Our cable bill went up again this month. That bill climbs faster than the little mountain climber on my grandmother’s favorite Price Is Right game. My husband asked me to call and inquire about this month’s increase. I’ve called several times before. It’s frustrating, not just because I am going to hold for twenty minutes so they can give me some reason why my it went up, which I can really do nothing about it if I still want to see my favorite shows on Food Network & HGTV, but mainly because I get all lit up about one of their PR tactics every single time I call. I know it’s going to happen, yet every time it makes me mad.
 
Here’s how it goes. I’m going to hold a few minutes then the automated robotic voice is going to ask me to type in my account number. It will repeat the number then if correct, I will press 1. Next, I will type in my security code. It will repeat that, again if correct, I will press 1. So it goes with my phone number. Each step seemingly getting closer to an answer to my call.
 
Yet when I finally reach a representative, the very first thing he or she will ask for is my account number, my security number, and my phone number. I have considered not giving it to them. I just spent the last five minutes typing all those numbers in. Shouldn’t they know it! However, my refusal would be futile. The only result typing those numbers produced was the melody of staccato beeps on my phone intended to bring about a perceived bit of satisfaction, making me feel a little less on hold and a little closer to my turn.
 
My problem is my degree is in Public Relations. I’ve been trained on too many of their techniques. And the harmless activity meant to occupy their waiting customers just frustrates me.
 
I really shouldn’t be so quick to point the finger. Sometimes I employ another popular technique called framing (influencing how someone will process a message by the way the information is presented.) I’m not saying it’s always right, but I will tell you that I’m pretty good at it. This weekend my mom, my sister and I enjoyed our annual Christmas shopping girls’ trip. We visited a market where the sights, sounds and smells of all things Christmas thrilled my every sense. Early in the day I spotted a rod-ironed Christmas tree detailed with a dozen dainty tea lights and sparkling ropes of silver beads. I loved everything about it, so much so that I purchased what I considered to be a bit of a splurge and hauled my new festive treasure home.
 
Even though it’s a week before Thanksgiving, I couldn’t wait to display it.   I arranged the tablecloth just right, centered the tree perfectly on the table and called my husband in the room to join me in admiring my new purchase.
 
“Look at this gorgeous tree I found. Isn’t it the most beautiful thing! When I went back to the store to buy it, it was the last one left, like it was meant to be. Feel it. It’s so heavy and well built. And would you believe that the kind attendant in the parking lot let my mom drive right to the front so I wouldn’t have to struggle to the car with it. I can’t wait to light the candles and have a family dinner!”
 
He smiled. I’m not sure he loved the tree as much as I did, but he was happy that I was happy.
 
Yet, can you imagine how differently our conversation might have gone had my show and tell been something like this…
 
“Look at what I bought. It cost $XXX. It’s heavy, too. So heavy I almost tripped stepping down the curb, which would have broken all these little tea lights just minutes after I paid for them. Luckily, a parking attendant gave my mom permission to pull up close, mainly because we also paid quite a bit extra to park in the lot right next to the market.”
 
Both messages are 100% accurate, but had the second been my choice of delivery, I may have been sleeping on the couch that night!
 
We are so blessed to have access to so much information in our time. Anything I want to know is just a Google search away. Before my feet hit the ground, my news app can update me on things around the world that transpired while I slept. But not every message is without bias. In fact, few are. It’s not some conspiracy to corrupt society. It’s just how we are wired…to share what we want others to know.
 
And with the insurgence of information, public opinion seems to be an unconquerable force. Its wave can drown decades of integrity with one article, post or tweet. And before we know it, Christ-followers are crying treason against brothers and sisters.
 
Some of these outcries may be for very good reason. The Bible is clear about the ravenous work of false prophets in sheep’s clothing.

​However, when you see another Christ-follower who after years of faithful service, seems to have embarrassed the faith, use it as a conversation to teach your children, discuss it in your small group, debate it with your best friend, if possible, talk to the person. But before you publically take up your sword, please be sure you are drawing that weapon against your enemy, not your brother because the real enemy would like nothing more than to watch brothers and sisters sacrifice each other over the fire of half-truths and assumptions.

