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My side of the family is in a sweet baby frenzy right now, with my younger sister having just delivered her very own 8 lb 14 oz daughter. Born in the wee hours of the morning, sweet Emma has enchanted us all and ended a 7 year baby drought. We are all awash in pacifiers and swaddling and worries of when she last pooped. Babies make us crazy, don’t they? (Side note – those 8 lbs 14 oz and my sister’s tale of delivery made me thankful for my own unexpected C-sections. They weren’t what I wanted, but neither is pushing out an 8 lb 14 oz baby, thank you very much! She’s my new hero.)

As I’ve seen us all fall head over heels in love with this brand new person, it has occurred to me that the love we first feel when we see our newborns is nothing compared with the love that develops as we get to know them as people. The love we feel when we hear our newborns cry and when we nestle them for the first time is powerful and automatic, a connection so strong that we would immediately fight to the death for them. We think that we are as in love with them as we will ever be, but we are wrong. We think we love them now, but that love intensifies and changes as they do.

So I’d like to say to my baby sister as she is loving on her baby, you think you love her now, but just wait.

Just wait until that helpless newborn smiles at you for the first time (and not from gas.) Wait until she locks eyes with you and smiles that toothless grin because she knows that it’s you. Just wait. You think you love her now.

Wait until she cries for you and cannot – will not – be soothed by anyone else. Wait until only Mommy will suffice. Your heart will swell knowing that she really does know her Mommy. Wait and see.

Wait until she reaches out with her fat-roll ridden arms, saying, “Carry you, Mommy,” needing the safe arms of her mother. You think you love her now.

Just wait until she says in that squeaky 2-year old voice, “I wuv you, too.” You will melt every time you hear it and secretly hope that she never learns to pronounce her L’s.

Wait until you walk her into the first day of kindergarten, her hair in pigtails and your heart in your throat. Wait until you walk back to your car, crying the ugly cry because she’s so big and you’re so sad and you know nothing will ever be the same. Wait until she runs back into your arms and tells you about her friends and shows you her papers. You think you love her now. Just wait.

Wait until she begins to hide notes for you written in her own handwriting. “I love Mommy” painstakingly penned in crayon is more priceless than any Picasso in a museum. Wait until you pull out the shoe box containing all of her notes and have tears rolling down your cheeks because you remember feeling her kick in your belly. Wait and see.

Wait until you watch her do something she really fears for the first time, like riding a big-girl bike or diving into a pool. When she falls and fears but tries it again, your pride in her tenacity will add another dimension to your love for her. You think you love her now.

Wait until you’re sick or have a headache and she shows genuine concern, asking, “Are you okay, Mommy?” Your love for her big heart will overwhelm you, and you will have faith that she’ll be an amazing woman one day. You just think you love her now.

Wait until she begins to say her own prayers, saying things like, “I’m thankful for all of that, God, but mostly for you.” You think you love her now.

Wait until her baby teeth fall out and too-large teeth grow in and her legs are long and gangly. You will wonder where your baby went, but you’ll catch a glimpse when you least expect it, and it will make you catch your breath. Just wait.

Just wait until she confesses a fear to you, that she won’t get a reward M&M in computer lab because she’s not the first to finish her work. Your own tears will well and you’ll want to fight over M&Ms and you will love her so fiercely it hurts. You think you love her now.

We think we love them now, but the truth is that we will love them more – and differently – tomorrow. A mother’s love for her child is a dynamic, always-evolving, never-lessening creature. It is a love that no one can prepare you for, and it is a love that transcends even horrible-birth stories. It is a love from God himself, and it is a love only surpassed by Him. We just think we love them now.

I needed a break from the world.

Life was chaotic, I was overwhelmed, and the constant barrage of perfect pictures of everyone else’s world was about to do me in. So I did the 21st century version of squirreling myself away from society for a while – I logged off.

