I have lived my entire life in Southeast Texas. Half of it I spent in a two-story house at the end of a long road with one curve that marked the boundary for how far from home I could ride my bike. Today I barely recognize that once quiet street.

The familiar houses are hidden behind mounds of debris that just last week carried lifetimes of memories.  Like the couch where my sister and I curled up with a bowl of popcorn then argued over which television show to watch, the soft afghan you would find my mom cuddled under as she drank her morning coffee, or the toys my parents saved from my childhood that now my kids enjoy just as much as I once had.

​All of it piled up. House after house, looking more like a war zone than the friendly suburb where I grew up.

Then there are others in my community whose heart aches even deeper because they have lost loved ones, swept away by floods that invaded us under the darkness of night and brought to some not just destruction, but death.

Constant reminders of the crisis are at every turn. Make shift medical clinics treating the wounded, bare shelves at the store where bread and eggs belong, driveways filled with extra cars where neighbors are sheltering family and friends.

In all the despair, it's easy to wonder Why would God allow this to happen? Such suffering? Such pain?

​This is my friend. I met her about a month ago. She's a single mom with two young kids so it's no surprise that some days she just gets stressed. I was visiting with her one of those days, and I told her about a peace that I found that comes from Jesus. I wasn't sure how well she had heard me. Her kids, like mine, left little time for adult conversation.

Then on Tuesday, August 29th early in the morning, the rains began to fall. The clock was the only indication that the sun had risen. It set that evening without ever having the opportunity to make itself known to my little corner of the world. Dark clouds pouring torrential storms blocked its light and continued into the night. The water rose until my son was convinced that our road was no longer a street, but a river. The rain beat so loudly on our roof that you had to sit closely to one another to converse. Then at 1:45am, deep into the night my phone rang. I answered it quickly. I was still awake. The whole town was. No one could sleep. We were under attack by Hurricane Harvey.

It was my friend. I could barely hear her shaky voice choked with tears.

There in the middle of the night, in the middle of the storm, I told her again about the peace that only Jesus can bring. This time I was sure she listened.

We prayed together, and she surrendered her heart to the Lord of Heaven and Earth, the Lord who the wind and waves obey, the Lord who binds up the broken hearted. In the middle of the storms that raged, she found peace.

She is why God allowed Hurricane Harvey. She is the proof that God is always victorious, in every circumstance. There is nothing that He allows to happen that is not for the good of His people. 

There have been countless others like her in Southeast Texas this week. Some take the form of those who, like her, sought God in their moments of desperation, maybe as they were being lifted by a helicopter over the raging waters or as they searched anxiously for family members who had been separated by a frantic evacuation. Some received Him when they discovered a strength they didn't know they had. They braved the waters to pull neighbors from the rising floods and realized their bravery could only come from a loving God. And some watched as a friend endured the trials of this week with a hope they longed for. When they asked about the source of hope, they learned the answer was Jesus.

God loves each one of us so much. I think she alone would have been enough for God to send a hurricane if it meant one more of His precious children would spend eternity with Him in heaven. But I'm pretty sure she isn't alone.

​How has God proven His love and power in your life this week? Tell me about it.

Monday begins a new season of my life. It will be different. Different can be hard.

For the last twelve years, I have been a stay-at-home mom to a preschooler. The year my daughter went to kindergarten, I had a baby boy. In two days that baby boy will go to kindergarten. There are no more cartoon-watching little people to toddle around my house all day spilling Cheerios and asking me a million questions.  No more Hot Wheel races under my feet while I'm cooking dinner. No more helpers at HEB pleading to go down the toy aisle "just to look."

I often grumbled about the messes and begged to go five minutes without a question or request. I'm worried Monday may be a little too clean and a lot too quiet.

I'm also worried about my little man. I'm worried he will miss me, that the double knot in his shoes will come untied, that he won't eat all his lunch in the 25 minutes allotted. And then when he misses me, his shoes come untied and he is hungry, I'm worried he will cry. Then when he cries, other kids will stare and he will be embarrassed. Then he will hate school forever and me for sending him...I've got it all figured out in my worried little mind.

Last night I monitored the storm affecting Texas. I secretly hoped it would veer this way just a little, just enough to postpone the start of school a few more days, to postpone the inevitable change in seasons.

But then God reminded my anxious heart of something that I have been reluctant to accept. Seasons are a gift from God.  Without seasons, there would be no growth.