I’ve grown up my whole life in church. And for years as a child and young adult, I carried this dirty little secret around. I didn’t really want to go to heaven.
 
Don’t get me wrong, I was not longing for the alternative. But as a little girl with an imagination big enough to transform three sheets and six precisely placed dining room chairs into a castle fit for a queen or the energy to ride a bicycle four miles with a flat back tire just to get a cotton candy snocone, I had absolutely zero interest in sprouting wings, sitting on a cloud, and strumming a harp for ALL OF ETERNITY.
 
It’s an image of heaven that begins ingraining itself through tradition early on, in cartoons, in books, even in our language.  
 
My grandfather died of a difficult battle with leukemia when I was 13 years old. I remember exactly what happened the day I heard the news.  A woman’s voice came crackling over the speaker in the science lab requesting my teacher send me to the office with my things. For most of my classmates, this loud interruption was a welcome reprieve to the teacher’s monotone explanation of all things cells. But I had expected this day to come, and as I methodically returned my pencil to its pouch, my nervous gut knew what was waiting for me down the hall.  I turned the corner to enter the front office of my middle school, finding exactly what I expected – my teary eyed mom waiting for me. 
 
She told me the news I already knew, and I cried in her arms a little. When we released our embrace, the compassionate middle-aged woman who occupied the front desk grabbed my hand and kindly offered her condolence, “Today your grandfather got his wings. Now you have a very special guardian angel.” I never told her, but no sentiment could have hurt me more than the thought that my grandfather, who loved to golf and eat ice cream sundaes, had just been issued his harp and confined to his cloud.
 
That was twenty-five years ago. It’s no longer a secret I carry around, not because I’ve chosen to admit it, but because I know now it isn’t true.
 
The Bible is very clear that we do not become angels when we die because God created angels to be angels, to serve and worship Him.

You alone are the Lord. You have made the heavens, the heaven of heavens with all their host, the earth and all that is on it, the seas and all that is in them. You give life to all of them, and the heavenly host bows down before You.
Nehemiah 9:6
 
The Bible is also very clear that heaven isn’t some cosmic space filled with clouds and lacking in activity. Instead, Heaven is God’s “Plan A.”
 
But in keeping with his promise we are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth, where righteousness dwells.
2 Peter 3:13
 
When God created the earth, He created it to be a perfect place filled with all things to satisfy, lush trees with limbs perfect for climbing, clear streams with cool water perfect for swimming, ripe fruit with sweet juice perfect for running down your chin, and His glory, in all its fullness, something so marvelous and satisfying no combination of letters on my keyboard could create the adjectives sufficient to describe it. Adam and Eve may have messed that up for a while, but God never abandoned His original plan because a Holy God doesn’t need a “Plan B.” Heaven is God’s “Plan A,” in all its perfection.
 
I’ve had the privilege of teaching third-grade Sunday school for almost 18 years. I’ve asked dozens of kids if they are worried they won’t like heaven. After almost two decades, it still surprises me to find so many boys and girls, just like me at their age – trusting they will like it, but seriously doubting how. Maybe at age 25 or 43, you fit in that category, too.
 
You don’t have to worry anymore. When someone tells you that a loved one who has passed away is your special angel, you can smile because they mean well, and goodness, it’s hard for people to know what to say to grieving friends.  But take heart in this, God isn’t intending believers to become a cloud-sitting choir in celestial cosmo for all of eternity. 
 
He created you to be a person made in His image. It’s His “Plan A;” it has been since He created the world, and He’s sticking to it.

This is the story of the Shunammite woman, but it can be your story, too.​

If the child you love, the child you prayed for is slipping away, maybe because of depression, or past mistakes, or a silence you just don’t understand, don’t give up. God can resurrect her joy, his confidence, your relationship. He resurrected His Son. He can resurrect yours, too.