I didn’t blog; I didn’t read blogs. I swore off Facebook, and I shunned Twitter. I gave myself a time-out from the nonstop updates that stole my minutes and brought out my envy.

It was glorious.

And now that I’ve allowed myself some social media again, I almost wish I hadn’t. Perhaps it’s just my personality type, but I’ve come to realize how few contributions social media actually make for me personally.

Sure, I can see what people I went to high school with are up to (and goodness gracious, that’s more than I needed to know), and I can learn quickly who just got engaged or took a pregnancy test, and yes, I don’t know how we lived without knowing who was at the gym or seeing a picture of their meals, but truly – does the information we’re obsessed with posting and fanatical about reading enrich our lives? Does it make us better people, or does it just make us voyeurs? Does it make us more satisfied, or does it just make us compare?

I know what it does for me, and it often isn’t pretty.

Now, I’m not saying that social media can’t be useful. Certainly it can. It promotes some good causes, reconnects old friends, and (sometimes) encourages us. But if we were to draw up a list of pros and cons, I’m afraid the cons would win every time – at least for me. And in an age where time is so limited and people are already so disconnected, allowing social media to consume such a large part of our lives is unproductive and isolating. And I don’t think anyone can argue that it doesn’t consume a lot of time. Nearly everyone I know checks their social media multiple times a day. Don’t believe me? Go to any restaurant and just watch the people dining. They can’t eat an entire meal without checking who has updated Facebook or taking selfies to show the world they were on a date (enough already!). We no longer know how to be; we must also do.

What it all boils down to for me is this quote from Roosevelt – “Comparison is the thief of joy.” Every single time I get on social media – and maybe it’s just me – I compare what I say/do/look like/wear/write with everyone else. I don’t want to, and goodness knows I don’t try to, but it just happens. Most people post the highlights of their lives (although we all have those ‘friends’ who post the negatives that should really remain private), so seeing the highlights can wrongly make us believe that their lives are all highlights. News flash – they aren’t. Social media has become, for many, just the grown-up way of bragging about the good and concealing the bad.

My sabbatical revealed to me that I can live without Facebook. Twitter isn’t a necessity, and even though I enjoy keeping up with strangers’ lives via blogs, I don’t have to. I did not suffer in the least from not knowing the ins and outs of others’ days. I managed just fine without poring over entries of 140 characters. I spent more time reading and less time with my nose buried in my phone. Life felt calmer, and I honestly felt less anxiety. Maybe it was imagined and just a placebo effect, or maybe there was really a connection. Whatever the case, I learned something valuable. Less computer, more living. You should try it sometime.

As a teacher, this is how I envision myself.

I’d like to think that, like an Olympic torch bearer, I am beckoning all hopefuls to follow the flame as I dutifully lead them to the place of dream-realization.

Unfortunately, this is a more realistic picture.

When I went into this profession, I honestly believed that I would be the teacher to make a difference. I would inspire adolescents to love learning, and they would look back on their education and hallowedly speak my name as The One who made all the difference.

Nobody told me that the reality would be slightly different, with me admonishing the same 14 year old three days in a row for failing to bring a pencil, or that I would slump in my chair at the final bell wondering just why I thought I was cut out for this. Nobody explained that the kid in all black would cry out for attention in ways I had never seen. Nobody said that my heart would break when my student’s mother died while he was in my class.

Teaching, in case you don’t know, is not always leading a charge with a flame. It is pulling your charges towards a pinprick of light. It is not always inspiring; it is often excruciating.

So often, when the classroom clears and all that’s left are long-forgotten, tooth-marked pencils, I feel defeated. More often than not, I leave the space where I thought I would make miracles and feel like I’ve just made a mess.

Today was one of those days. I know I explained the same concept 452 times in 452 ways, then had 452 questions from 452 students. It was (she says hyperbolically) exhausting. I looked back at the beautiful but now ragged lesson plan book, questioning where I made the mistake. Should there have been more differentiation? Would a group activity have been more effective? Surely there was a video that could have been a help.