Nature itself testifies to this. It's clear that without the spring rains and summer suns, flowers would not bud. Yet winter is just as important. In fact botanists have a name for this cold, necessary season - chill hours. Many plants, such as fruit trees, have a requirement of cold before they will bloom. God made in them a season to be dormant so that when winter is over, they will blossom into all He created them to be.

As this new season of uncertainty and change approaches, I can lament with worry and regret, or I can chill. I can trust that God loves my son even more than I do. I can believe that although my days may look different, God still has a purpose for each one. And I can remember that my worry will not change one day of this season, which God has already ordained. What is unknown to me is known to God.

Thank you, God, for each season. As this new season approaches, help me to see it as a gift, help me to understand everything that happens is for my growth and your glory, and help me to chill.

America is going to hell in a hand basket!
Times have changed since...
I don't know what this world is coming to!
​This generation of kids these days!

We've all heard it. Most of us have said it, or at least thought it. We've lamented injustice or iniquity with thoughts of a progressively worsening state of affairs. Some of us feel righteously angry about it, others grieve the past with remorse. 

People in Solomon's times must have had their Hebrew versions to express their dissatisfaction with their assumed decline of mankind, too, because he has something to say to them, and to us.

When we romanticize the past, we run the risk of resenting the present. But God has called us to a very different purpose.

 If Jesus were walking the earth as a man today, I think He would be much more concerned with opening his home to neighbors than locking up his belongings in defense of rising auto burglaries. He would have spent more time praying for his leaders than picking apart everything they said on Fox News. He would have signed a check before he signed a petition. Locked doors, Fox News, petitions...none of those are bad things. But there is something better.

The answer is not to tolerate sin. But it is to love the sinner, just like Jesus did. (Romans 5:8) 

And the answer is not to conform to the world. But it is to love the world, just like God did. (John 3:16)
​
I like how 18th century Bible commentator, Adam Clarke, put it, In former days men were as wicked as they are now, and religion as unfashionable; God is also the same now as He was then; as just, as merciful, as ready to help.

Lord, in this present age, help me to imitate you.

Geez! I opened my Bible last Monday to continue what I started three years ago - studying it chronologically - and I found myself in Ecclesiastes 1. 

I set down God's Word and shook my fist a little at the author. Surely He knew I could use some peace and comfort, yet my studies landed me in the only book of the Bible that would be considered pessimistic literature. I had only read verse 1, and I was already feeling pessimistic!

Verse two proved to be more of the same. So did verse three, verse four, verse five, verse six...Verse after verse suggesting that there is no profit for our labor, no purpose in our suffering. The monotonous words rolled off the page like links of a chain meant to oppress me.

I was sitting on the cream-colored cushions of a wicker love seat tucked into the corner of a screen porch at my parent's lake cabin. The sun had not waken much earlier than I, but even at these first stages of her ascent, I could feel her heat beating down upon me through the screens. With one swoop I wiped away both a bead of sweat and a fallen tear. I felt silent. I had no poetic thoughts from my morning reading to record in my journal.

I began to physically slump both from the heat of a July morning under the sun and from the heaviness I felt welling up in my chest when my eyes caught a phrase that was tucked away at the end of several distressing verses.

"He toils under the sun" (v3) 
"Nothing new under the sun" (v9)
"All the works that are done under the sun" (v14)

Under the sun.

Everything is vanity under the sun... labor without profit, oppression without justice, pleasure without satisfaction, suffering without comfort, trials without peace.

But I don't live under the sun. 

As Christians, this world is neither our all nor our end. As Christians we have eternity in Jesus. There is purpose in our pain, forgiveness in our failure, and hope in our heartache.

We live under the SON.

A little something extra...After my study, I meditated on how I could change my thinking from living "under the sun" to living "under the SON." It helped me so I thought it might help you too. Download this worksheet if you'd like to give it some thought. I gave a couple of examples to help get you started.

Andrew HAD to have one. He promised every boy in the world had one. He promised he could not live without one. He promised it was the last thing he would ever ask for.  

But in the end, it wasn't the aggrandized content of his promises that produced results. It was his persistence that drove me mad until I drove him across town to purchase the neon green fidget spinner he had spotted and obsessed over for a week. 

As we walked hand in hand into the superstore with a motto as lofty as one of Andrew's promises ("Save Money. Live Better."), I spotted a thin man whose hair matched his faded white t-shirt. The phrase on the shirt made it stand out even more than the black bold font. 

