as he dozes off in his recliner.

He could sleep through a tsunami!

It’s picking up the same mess, waiting in the car line at the elementary school. It’s taking off work for another doctor appointment, or leaving early to make the soccer game. It’s packing lunches, scraping together a fast meal, and telling your husband, “not tonight, hon. I feel all bloated.”

All you know is, it’s nothing like you imagined at all. You wanted a regular date night. Not a peck on the cheek as you scurry past one another on a rushed Monday morning.

“Do you know where I put my keys, dear?!” He says.

Sometimes you feel like no one could find their own butt if you didn’t tell them where God put it!

The next thing you know you’re angry about towels in the floor and balled up socks under the couch.

Does anyone know there’s a thing called a laundry basket?!

You find yourself easily annoyed over tiny nuisances.

Like, why does he put all his crap on the mantle?! It’s not his personal junk table!

Why is it every time you go in the bathroom, the hand towel is on the floor?!

You end up feeling like you. Do. Everything. Like, if you didn’t hold this family together, the whole thing would spin out of control. You work, pick up the children, make supper, clean house, help with homework, give baths, read bedtime stories, say prayers. Then it starts all over again the next day!

Maybe if he could just carry his fair share of the load!

Your marriage becomes more like a competition, and you are certain you bear the heavier burden. You keep a scorecard instead of a prayer journal. You allow one bitter thought to lead into another. A mound of discontent forms, threatening to topple and crush you both.

You become short-tempered, easily perturbed, getting snippy before you can even stop yourself. He responds back with anger, and then the silent treatment ensues.

This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

So, I’m going to offer you some advice, my friend, something I learned through much trial and error. I’m going to tell you how to get a better husband.

Are you ready?

Wait for it…

The way to get a better husband is to become a better wife.

What?! I know what you’re thinking. He’s the one that needs to change, right? He needs to help more around the house, be a better listener, hang out with the kids more!

Well, this might be an unpopular opinion, but I think the best bet for a better marriage is to take the focus off what your partner is doing wrong, and instead focus on what you can do better. Your nagging and obvious discontent can change very little, but your persistent prayer can change a lot. I’ve found that the more I seek to serve my spouse, the more he serves me in return. You can change no man, but the Lord has softened more hearts than you can count. Seek the Lord often, and follow scripture for the kind of wife that pleases God. Everything we do in this life should be to His glory and service, and therefore my marriage is my ministry. I strive to show my spouse love like Jesus would do, and I’ve found that since I began this work, my marriage has been abundantly blessed.

My spouse serves me in love, and neither of us waste time on what the other isn’t doing. Our relationship is a partnership, but we don’t bother with keeping score. Instead of ensuring it’s an equal 50/50 relationship, we simply give 100% of ourselves to the marriage. It’s not a contest, it’s a team, and we don’t bother with whose turn it is to sprint. We just keep pace together.

I discovered that selfishness is the saboteur of marriage. When we focus on who we think is giving more (which is usually ourselves), we become blinded by lies from the enemy. Seeds of discontent are sown, we forgo forgiveness, and grace is a goner. But if we can let go of the things that aren’t important, instead focusing on the love we share, we can calmly and clearly see our spouse’s heart for us.

So, if you’re that desperately praying wife, beating your head against the wall for how to make your man be a better husband, perhaps the answer isn’t found in him. Perhaps it’s found in you. I know it’s found in Jesus.

Start today. Begin to see your marriage as a ministry to the Lord. Serve your spouse like you’re serving Jesus, and watch as the Lord begins to bless your life. Surrender your spouse to God, and you just do you. The Lord will sort out the rest. You’ll see.

Signed,

A Passionately Praying Wife Whose Prayers Were Answered