The fault, I always assume, is my own.

This job gets hard when we forget that we’re dealing with people. People who have free will, varying interests, and unpredictable behavior. People who can’t always see that the now of a classroom affects the future of a life.

Just in case you ever want to ruin the morning of a perfectly good snow day, all you have to do is this:

1. Wake your seven year old daughter (who went to bed later than she should have the previous night) and inform her that she has a dentist appointment.

2. Attempt to dress said seven year old daughter as she thrashes about and wails, “But I just wanna go back to sleeeeeppp!”

3. Then wake your eight year old son and tell him he has to tag along to the dentist – repeating what you said one more time, louder, so he can hear you over the dramatic protests from the room across the hall.

4. Drive to the dentist, through the snow, wishing you were back home in your warm bed.

5. Pretend to be happy at the dentist’s office when the receptionist asks you to update paperwork. Think, “It’s not personal. Insurance requirements. Grin and bear it.”

6. Enthusiastically usher your increasingly-nervous daughter to the back where the poor hygienist is waiting and has no idea what she is about to face.

7. Hold your precious second-born as tears well up in her eyes at the announcement that all six-year molars are in and “it’s time for sealants.”

8. Half-lead, half-drag her to the even backer-back, because sealants apparently require a different hygienist and room.

9. Drape your body across that daughter and physically hold her down as the poor, unsuspecting hygienist begins to wish she had called in sick..

10. Ask the Lord why he gave an octopus eight arms and a mother just two because dear Jesus this physical restraint would be a whole lot easier with another hand or four.

11. Look up at the hygienist with a look of pity and pleading as the strongest seven year old you’ve ever met renders you powerless in matters of restraint.

12. Send that dear, precious, stubborn, and dramatic daughter to the bathroom to get herself together and dry those tears because Mommy has had enough and you are NOT making another appointment to do this another day!

13. Compose yourself as the hygienist goes to get reinforcements. Conclude that you will never go to the dentist again. Decide that teeth are highly overrated.

14. Smile as a snuffling girl tentatively makes her way back to the torturous chair. Speak soothing words of encouragement like, “It’s not going to hurt at all. Mommy had this done when she was a little girl! All she’s going to do is paint your teeth with princess paint.”

15. Realize that your words are not making one iota of difference.

16. Attempt restraint one more time.

17. Give up. Listen as the dentist and hygienist say, “We’ll just try this another day. It’s not worth her having such a bad experience at the dentist.”

18. Think, but don’t say, “Her?! What about me?!’

19. Walk, defeated, to the check-out counter.

20. Accept the appointment card for another appointment that you swore you would not make. Load both children back in the car and curse anyone who says that snow days are fun.

This is not a feminist post. Yes, I believe that women should be paid the same as men for performing the same jobs. I believe women should become more interested in the STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Math) fields (and I just spent nearly an entire class period talking with my 9th graders about this issue). I would love to see a female become President, and I would readily admit that many women I know are much more intellectual than many men I know. But a feminist? I wouldn’t lump myself in that category.

I believe that if a woman wants to forego a career and remain home with her children, then not only can she, but she should. I would without hesitation say that the greatest part of my own life takes place after the hours I am paid, when I am home with my children. I am forever grateful for the women in previous generations who have made it possible for me to participate as a first-rate citizen in society doing things like, oh – I don’t know, voting and getting a job. A feminist, though? Probably not.

That being said, I’d like to take a minute to share my thoughts on a disturbing trend via celebrities in our culture. What is it, you ask? Simply this. The depiction of women as nothing more than sexual objects to be flaunted, dissected, and plastered on every screen available. It’s so disheartening. The worst part, though, is that many are doing it to themselves. For attention. And ratings. And record sales.

