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....

So today's deep thoughts about Food Network are 100% percent indicative of the fact that school is out and I'm at home and I have wayyyy too much television-watching time on my hands. Nevertheless.We shall begin with Giada De Laurentiis. My immediate thought every time her shows come on is, "For real?" She's a doggone chef who cooks all the time, yet she has the figure of a fashion model. She weighs like 82 pounds and smiles with those perfectly white teeth, and I am (understandably) inherently distrustful. I like my chefs to have the figure of Barefoot Contessa or pre-scandal Paula Deen. I need to know that they eat what they cook and that if I were to somehow begin cooking the way they do, I would blow up and am therefore justified in my less-than-Food-Network-worthy culinary prowess. It makes me think she's a wizard or something. Plus, "Giada at Home" contains views of the ocean through her window. Unfair.Barefoot Contessa. Ina Garten. Whatever you call her, she is a character. She says things like, "I suppose you could always use a store-bought chicken stock, but it's just so easy to kill and roast a free-range chicken from your...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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!How was I able to forget so quickly the drudgery that was strollers? Having kids 15 months apart meant that for several years, my trunk space was filled with strollers - double strollers, umbrella strollers, jogging strollers. Thank you, Jesus, that my children are now self-propelled.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...

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...

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....