The shirt achieved it's intended...It shocked me a little. Part of me wanted to forsake proper social protocol, which limits interaction with strangers in superstore parking lots to brief eye contact and perfunctory smiles. Two instinctual reactions to his shirt lugged me toward him. I'm not sure which reaction would have taken precedence in our encounter had I actually approached him. I felt both angry and sorry for him that he felt so little remorse or conviction for what I imagined must be a grave amount of poor decision-making in his life. "Why else would he wear a shirt like this?" I predicted. But then I stopped in my tracks because I realized something...

His shirt was completely right.

 I don't have to justify how I live. I can't!

No amount of good works, church attendance or religious talk will make me righteous before God. Yet He has offered me a gift that I could never earn on my own - His grace!  

While His grace is free to me, it is not without great cost. The perfect Son of God suffered and died in my place to do what I could never do, justify my standing before a Holy God. Because of Jesus, my sins have been forgiven and my eternal rest secured.

Thank you God for Jesus. Help me to be more like Him so that others may see that whatever good is in me is because your grace has changed me and invited me to truly live.

I don't have to justify how I live. I live because I am justified!

There is a habit, no matter how hard I try, I cannot break. These words roll off my tongue bypassing my brain like one of those deep water waves that swell below the ocean's surface then emerge to peak and break with white caps of surprising velocity feet before the shoreline.  I cannot help it. I've just been saying these words for so long. No matter your age or station in life if you ask me a question or give me an instruction, you are likely to hear them...

Sir or Ma'am

I'm from the South.  My momma trained me to respond with those titles of respect from the time I toddled. She reminded me thousands of times to add that one syllable (well, maybe two syllables for Ma'am - I am from the South) to my answer. So much work and attention went into that. Her labor wasn't in vain. Even as an adult, that training is ingrained in my vocabulary.

I read this verse this morning, and I thought about how much work training is. I'm currently following in my mother's footsteps, coaching my children dozens times a week to add politeness to their speech. It's laborious, and it gives me a new-found respect for my mom's relentless efforts.

It's really daunting to think about being the trainer for our kids in things more important than their usage of a colloquial phrase and even more overwhelming to consider that how well we train them might have some effect on how things go for them for the rest of their life!

I read the verse again, and I felt left hanging. Like I had just been given one of those missions where the message was set to self-destruct leaving me alone to accomplish something that even the best moviemaker lacks the ability to make believable. But I know God never leaves me alone, and He never gives me more than I can handle so I looked to my good friend, Strong's Concordance, for some advice and found something that I had missed in reading this verse dozens of times before.

The Hebrew word for train, chanak, is used five times in the Old Testament. The four other times it's used it is translated "dedicate."  This momma's heart had to meditate on that a moment!

Good parenting is not about training my kids in a strict program of moral and ethical behavior. It's not a pursuit to make them the smartest in the class or the fastest on the team. It's not about setting them up for financial success or opening doors for them in the workplace. 

Good parenting isn't about making good people. It's not about making anything at all.

It's about giving - dedicating them to the perfect parent, loving them enough to surrender control, praying for them, encouraging them in God's Word and in a personal relationship with Him, and then allowing them to follow Him, no matter where it takes them.

Last week we were blessed by a visit from my sister-in-law. She and her husband moved from Texas to North Dakota almost two years ago so it is always a treat when they come to town for a visit. Jenna and I have a lot in common... Aggies with determined personalities who love to shop and eat Mexican food. But one thing about her that doesn't even register on my radar is her love for horses. They call her Ellie Mae. I would better be described as "not an animal person!"

Nevertheless, I enjoy hearing her stories about prize-winning barrel races, her newest rescue dog or her latest adventure - animal chiropracty.  You won't find me on the back side of a sore horse providing specialized muscle therapy, but I have learned a thing or two from her. She loves her horses. They are  family members to her. But like that strange uncle, horses, no matter how well-trained, can be unpredictable.

A horse who has effortlessly galloped around large bright barrels hundreds of times more as a ballerina with hooves than a massive equine can have a bad day. Jenna is an amazing horse trainer who has had hundreds of successful races, but like everyone who rides, she has a few stories of those bad days too.

I think Solomon must have known a lot about horses too...

The wisest man to ever live understood something that I need to remember. My most thought-out plan, my most valiant effort will always pale in comparison to the victory found only in Jesus.

As a wife and mom, I am great at planning and preparing. Last week, I fed my family, two extra kiddos, a father-in-law and sister-in-law, and various other family members for five days with a menu so well-planned that it didn't require a single extra trip to the store. Mackenzie is going to pre-teen camp next week. I've already started packing her bag. I'm a well-trained work horse who runs this house like one of Jenna's successful barrel runs most days.