Case in point – Beyonce at the Grammys. (Allow me to say right here that I did not watch this awards show. I was probably reading a book or grading papers or doing some other nerdy thing that I, in typical Jennie fashion, would do on a Sunday night. However. I have seen numerous replays and articles and dissertations on the subject since then, hence my incredible amount of knowledge on the event. Ahem.)

Beyonce is an incredibly talented and incredibly beautiful woman. She is the type of woman who makes awkward females like me resolve to take singing lessons and do more lunges. She’s just pretty awesome. But instead of using her talent to leverage more respect and prestige for the females of the world, she chose to flaunt around in black lingerie, nothing left to the imagination, while her husband sang a song making light of an incident of domestic abuse. Why? For the ratings? For the shock value? I feel like her actions (and those of many other celebs who just want attention) are undoing the hard work it took for the women of previous generations to garner equality and respect for women. We are, it seems, sliding back down the slope towards sexual objects, and it scares me for the world my seven year old daughter will live in.

I saw an interview with Beyonce where she explained where the idea came from for the performance. A strip club. She said that she was with her husband at this strip club and wished that she could do that for her man. Well, then. My thoughts are that she could have – at home. In private. Not in a music video, and certainly not on a stage. She says that she doesn’t “at all have any shame about being sexual.” To that, I say good. You shouldn’t. God make us as sexual beings – but that sexuality is to be shared with a spouse, not with the world on an awards show.

(For the sake of argument, let me say that I am not, as a Christian, condemning Beyonce for acting like an unbeliever. That is to be expected. If she does not follow Christ, then I will not hold her to Christ’s standards. My concern is with her actions as a female in 2014 and the implications for our society as a whole.)

I don’t want to slam Beyonce but to question why she – and other females – feel that being intelligent and articulate and talented is not enough. I’m sure in their field it’s partially because of the pressure. Looks and weight and hairstyles are constantly critiqued. Joan Rivers will torment you mercilessly on her show if your red carpet look is not flawless. I get that. It must be incredibly difficult.

I guess my point here is that we females are our own worst enemies. We want equality and respect and opportunity – but then some of us sabotage it all to get a guy’s attention or a greater rating or higher sales. And it’s not just celebrities. I know of a female who is quite intelligent and successful, but turns into a silly coquette whenever she is around men. It drives me nuts. I just want women to be ok with being intelligent. Why do we feel the need to overcompensate for our intellect with tight clothing and high-pitched giggles and batting eyelashes? As my Mama has been known to say, I will knock my daughter into next week if I ever catch her acting like that. If we want to be respected, we must act worthy of respect.

Celebrity or commoner, we women need to metaphorically link arms and remind this world that we are more than just pretty faces. Our worth is not just found in the swing of our hips and the clothing we fill out. We are talented. We are smart. And we will not stand for the trend of degradation that is so prevalent today.

If someone tells you something over 900 times, it stands to reason that failing to believe it means you are remarkably in denial, you are being lied to, or you are ridiculously stubborn. I’m putting myself in the first and third categories because I know my husband is not a liar.

For at least the past 20 years, I have struggled every single day with a thorn in my flesh that I desperately wish I could pluck out. I’m bringing it up here today not to glorify the struggle or to give Satan satisfaction in the battles he has won, but simply to encourage those of you who are facing similar lifelong battles. I want you to know that you are not alone. Your deepest insecurities have likely become a deeply ingrained part of yourself, but I want – need – to remind you that they are not your identity. It can be shameful as a follower of Christ to war so with the flesh, so today I’m issuing a call to other women to fight the battle, verbalize the struggle, and give Christ the credit rather than Satan the shame.

My thorn? I have not once in the past 20 years ever been truly satisfied with the way I look. There have been times that were better than others, times when I did Insanity like a madwoman and had a flat stomach and looked pretty good, but I still wasn’t content. There’s always something I wish I could change. It’s so hard to admit this superficial, unspiritual, un-Christlike struggle that plagues me, but I’m doing it anyway. I could list a thousand reasons why I dislike my body, but the details don’t matter. If you’re a female, chances are high that you have your own list anyway and can relate exactly.

