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I love my birthday. I love my birthday much more as an adult than I ever did as a child, and I really loved it as a child.
My birthday is the 4th of July, which means it’s shared with everyone in the USA. The great part is that most people have the day off and are expecting a party. The bad part is, well, I guess there is no bad part. It’s a great day to have a birthday.
When I was little we always had a party with barbecue chicken, potato salad, and cake. My mom made the best cakes. I usually requested white cake with strawberry filling and she’d cover it in butter cream that would melt in your mouth. She made the most beautiful roses from butter cream and she’d put them all over my cake. They were almost too pretty to eat. Almost.
I don’t make barbecue chicken anymore. Mostly because no one in my family like barbecue sauce. I make a cake, although this year I made a pound cake. But we still party. We invite friends and family and we just enjoy the day.
I think the enjoyment part is why I love my birthday so much. There was a time, 17 years ago, when I thought I would never feel joy again. In the months after my mom’s suicide I slipped into a place so dark and engulfing that I wasn’t sure I’d ever make it out. My life was in danger and I didn’t know how to climb out.
God is good though. He picked me up from the mire and I am not just surviving but I am living. I am blessed beyond measure with a loving husband and precious children. I have great friends who love me and stand with me every day. God is using me to bless others.
My birthday stands as a reminder to me that God is faithful and loving and that I matter to him. It is an anniversary of life and life is a gift. It’s a gift that shouldn’t be squandered, which is why I strive every day to be the woman God has created me to be. I want to learn and grow and know more about who he is. I want to experience his love richly and I want to share that love with others. And if that means I have a kick-off party each year that includes sparklers and cake…then it’s all the sweeter.

I knew this girl when I was little who was being raised by a single mom. This was scandalous in our small town as there weren’t that many single moms. Actually there were probably a lot more than I realized but within my very small town I lived in a small bubble that included my elementary school and my Southern Baptist church. Hence the scandal… that may have only existed in my own head.
Anyway, this girl was beautiful. She had naturally curly hair and dark, smooth skin. And by dark I mean darker than mine, which is about 92.3% of the entire world. She had long, feathery eye lashes that batted over deep brown eyes. And she had the Barbie Dream House. And Barbie Corvette. And all the Barbies. All. Of. The. Barbies.
I had Barbies. I had a Barbie Town Home. I was not at all Barbie deprived. But in my head, this girl had all the Barbies and I really wanted to be her friend so I could play with her Barbies. I’ve been shallow for a long time.
So one day I finally scored an invitation to her house for a play date. Although they weren’t called play dates in the early 80’s. I don’t think there was a name for the playing. It was just playing. I wore what I felt was about my coolest outfit and my mom drove me over to her house. I brought a Barbie of my own, you know, just in case we needed a spare, and it’s a good thing I did. What I didn’t know was that a play date with this girl meant that you go to her house and watch her play. I was not allowed to touch anything. Not the Barbie Dream House or anything inside. Not the Barbie Corvette. Not any of the Barbies. It was maybe the worst play date ever. And to make it worse, her mom checked in on us several times, saw what was happening, and did nothing.
Flash forward 30 years.
My daughter invited a sweet friend over for a sleepover. They swam, ate dinner, watched cartoons, and got ready for bed. I poured a glass of wine. Went out on the back porch and put my feet up. Suddenly I see my daughter at the back door and she’s crying.
“My friend wants to go home. You need to text her mom.”
I was so confused. They had been laughing and playing and having a swell time the whole evening. How could things have gone so terribly wrong that I was going to now ask this girls mom to get out of her pajamas, put on a bra, and drive to my house to retrieve her child?
It turns out that the friend had touched my daughters things. Her precious junk stacked ever so hoardingly on her dresser had been touched and knocked over and then, in a manner that can only be described as cuckoo, my daughter had shamed her friend and made her feel no longer welcome in our home.
This is where I flashed back to the Barbie play date.
How did I raise a kid that can’t share? She has a little brother.She went to preschool before elementary. She’s a Girl Scout. I thought I’d put her through all the sharing courses.
Apparently not.
She was so angry and tried so hard to justify her behavior that my head was spinning as I listened to her. I tell you what…parenting should really come with a better hand book.
Since that night, we’ve had several other eye opening experiences where I’ve seen that sharing and cooperating with peers is not her strong suit. My mind is blowing because she’s so sweet in most situations. Situations that don’t involve her stuff. She prays for others on a regular basis. She knows the Golden Rule by heart and has scriptures about loving others posted on sticky notes all over her room. Apparently you just aren’t allowed to touch them.
Knowing what to do and actually doing it are often two very different things. Paul even wrote about it in the Bible so I know this isn’t a new problem for this generation. It’s yet another matter of the heart that I have to wrestle and teach her how to wrestle. That’s what parenting is, right? I can’t wrestle it for her but I’m going to need to coach her through it. I have to help her see that this is a battle worth gearing up for because you have to know how to be a friend before you can have friends.
And having a Barbie Dream House is more fun if you have someone else to play with.