I don't often get involved in politics. I use excuses like I'm too busy or I don't like the drama. But some things are too important for excuses, like protecting life. So today I set aside some time and drafted a letter to my 44 American leaders who who banned the Born Alive Survivors Protection Act yesterday. 

Below is my letter. Feel free to take anything you want from it. But whatever you do, let your voice be heard.

Here is how you can contact each of the Senators who voted against the act. Click, copy and paste your voice. It will be the best time you spent today.
https://www.baldwin.senate.gov/feedback
https://www.bennet.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/contact
https://www.blumenthal.senate.gov/contact/
https://www.booker.senate.gov/?p=contact
http://www.brown.senate.gov/contact/
http://www.cantwell.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/email-maria
http://www.cardin.senate.gov/contact/
http://www.carper.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/email-senator-carper
https://www.coons.senate.gov/contact
https://www.cortezmasto.senate.gov/contact
https://www.duckworth.senate.gov/content/contact-senator
https://www.duckworth.senate.gov/content/contact-senator
https://www.feinstein.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/e-mail-me
https://www.gillibrand.senate.gov/contact/email-me
https://www.harris.senate.gov/contact
https://www.hassan.senate.gov/content/contact-senator
http://www.heinrich.senate.gov/contact
https://www.hirono.senate.gov/contact
https://www.kaine.senate.gov/contact
https://www.king.senate.gov/contact
http://www.klobuchar.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/contact
https://www.leahy.senate.gov/contact/
https://www.markey.senate.gov/contact
https://www.menendez.senate.gov/contact
http://www.merkley.senate.gov/contact/
http://www.murphy.senate.gov/contact
http://www.murray.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/contactme
https://www.peters.senate.gov/contact/email-gary
https://www.reed.senate.gov/contact/
https://www.rosen.senate.gov/contact_jacky
http://www.sanders.senate.gov/contact/
https://www.schatz.senate.gov/contact
https://www.schumer.senate.gov/contact/email-chuck
https://www.shaheen.senate.gov/contact/contact-jeanne
https://www.sinema.senate.gov/contact-kyrsten
https://www.smith.senate.gov/content/contact-senator
https://www.stabenow.senate.gov/contact
https://www.tester.senate.gov/?p=email_senator
https://www.tomudall.senate.gov/?p=contact
http://www.vanhollen.senate.gov/contact/email
http://www.warner.senate.gov/public/index.cfm?p=Contact
https://www.warren.senate.gov/?p=email_senator
https://www.whitehouse.senate.gov/contact/email-sheldon
https://www.wyden.senate.gov/contact/
​

Deer’s feet – I wish!
 
I’ve seen deer springing through the woods. They run as though invisible springs propel their weightless bodies. I may have thrown on my go-to yoga pants and neon Nikes this morning in a race to get the kids out the door, but there is no spring in my step. And weightless, not exactly! I’m loaded down with worries.
 
Being a mom is hard. Some days are harder than others, like the days I wish I could take my kids’ place, the days I long for simpler ones that too quickly passed, the days I would do it for them if I could.
 
I started to dismiss Habakkuk. Was Habakkuk inspired by God to write that? Yes. Was Habakkuk a mom? Definitely not!
 
But Habakkuk was in a tough place, too.  He had been given charge over God’s people. He spent His life teaching them, loving them when they rebelled, hurting when they were mistreated, and never giving up on them. 
 
So how could he rejoice and find strength when the bully seemed to triumph, when impulsive choices bore lasting regret, when waiting another day seemed impossible, when only disappointment grew as a fruit of labor, when the road seemed too steep and the turns too sharp?
 
Because he trusted less in his feet and more in his walk.
 
Remember the phrase and He will make me walk from Habakkuk 3:19. It means to tread, as in to follow.
 
If the weighty responsibility of motherhood feels like the road where others fear to tread, you can trust someone is going before us.  He knows what tomorrow holds because He is already there, and He’s preparing us to handle it.
 