But then there are those bad days. Those days when I spoke the words that would have been better left unsaid, those days when I was too busy to listen or to selfish to give. It's on those days that I am most thankful that my victory, my success in this life and my security in the life to come isn't in the horse. It's in the Lord.

Yikes! I ran across those statistics from the American Pew Research Center this week as I was preparing to teach my third session of Tech Savvy Parenting.

I've read several books to prepare for this class, and many of them give great information that equips parents to help their whole family use technology wisely, including when it comes to social media. And everything I have studied stresses that it is the conversations we have with our kids when they are offline that most influences how they behave online.

I want to talk to my kids about how to be safe and smart online, especially when I consider that the average teenager spends two hours a day on the internet. I have taught them how to look both ways before crossing the street, I have told them countless times to brush their teeth if they don't want cavities, and I have tutored them on the correct way to hold their fork. But those things are clear-cut, and I'm confident in my ability to relay those messages. Protecting your online reputation, now that seems a little more complicated.

This morning I put aside the bulleted lists of "Ways to Protect Your Online Reputation" from the various books I've been soaking up the last few weeks, and I set out to find something that my son and daughter could use to help them in that moment when they are deciding to hit "post" or "send." Already through my research (and my life experience) I have learned that when kids make bad choices it more often has to do with their impulse control than with their lack of character. I want something that they can remember, something that rings in their ears and burns in their hearts. So I Googled It. 

Search: "Acronymous about online posting"

Search: "Catchy sayings about online posting"

Search: "Sayings to teach kids modesty"

And the list goes on...

But every time my results were the same - nothing. So I decided to forgo Google and seek God, the giver of all knowledge. (Yes, He's even smarter than Google.) This time my search came up with just the result I was looking for. I'm calling it #ProjectSELFie.

Here's how it works. Before you post or send that selfie or any other digital message, ask yourself does it...

This morning I taught Mackenzie this short poem. We talked about how Christ is the light of the world and as Christians, it is our job to shine His light. We discussed how pictures or messages that seek to highlight our bodies do not bring glory to God.

I also pointed out that whatever she texts or posts, no matter who she is sending it to, should be considered for everyone to see. Research shows that over half of the inappropriate pictures sent or posted by adolescents end up in the hands of unintended recipients.

Then we talked about how the love of Jesus is for everyone. Jesus does not reserve His love and grace for those who have achieved popularity, success or fame. If we want to love like Jesus, our goal cannot be popularity either. He calls us to be genuine and compassionate. If our post is dishonest or is going to put someone down or make someone feel left out, then it isn't loving like Jesus.

And finally, we agreed that what we say online or on text is forever. Once we hit send or post, it is permanent. If we can't live with that fact, then our fingers should find that backspace or delete button right away!

I'm sure there will be times when my kids make poor choices on social media so I will be sure to tell them that Jesus is bigger than any mistake! He can handle a digital media failure.

But it is my prayer that this silly poem might ring loudly in some of those moments when their little fingers are moving more quickly than their young minds. Plus we are going to have more conversations like the one we had this morning because I want to be part of that intentional ten percent! My kids are precious, and they deserve it...yours do too.

My favorite spot for hiding unwrapped Christmas presents is my closet.  I know it's not very innovative, but I'm all about convenience.  It's not very secretive either.  My kids know their presents are there so I just forbid them to look.  Plus to offer them an extra dose of self-control, I add that whatever is intentionally found will be returned. I think that works.

Then there is this pink tool box.

It started out three Christmases ago secretly tucked beneath a long rack of color-coordinated shirts.  We planned to fill it with pink tools appropriate for a little girl who loves to help her daddy.  But we ran out of time that year to purchase all the tools so we agreed to keep it tucked away until her birthday.  Her birthday came and passed without another thought to the pink tool box lurking in the dark corner of my closet.  

Around October that year, I couldn't find one shoe.  I started ransacking my closet floors searching for the match to my only pair of closed-toe black heels.  I found it.  I found the tool box too.  With Christmas approaching again, I made a mental note to add little pink tools to my shopping list.  My mental note was lost.

After my annual Christmas shopping trip with my mom and sister, I snuck my packages into the house and crept to my closet.  I'm not sure I needed such stealth; the kids knew where they were going.  I pushed a package under the shirts hanging next to my shoe rack and was answered with resistence. The pink tool box.  

I'd spent my Christmas budget now with no little pink tools to show for it, and I needed that hiding space for my newest purchases.  I pulled out the box and placed it in the open next to Lance's shoes.  After all, he had much more room on his shoe rack than I did.  I grabbed a blanket and draped it over the tool box.  It would have to stay there until after Christmas.  After that it could reclaim it's hiding spot until I was ready to gift it with some pretty pink tools for this year's birthday.