A few years back we made the decision at our church to move the wildly popular day time VBS to night time. We invited the entire family to be a part of it. We served dinner. We offered a class for adults.
You would have thought we were suggesting a sacrifice of puppies on the alter.
“Why would you KILL something so good?”
“Why do you HATE the children?”
“Who do you think you are, changing our ways?”
These are only a few of the responses we got with this decision. They came in the form of phone calls, emails, text messages, Facebook messages, stops in the grocery store, with lunch invitations, and my favorite…a drive up to my front door. Yep, someone drove to my house, knocked on my door, and, in front of my children, asked me why I hate kids.
It wasn’t easy and I questioned the decision at least a million times. The thing I kept going back to is that if we say we are a church that values families then we have to invest in families. If we say that we want to bring families together for the benefit of the Kingdom of God then we have to create environments for families to be together. If we say we want parents to be spiritual leaders in the home then we have to give them the tools to take the leadership out of the hands of the church.
And sometimes, not always, but sometimes, you have to get rid of something that is really good to make room for something else really good. The sucky part is that some people didn’t measure “really good” on the same score card I felt God had required me to start using. The change was slow. It was four years slow.
There were a few people on board from day one. Thank God for those people because I would’ve thrown in the towel when the first mom yelled at me. There were a few people that came on shortly after. I thank God for them because it was a sign that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. There were a lot more people that took a lot more time and, well, I thank God for them, too.
This year was wild. And by wild I mean running out of tostadas and kids dancing in the aisles wild. Which brings me to the moment I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God had led our team down this path for a reason.
On the first day of VBS this year I got a call from a woman at a local shelter for abused women. The women at this particular shelter are fresh from abusive situations. Most have taken their babies and what they could carry and no more. They have no where else to go. The woman at the shelter told me that they had 4 women with several children that they wanted to bring to our VBS. They couldn’t pay us and couldn’t promise that they’d be back. There was no question. Bring them all.
I won’t lie and say I didn’t hesitate when I found that some of the kids coming were teens. Our VBS uses teens as group leaders and helpers and I wasn’t quite sure where I would plug these kids in but I knew they all had to be invited.
I never met the moms that night. I didn’t want to single them out and be like, “Hey, I hear you’re homeless!” I smiled and welcomed them and I hugged their kids but I never spoke specificalities to them. What I did see though was in the closing. When the band was playing a song about the one-of-a-kind love of Jesus and the Jam Team was clapping and dancing, one of the little girls threw her crutches down (I have no clue as to why she was on crutches) and slid out into the aisle. She danced her heart out. She balanced on one leg, raised her arms, and sang at the top of her lungs.
For one night, that little girl got to be a part of something joyful and fun. She got to do it with her siblings and her mom. Their whole family heard a message of Jesus’ love and it’s powerful healing abilities. The mom heard a message that God desires that she be loved and respected and the kids got to run and play.
This year’s VBS was a win in so many columns that I may need to make new columns. God is so good and I am so blessed to be a part of what he’s doing in his kingdom. While I would’ve loved to have seen an over night success and people jumping on board immediately, I am grateful for the       journey and looking forward to the road ahead.