Have a tween or teen and want more encouragement for this season of your life? Come hang out with us at Village Moms! 

My house is quiet this morning, except for the soft tapping of my fingers on the keyboard and the low whirr of the washing machine. The pool is quiet, too. All the floats are put away and only tiny ripples from the vacuum move the water. More snack bags top the grocery list hanging on my pantry door. All signs that summer has given way to another school year.
 
Last week my little man started at a new school. We were both anxious to make a good first impression. I made sure his lunchbox matched his backpack and that I completed the back and front of every one of those forms that fill kids’ folders at the start of each new year. He picked out his “coolest outfit” and drew a picture for his teacher.
 
With backpacks packed and clothes ironed, we decided to take one more evening swim to cap off the last night of summer. Andrew swam like a fish, right into the side of the pool.
 
He came up gasping for air between loud sobs. One glance at his precious little face, and I knew he had met his match. Unfortunately the pool had won, leaving him an oozing red scrape across his dimpled cheek - an accessory we had not planned when we chose his outfit for the first day of school.
 
Horrified at the sight of himself, he begged me to delay the start of his school year. He dramatically attempted to convince me that it would only take a few days to heal and that he would do all his make-up work without a single bit of whining.
 
As sorry as I was that he wouldn’t be walking into school with just a smile on his face, I knew he had to go. “It’s just a scrape, and it will heal,” I reassured him. “Your new friends will think your tough,” his Daddy added.
 
It has healed. He has made new friends. And, I’m pretty sure his teacher has not awarded us “Worst Parents of the Year.”
 
Yet I also know that not all hurts my kids may face this year will heal that easily.
 
Falling back into our school routine has also helped us land back into a nightly time of family Bible reading. This week, Lance shared the story of Abraham and Isaac. I’ve heard that story dozens of times and read probably as many blogs about Abraham’s great display of faith.
 
But what about the faith of Issac?
 
Then they came to the place of which God had told him. And Abraham built an altar there and placed the wood in order; and he bound Isaac his son and laid him on the altar upon the wood.
Genesis 22:9
 
The Bible makes it clear that Abraham had Isaac when he was very old, 100 years old to be exact. These events take place years later. Abraham is even more advanced in years, and Isaac a strong young man. That can only mean one thing…
 
Isaac laid down willingly.
 
I have no doubt he could have resisted the rope. He could have refused to lie down. He could have run away.
 
Maybe Abraham wished he would.
 
But if Isaac had not been willing to face the fire, he would never have seen God provide the ram.
 
Then Abraham lifted his eyes and looked, and there behind him was a ram caught in a thicket by its horns. So Abraham went and took the ram, and offered it up for a burnt offering instead of his son. And Abraham called the name of the place, The Lord Will Provide.
Genesis 22:13-14a
 
On those days when my kids are faced with trials that require far more than Neosporin and a little time to heal, those times when there is nothing in my momma-arsenal at all that will make it better…
 
Those are the days God will use to demonstrate His love for them. To immerse them in His presence. To embrace them in His comfort. Those are the days the Lord Will Provide.
 
Lord, thank you that there are no mountains you have asked me to climb, no trials you have asked me to endure that are not part of your good plan for me. I believe that is true for my life.
 
Give me the grace to believe it on those days when I am holding my child’s hand up that mountain, too.

Last year, Mackenzie and Lance started a new hobby - bee keeping. They have several hives at a lot we own on a nearby pond. They put a lot of work into tending the bees. They even went to a "bee keeping" class a couple of weeks ago. Lance sent me this picture. Mack is the one in the pink bee suit. I bought it for her. I don't do anything that stings so that's the limit to my involvement, well that and enjoying the honey. 

I do love the honey. I love putting it in my coffee and mixing it in my peanut butter. I even love pouring it over fried chicken. Honey is good stuff! It's so good we often identify other good things by calling them "as sweet as honey." 