Lance complained about the swaddled obstruction near his shoes at first.  I explained it was temporary, and he obliged.  We began to not even notice it.  Six months later, I needed a blanket for a picnic.  The one covering the tool box seemed it would do.  I grabbed the covering, considered hiding the box somewhere else, then decided it had been there two years.  She had probably seen it anyway, and I was in a hurry.

This morning I went to retrieve the gifts hidden under my clothes that still have to be wrapped.  The pink tool box sitting out in the open next to Lance's shoes caught my eye.  I still haven't purchased any tools.  I'm not sure I ever will.  She's a preteen now and not so much into helping her daddy with little household projects anymore.

It struck me that I walk into my closet sometimes five times a day, and I don't even notice this obtrusive box anymore.  It has gone from being hidden in a secret place, to being covered, to finally being fully exposed, and now that I think of it, in my way.  Yet I somehow have ignored its existence.

I think sin can be like that. Secret unforgiveness gets covered by a little resentment until full out bitterness controls your thoughts.  Or that bad habit done in private becomes an addiction until one day you wake up and realize it's your greatest need.  Maybe it's harsh words that create a guarded distance that lead to a failed relationship.  

Things hidden in a secret place never stay secret for long!

By the way, anyone know a little girl who would like an empty pink tool box?

Promise for Today:
If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. 1 John 1:9

I should be doing a million other things right now.  At this very moment there are unwrapped presents hidden beneath the clothes in my closet.  I have a grocery list on my end table waiting for me to check it off as I fill my basket with ingredients for almost a dozen dishes I will make in the next week.  I noticed last night our brightly lit tree needed to be watered and the tiny needles that are beginning to fall to the ground need to be swept.  I also noticed that they are still green.  I suspect our tree was spray-painted to add some color.
 
For some reason, I'm feeling a little unmotivated.  Maybe it is because the flurry of activities that  characterize our life this time of year is starting to catch up with me.  Yes that could be part of it, but I know there is more.  I keep thinking about something.  I keep thinking about what Mary and Joseph were doing in the days, maybe weeks leading up to that first Christmas.  They were walking.  Ninety miles to be exact.
 
Can you imagine Mary?  Pregnant, tired, dirty.  
 
We talked about Christmas with our second and third graders this Sunday.  Lance showed them a picture of Mary and Jospeh's journey to Bethlehem.  Mary's simple dress was a dull white stained with dirt, a far cry from the clean pink or baby blue we often picture in nativity scenes.  I appreciate the accuracy.  I bet her ankles were swollen, too, and no doubt her back ached something fierce.
 
They walked through arid desert, mile after mile, day after day.  I wonder how many nights they spent camped in the cold?  I wonder how many quiet tears Mary shed as her very pregnant body begged her not to take another step?  I imagine I would have cried a few.
 
What's puzzling me this morning, the reason I'm in my pajamas in front of a computer screen and not in line at HEB, is why God chose to bring them from Nazareth to Bethlehem on such a difficult journey.  I know the facts of the story...Joseph was from Bethlehem and the governor had ordered a census.  Or even on a larger scale, it was prophesied that Jesus would be born in Bethlehem so it was God's plan that they travel there.  But why plan it that way?  Why require so much of Mary?
 
Maybe it's because Christmas is so much more than celebrating the night that King Jesus was born.  It's about how we recognize His Kingship those other 364 days a year, those days when the journey is long and the road is difficult.  

The last several days I have checked off a lot of important Christmas "to-do's" and prioritized those treasured Christmas traditions.  At times these things have been accomplished at the expense of having patience with my kids or allowing the older lady struggling to hold a 24-pack of diet coke in front of me in the marathon line at Wal-Mart.  This morning I realized that being on schedule to pull off another festive holiday for my family is not the same thing as being prepared for Christmas.

Being prepared for Christmas is so much more.  It's how you walk with Christ all year long.  It's being obedient when He says go, surrendering to His will no matter what it costs, allowing His strength to carry you when you feel you cannot take another step, trusting His precious promises to sustain you, and celebrating His Kingship, not just on Christmas but every single day.

God put someone on my heart this morning, someone who I know is hurting.  The kids and I are going to visit her, and the presents in my closet are going to be gifted in reused Christmas gift bags instead of the bright wrapping and glittery bows I had planned. Because today I'm going to prepare for Christmas!