Since I met my husband, he has told me (or shown me) at least once a day (so approximately 900 times) that he loves the way I look, is attracted to me, and doesn’t want me to change a thing. I’ll see from the corner of my eye him looking at me, and when I ask what he’s doing, he says, “Just checking you out.” He touches me when he walks past in the hall, pinches my rear end when I’m cooking in the kitchen, brushes the hair back from my cheek and kisses my forehead. I KNOW that he loves me – and my body. If the man who loves me also loves the way I look, why can I not be secure? Why do I agonize so much about every hair being in place, every muscle being toned, every outfit being perfectly coordinated? I wish I knew, and I wish I could turn off the switch that makes it all matter so much.

There are those who will blame me and say it’s because I don’t read the Bible enough, don’t take Jesus my strongholds to destroy, don’t pray and fast… The fault is my own. Perhaps they are right. I would argue, however, that they aren’t. You see, even in the times I am closest to the heart of Christ, when the air I breathe is the Word of God and the Holy Spirit dwells richly within me, even in those times – I have struggled. Being close to Christ does not eradicate our struggles, and those who say it does are sadly deceived. Nowhere in God’s Word to us does it say, “Come to me and I will solve all of your problems.” Rather, it says things like, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). It says, “Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear” (Matt. 6:25). This may seem obvious, but I think He tells us not to worry about these things because He knows that in our flesh we will.

Your thorn may look different than mine. You may wrestle with debilitating fear or grapple with memories of your sinful past.You may lie awake at night worrying about money, praying for a spouse, or agonizing over leaving a job. I don’t know what your lifelong struggle is, but I can almost guarantee that you have one. We all have weaknesses – some immense, ongoing, and brutally incapacitating. We are not always doomed to face them for a lifetime, but sometimes we are. I cannot begin to explain why, sometimes, God does not deliver us from these struggles. The only answer I have is that the struggle is necessary for us to see Him most clearly. He tells us that His power is “made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9). If we were strong, we would not see His power. When we are weak, we do.

Please don’t misunderstand. I am not advocating that you remain helpless and resign yourself to a lifetime of feeling inferior and ‘less than.’ I am also not saying that you should look to your thorn as your gateway to God. That is not the point. Fight with everything in you to defeat Satan at his mind games and to gain control of the thoughts you think. Beg your Savior to deliver you from what hurts. But, if He doesn’t, don’t see it as an excuse to live without power. Don’t assume that you cannot be used if you struggle daily. Don’t believe that God loves you less because you have to fight more. See it all as God’s method of increasing your reliance on Him.

Friends, this life is hard, and I’m convinced that it’s harder for those of us trying to live for and through Jesus. It’s harder because the world that is our home really isn’t. The details that consume our days aren’t the reality of our forever. The hardships that we wrestle with often take our focus from our God-given purpose.

Whatever the struggle, no matter the intensity, allow it to turn you to Christ. Demand that it show you His heart. Beg Him to show Himself in it. He is faithful, and your weakness will showcase His strength – and His love.

I am linking up today at http://christianmommyblogger.com/fellowship-fridays-7-2/

When it’s cold outside, school has been cancelled, and you’ve banished the kids to their respective rooms for some much needed alone time, there’s only one thing to do. (After you’ve eaten everything not nailed down, of course.) Look through old pictures. I did that today, and the saying about days going by slowly but years flying by came to mind. It’s so true, especially when you have kids.

I could not believe that the chubby cheeked babies on my screen are the same big kids I can now trust enough to send to their rooms alone. It’s also amazing that I have forgotten so quickly the things that used to fill our days and the chaos that those two could cause!

This picture cracks me up because Will is hugging her, but has the warning hand on her cheek in the event she starts something. His face looks sweet, but his hand is saying, “I mean it. No closer.”