Kindness is one of those things that is "as sweet as honey." That's why I love that kindness is trending. The world needs more kindness. Random acts of kindness, sacrificial kindness, undeserved kindness, all of that and more. But choosing it just won't work.

Why? Because choosing kindness is like trying to have honey without the bee. Eventually the sweet gift will run out without the giver.

Jeremiah 17:9 says, The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately sick... I doubt anyone would choose to vinyl that on a shirt or paint on a canvas to display over the mantle. It's not pleasant to think about, but it reveals a truth we must realize. We cannot choose kind because our hearts are not kind.

There is someone who is kind, though. 

But when the kindness of God our Savior and His love for mankind appeared, He saved us, not on the basis of deeds which we have done in righteousness, but according to His mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewing by the Holy Spirit, whom He poured out upon us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that being justified by His grace we would be made heirs according to the hope of eternal life. Titus 3:4-7

The Lord can create in us what our diminishing willpower can never accomplish. We will become kind as we get to know Kindness.

You can't choose kindness. But here are some things you can choose. 

• You can choose to make Jesus the King of your Life. This is so much different than believing He exists or trying to be good. It isn't accomplished by going to mass or Sunday service. It happens when you surrender every area of your life to God's Lordship.
• You can choose to spend time in His Word everyday. Reading the Bible changes you. It's unlike any other book because it is Alive. It cures your heart and transforms your life. It equips you to act more like it's Author.
• You can choose to pray. When you talk honestly and consistently with God, you get to know Him better. And the more you know, the more you will want to know.

When these are the choices that you make, kindness will be a natural product.

And God's kindness is unending, purer, and even sweeter than the bottle of "Mack-Daddy Honey" I just drizzled over my vanilla yogurt.

But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Matthew 6:33

This year I feel like I have been officially ushered into the "boy mom" world. I've been blessed to be mom to a little man for five years, and for the first time in his young life, he is playing the great American sport of baseball.

I don't know much about the sport, or any other sport for that matter. I have one sister. We danced. You need me to pick out some jazz shoes, I'm your girl. Bats, not so much. But I'm learning. One thing I figured is that if you are going to be an official baseball mom, you need one of those cute t-shirts that say, "You play; I pray." I may get one. But my prayer may not be what you expect.

I won't be praying for the big win or a home run. I'm not saying God doesn't care about those things. He cares about everything about us. He knows how many thousands of hairs are on our heads. But I think it would serve Andrew better if this were my prayer...

Son,
I pray that sometimes you get a big hit, and that when you do, you feel proud of yourself, but not prideful. I pray that you strike out some, too. Every swing won't be a home run. It's like that in life. Learning from your mistakes and trying again forms character.

I pray that you learn what it means to be part of a team. What you do affects others. When you don't give 100% your whole team may suffer. When your effort results in a win, you should share that victory.

I pray that you, Daddy, and I remember to thank the coach and many volunteers who are giving up their time for you. I know the best way to teach you gratefulness and respect is to model it.

I pray that you have a ton of fun, that you make new friends, and that you and Sissy get to eat lots of pickles from the concession stand.

I pray that as your Momma, I support you, but never worship you. 

I pray I get you what you need without spending exorbitant resources on the latest bat or coolest shoes just so you fit in. I pray that I never burden you by shackling my self-worth to your success. I pray that I refuse to sacrifice my relationship with your daddy because I've offered you all my attention or energy. Sometimes I'm tempted to do all those things.

For the next ten weeks and the rest of the time I'm on earth, I will be in the stands as your biggest fan, cheering you on! Praying these things for you!

All my love - Momma

I messed up big time today, and it all started with a prayer.
 
My routine began as mundanely as the plain Greek yogurt that I eat every. single. morning. My alarm chimed its weekday wake up call at exactly 6:23am. I slipped on my robe, quietly fixed my coffee and opened my phone so that Facebook could instantly brief me on whatever breaking news had erupted while I slept. A comment stirred me a little. Then disapproval welled in my chest. A little guilt quickly followed. I knew it was none of my business, but if it were my business, I would have handled it better.
 