Some days you just hang on. I’m not sure where this pig came from or who dressed him in such finery but he hangs on to the top of my desk thermometer and watches me work. Every now and then he gets knocked down by a wild file folder or a flying ink pen. I’ll find him laying on the floor, legs sprawled in distress, and I gently place him back on his perch.
There’s something about this little guy that makes me smile. I appreciate his hanging ability. I get that feeling. VBS is next week and I feel like I’m just hanging on. The details are all coming together. I have plenty of help. The supplies are sitting in large boxes, piled haphazardly in my office. It’s coming and it’s going to be great – I know it in my logical brain. There’s always an anxiety that rises in my illogical brain however, the week before as the what-ifs and what-abouts rush in like bayou flood waters. The self doubt, self pity, and selfishness whisper loudly in my ear and beg for me to let go of my faith in a God who always comes through. They whisper like a 4-year-old whispers in church – it’s really a hushed yell – in an effort for me to take my eyes off of my Father who loves me, loves family, and loves the idea of blessing families.
In an effort to fend off the whispers I wore my comfy clothes to work today, stopped for a giant coffee, and have turned the praise music up loud in my office. It’s going to be a great day, VBS is going to happen, families are going to be blessed, and I’m going to hang on through it all.

I’m tired of saying good-bye to children. I’m tired of watching kids suffer. I’m tired of death’s sting.
My friend, Landon, went to be with Jesus last night. He’s been battling cancer for a couple of years and fought like no other kid I’ve ever seen. He was a beast. He was amazing. He inspired people all over the world with his strength.
He will be missed.
Landon’s family has gone to our church for many years. I had his oldest sister in confirmation class 5 years ago. She graduates from high school this weekend.
Both of his sisters love him ferociously.
Landon was in the nursery with my daughter and they grew up in Sunday School together. Landon’s mom, Jaymi, was a Sunday School Shepherd for their class up until a few months before Landon was diagnosed. How do I tell my girl that he’s gone after she prayed so diligently? How do I minister to all the kids this Sunday who’ve been praying for healing?
The truth of God’s healing is that sometimes it happens on the other side of glory. Sometimes God allows us to be softened and broken in prayer in order to draw closer to Him. I don’t believe God answered us with a “no.” I believe he answered us with a “not here.” Landon did receive his healing. It was just in a more miraculous way than our earthly minds can comprehend. Landon fought the fight and won the race as he crossed into the arms of Jesus. That’s the promise and the hope of the resurrection that we receive through our baptism in Christ Jesus.

Mother’s Day is tricky. Every year I really want it to be a day that allows my family to celebrate me. That’s what it’s for, right? Family celebrating mom?  Every year though, since I’ve been a mom, it’s a day that leaves me physically and emotionally exhausted.
I love my kids with all my heart. I prayed for them to be my kids. Chuck and I tried for years to bring these kids into existence. They are each a blessing to my heart in ways I will never be able to make them understand. My heart swells with joy and pride when they smile at me.
I still hate Mother’s Day. It’s a reminder that my own mom gave up on life – and me – and succumbed to depression, taking her own life. It’s a reminder that being my mom was not enough if she could no longer be a wife.
I hate that.
I want to focus on what I have. I want to revel in the flowers and the grilling of yummy foods prepared just for me. I want to lay back with a book and put my feet up and fall asleep with my kids laughter lilting on the breeze.
“Focus on your blessings!” others suggest.
“Look at what you have, not what you have not!” some have said.
Yes. Yes. Those are great ideas that I have tried many times over. My heart aches anyway. I’d rather skip the day altogether. My husband and kids do a great job of appreciating me on any given day. I don’t need a special focus day. Maybe next year we can go away somewhere where there is no Mother’s Day. Is there a place? I should start planning now.

I like to take my coffee out and sit as still as possible. This is a feat in and of itself for an extrovert. Being quiet and still goes against most of who I am but yet I find it a necessity lately. I can sit with my feet propped up and watch the chaos of the yard.
It truly is chaotic, which may be why I can go there to be still. The water is flowing from the spa into the pool in a gentle rushing while the wind is making light waves on the tanning deck. The bees swoop in and out of the bottle brush flowers right behind my head, forcing me to be statuesque as to remain unnoticed. The blue jay sees me and is angry that I’m in his yard but when he realizes how still I am he makes his way to the feeder with the cardinal. The sparrows that have recently built a family home in my dryer vent race back and forth to the feeder, making lightening fast darts through the porch. The doves are on the ground cooing as they pick up the seeds the cardinal and blue jay knock down below. The branches on the tree need trimmed so they are scraping the gutters with a low screech and the squirrels are using  the branches as a personal walkway from the treetop to the roof of the house.
All of this noise amidst my quiet time reminds me how I need to take time to be still and breathe. I have to remember that God is God and that the world spins and moves regardless of my noticing. Really though, it’s so much sweeter when I notice.