 Oh my word, how I love these two. Even though I’m about to have to stop typing to referee the WWE wrestling match currently taking place in the den. Ahhh, the joys of motherhood.

What must He be thinking, from there? As He looks down on his beloved creation stuck in traffic, wrapping furiously, charging beyond their means, what does He think? Is He disappointed? Is He sad? Does anger burn within?

Does He look within us more than He looks at us, and does He see that the chaos our behavior shows only mirrors the chaos that our hearts cry?

More than $2 billion worldwide will be spent on wrapping paper this year. Wrapping paper. Millions of people are starving, going to bed without food, yet we celebrate the birth of the Bread of Life by spending billions on wrapping paper. It makes no sense.

He came to earth, the cause of our celebration, and said things like, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth…” Yet we shop until the shelves are empty and our houses are full and our accounts are drained.

He said, “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.” Yet we leave the orphans in their orphanages and the widows in their empty homes and stain ourselves with the merchandise being panned by the world.

He taught, and we ignore. 

He taught, and we justify. 

He taught, and we continue to do what we want anyway.

What, I wonder, will it take for His followers to obey? To remember that we celebrate the Sacrifice and that doing so does not require us to sacrifice months of paychecks? 

Could we celebrate Christmas with not one gift inscribed with our name? Would Christmas still be Christmas without the parties and baking and shopping and wrapping? Would Christmas be even better if we said no to how the world insists it be celebrated?

What if every believer spent his Christmas budget on caring for the least of these? Spent money on the hungry and homeless and hurting instead of the hype? What if?

When we are urged to be aliens and strangers and to abstain from sinful desires, are times like these what Peter had in mind? Has the celebration of our Savior become sinful instead of sacred?

The Lord Himself says, “If you love me, obey my commandments.” Is it really that simple? Why do we complicate it so?

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’“Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ Then they also will answer, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?’ Then he will answer them, saying, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”

Some days, I think my greatest talent is believing Satan’s lies. It comes so naturally to me, happening with no conscious thought and requiring no effort. I have never had to work at it, never needed to force myself to hear his whispers.

His quiet, condemning statements are directed at me constantly, from the moment my eyes open in the dawn to the last moments of consciousness in the dark. Often they come out of nowhere, and I am blindsided by their presence.

“You’re not good at that, you know.”

“You’ll never have the time or money to really pursue your passion.”

“You’re not pretty enough.”

“You’re not enough.”

“You’ll always be left out.”

“You obviously have nothing to contribute.”

“They don’t include you on purpose.”

He whispers in my ear that my efforts will fall short, my feelings deserve to be hurt, my life is insignificant.

He whispers, and I listen. Not every time, of course, but enough to matter. I listen to him the most when I’m with Jesus the least.

And the truth of the matter is he’s right. Without Jesus. Without Jesus, I am not enough. My life will be insignificant. My passion will be unfulfilled.

Satan’s lies, without Jesus, are truth.

But with Him, they are just lies. They are words with no truth to give them any weight, and they are words I can choose to reject.

Just today, Satan began to whisper to me, telling me what he wants me to believe in an area of my life where I am particularly vulnerable. And as I type, I am struggling to reject his words and to choose to believe truth. Believe me when I say it is a struggle, though. It is such a hard one. I have that cry-avoiding lump in my throat as I am typing these words, forcing myself to give reality to the emotions I wish I didn’t have. That’s a large part of the battle, isn’t it? Admitting that there is one? Friends, there is. There is a battle in this girl’s life daily to believe I can be – and can do – something of worth. To believe that I am of worth.

We each live in a battle zone, and I fear that we lose skirmishes unnecessarily because we forget that we can win. That He has won. We lose when we react defensively instead of fighting proactively.

This afternoon, I resolve to fight – and to win – this particular battle. I’m sure there will be more, perhaps even today. But I will not go down without a fight and will not lose what is mine to win. I will fight. And I will win.