In my head, I always know the things that others should have done and the words they should have spoken. I tell myself I’m capable and confident. I think if I want something done right I should do it myself. I believe my family needs me. My work needs me. My church needs me.
 
This morning somewhere in the middle of my silent self-righteous rant, somewhere in the middle of all those “I’s” and “me’s”, I heard a whisper from the Holy Spirit, and I caught a glimpse of something far truer than the idea that I am indispensable.
 
I stay busy because everyone thinks I am strong.
 
Busy is often confused with strong. God is strong. When I rely on Him, I am strong. When I am busy, I am not strong. I am a busy body.
 
Faced with this truth, I uttered a six-word prayer that changed the course of my day, “I have a problem. Help me.”
 
On Friday, I was parked at Sam’s. A girl hit me from behind. She was devastated. I told her it was just a truck. It was easy for me to say. I knew her pocketbook would be burdened with the repair.
 
My husband told me he would take my SUV to get a bid today for insurance. I didn’t need his help, and I didn’t want to wait. I drove down the four-lane road looking for the collision center I knew was nestled on one of its busy corners. A familiar intersection quickly revealed to me that I had gone too far. I veered into a parking lot to turn around and head back for a second look. The curb, meant to protect me from a nearby ditch, met the front then the bottom of my truck with a crash that sent heads turning.
 
I jumped out to discover scrapes on the front of my truck and a bent running board where the strangled curb struggled to escape the full weight of my new car.
 
On my way to the collision center, I collided with the answer to my prayer. 
 
God reminded me that I need grace.
 
I need grace as much as the mom I judged because I don’t understand what it’s like to be her. I need grace as much as the leader who disappointed me because I saw that disappointed look in my child’s eyes just this week. I need grace as much as my husband because sometimes it’s my fault were late.
 
I need grace. I need grace from others. I need grace from myself. And I certainly need grace from God. I’ve got a scrape on the front of my truck to prove it.
 
Lord, thank you for your reminder today that motherhood, marriage and all things in life are not a competition. They are gifts, and so is your grace.

 In 2003, my husband, my father-in-law, and I went on a mission trip to the country of Belize. While we were there, the lead pastor of our team shared a story that has been imprinted on my heart ever since. The event took place almost 500 years ago, but the truth it teaches echoes still.

It was against the law to share the Gospel, yet nothing, not even the risk of death, could keep the Christian from speaking what he knew to be true. As his ministry grew, so did the disapproval of the king, until eventually one day he was arrested, bound and imprisoned. His crime was sharing Jesus; his sentence was death. 

​The night before he was to be burned at the stake, the prison guard delivered his final meal by candlelight. Anxious, no doubt, about the next day's events, the man tried to hold his hand over the small flame, praying for the courage to endure the fire. Yet despite his determination, each time his instincts demanded he forcefully retract it. 

"How will I have the strength to endure this?" the man cried out to God. "Today even my hand cannot bear what my whole body will suffer tomorrow!"

​As the sun rose the next day, the man was led by shackles to the stake. Crowds watched. Some mocking. Some mourning. Yet nothing anyone could do would change the outcome. Suffering was coming.

The man was laid upon the wood. The fire was lit. And his flesh began to burn. But it was not the fire that consumed him. Something else was more powerful than the flame.

As scorching heat moved up his body, God's grace poured down over him. "God's grace is sufficient for me!" he announced as he was ushered into eternal peace. The man who couldn't hold five fingers over the flame breathed his last breath testifying to the sufficiency of grace.

Right now, I'm walking through that fire. Some of you are there with me. You've lost a loved one too soon, you're fighting for your marriage, you're praying for a lost child, you're rebuilding what was destroyed.

There are others who are watching the flames, supposing you would not have the strength to endure them. You would if God asked you to. 

God is not wasteful with His grace. It was purchased at a great price, the blood of His Son, Jesus. Not a single drop is poured out without purpose. Yet when we need it, His grace is enough.