The clay sculptures sit next to my bed where I can see them every morning and night. A dinosaur, an eagle, and a fish are among my most treasured possessions.Painstakingly shaped and painted by my own children, these pieces may never be on display in a museum, but they are displayed where their creators' mother can see and appreciate them over and over. In a fire, I'd scoop them right up over items worth thousands more.My children made them for me, and that is what makes them perfect.But to my children, they aren't. Sometimes when they see them, they laugh at what they made when their hands were smaller, and they see every flaw in their hands' creations. They ask me why I keep them out, why I display them like they're fine art.So often, in my own creating, I feel like I just mess up everything, too.In my hands and through my eyes, what I intend to be beautiful is nothing more than broken. What I mean to be a masterpiece turns into a mess.My meager offerings to the Lord? They disappoint me. They are never enough and never as good as so and so's. When I reflect on...

"Josh, look at my nails."Her eight year old fingers stretch out before her stepfather's eyes, showing off the latest manicure on her tiny bitten fingernails."Ooh, pretty," he replies. "I like them!"She doesn't know it, doesn't understand what she's doing, but she's following in the footsteps of every female before her. She is wanting - needing - the affirmation of a father.As independent and intelligent as she is, my little girl also has a need deep within her heart that is as old as time itself. She needs to feel loved and beautiful. She needs to hear the man in her life tell her she is enough as she is, she is treasured in his eyes, and there is something about her that is of value. She needs to know that she has worth. And, praise God, she hears that from her Josh. He was not in the room when she was born, is not biologically her daddy, but he loves her like she can do no wrong and openly admires her as she twirls in new dresses for him. He tells her what he tells me, that she is so pretty and she is enough.He tells her, and I pray...

“The grand design of God in all the afflictions that befall his people is to bring them nearer and closer to himself.” Thomas Brooks***Of all the posts I have ever written, this is one of the most personal and one of my favorites. This weekend, I saw my first inchworm of this spring, and I felt the need to share this post again. I wrote it about one of the most difficult seasons of my life and how God showed that He hears every cry His children make, even when we're not sure He does.***It’s as if there are two brains operating simultaneously inside my skull. One is the brain with a brain, thinking about the logistics of my new life – finances, schedules, grocery lists, the reality of living as a single mom. The other is the brain with the heart, thinking about the pain of being alone.These two brains war against each other, the winning brain at any moment anyone’s guess. My thoughts shift moment by moment, like a radio dial that jumps between frequencies. This is an unanticipated difficulty – never knowing which brain will take control, and feeling powerless when the wrong one is in charge. Thoughts are...

I live a double-knot life, and I'm ready for that to change. You know the old double knot routine from elementary school years. Tennis shoes can't be tied just once when you're doing strenuous activity; they have to be tied in a double knot so there's no risk of them coming untied and tripping you.Those double knots are the story of my life. I, for 34 years and 11.5 months, have double knotted every aspect of my life. I have been the epitome of safe living. Always afraid of messing up or getting into trouble, I have done exactly what was expected and always what was safe. I'm not talking about just wearing my seat belt or driving below the speed limit; I'm talking about doing what I "should" because it involved no risk. I'm talking about doing what was safe and easy so I could avoid tripping myself.When I was in school, I was every teacher's dream and my own worst nightmare. I studied nonstop, always did my work, and never questioned what I was being taught. Academics were the priority, even to the point of forfeiting fun. As a high school senior, I chose to attend college in...

I recently spent time with a woman in the new hours of her worst tragedy. Her heart is still raw, the tears still flow freely, and the brain cannot yet absorb just what has happened. She asked me, knowing that my heart had once been torn, too, "How did you make it through?"Oh, how I wish there were an easy formula, a 12 step plan for the life class of Grief 101. 'I didn't make it through', I wanted to tell her. 'I'm still trying. There is no finish line.'Grief is not a stage of life that you go through and get over. The emotional suffering you experience through loss will never fully disappear, though in its midst, that's what you desire more than anything. You want the hurt to stop, but it won't. It  will never go away, although with time it will lessen in intensity.Experts say there are stages to grief, a logical and almost scientific explanation for what you will experience. Different models vary slightly, but the basics are the same. You begin with a disbelief and denial that the event, whatever it is, can really be happening. You think and sometimes verbalize, "This can't be my...

I cannot believe I am writing about Lady Gaga. I have never had much to say about her except, perhaps, that time she wore the meat dress. Meat? For real? The smell of uncooked meat makes me want to puke. Making hamburger patties sends me over the edge. Can you imagine wearing it? I guess sacrifices are necessary when it comes to fashion.Now, though, I do have something to say. Sunday night at the Oscars, Lady Gaga sang a tribute to Julie Andrews and The Sound of Music, and it was incredible. Here - listen for yourself.Sure, Lady Gaga has sold millions of albums and won Grammy Awards, but to be quite honest, I didn't know she was such a great singer. She's always just been (in my mind) a walking gimmick. She has been so well known for what she wears that how she sings has been secondary, at least to me. Truthfully, however, she has great talent. It is, to be spiritual, a God-given talent. So here's what I have to say: sometimes the gimmicks we hide behind and use to gain attention only detract from the real purpose God created us to fulfill.There's no doubt in my...

The world wants me to believe that I'm not a good mother, and it tells me in the most ridiculous ways.These, for example.All over Facebook and Instagram, I see friends who had precious matching shirts for every day of their Disney trip. You know who didn't? This girl. We were lucky enough to be able to afford a trip to Disney, much less have outfits coordinating with the parks and princesses we'd be seeing that day. My kids wore their in-closet Target bargain clothes, and the voice in my head wants me to feel badly about it. Sometimes I do, and then sometimes I remember that THEY GOT TO GO TO DISNEY WORLD. So never mind.Don't forget these:I don't have monthly pictures of my babies' first year complete with stickers showing their age. It wasn't a thing back when they were born, and now I feel like they'll need years of therapy because they won't know how their six month pictures compare to their seven month pictures. Just what kind of mother am I? (One who's lucky to have pictures of her children at all, I think. Especially the second one - she did not sleep through the night for...

I have a sign in the front of my classroom that simply says 'believe.' I want my students to believe that they can, believe that I care, and believe that this all matters for more than just a report card.Today, though, this happened.My 'believe' toppled to the floor, and I just stood there and stared. The sign on the floor was a sign for my life and a sign of the struggle I'm currently in. My belief is falling, and I'm afraid there will be a loud bang when, at any moment, it, too, hits the floor. I want to believe that I can, believe that someone cares, and believe that this all matters for more...

My daughter captured this picture of me today.Flattering, huh?Yep, that's me working out in my den, wiping the sweat dripping off the end of my nose. When I first saw the picture, I immediately (as all women would) critiqued it. I nearly deleted it, but something struck me. My daughter, the little brown-haired girl who copies my every move and is the spitting image of me, took that picture. She sat and watched me for the entire workout, jumping up and doing some of the moves with me at times. That little girl took my picture, and as she did, she wasn't critiquing my form or muscle tone. She was just watching her mom making a choice to take care of herself. So I didn't delete the picture, and I'm hoping that somebody reading this will remember that you, too, have somebody watching you, using you as a role model.Being a mom is a super hard task, and being a mom who takes care of herself is even harder. I don't want to play the martyr here, but it's never easy to eat right and work out. It's so tempting to eat what's convenient and not exercise. It's so tempting...