I don't stencil names onto fancy pieces of cardboard. I don't hot glue the perfect candy heart message onto cardstock. I don't bake heart-shaped cookies from scratch. I don't help my boy cut and glitter his own valentines out of red and pink construction paper. We buy a box of valentines and stick them in the envelopes. Last year, we left the envelopes blank, because we ran out of time to print the other kids names on them.
I quickly realized that I didn't have the words to ask God to respond the way I wanted Him too. All I could pray was, "Don't let him die!" but that didn't really capture the mighty work I was asking God to do. So I started praying Scriptures for my son.
Do you feel the pressure of the "mom laws"? They haunt us in blog posts listing ten ways we're probably screwing up our kids. We feel the squeeze from parenting books and advice from friends. They tell us we must do more and try harder. What if there's another way?
Are you a mother who is prone to angry, sinful impatience with your children? Are you too easily angered with your children but long to grow into a more patient, gentle parent? So does this mom who writes about some of the ways she's seen grace and growth in this struggle.
In a strange twist of events, my adult son was the one who escorted me to the hospital and stayed by my side through the traumatizing ordeal. Uncertain of how he might react in a situation like that, I was astounded at his composure, compassion, and strength. My husband would have acted in an identical manner, but I never guessed my son could.
Today was just one of those days. You know, those days when you get up extra early to pack lunches for preschool and jump in the car only for it to break down on the way. One of those days when tempers flare and your kids fight all day long.
Did you catch a glimpse of the May 21, 2012 TIME Magazine cover? It features a real mom from Los Angeles with her three-year-old son nursing while eyeing the camera with a toddler glare. The magazine dared to ask a question we are all asking ourselves, "Am I mom enough? Do I have what it takes to mother well? And if I fail, what price will need to be paid?"
We enjoyed our lunch and conversation, paid the check, and headed out to the car. Then it happened. She said these words: "Wouldn't it be neat if some parents taught their children to memorize the entire book of Proverbs before they left home?" I didn't say anything, but what I was thinking was, "Oh yeah, that would be neat . . . for some other parents!"
We pray this verse for Eli. We pray this verse with Eli. We’ve painted this verse on the wall in Eli’s room. When he starts reading, this will be a passage I will have him practice reading often. When he is able to memorize Scripture, this verse will be where we start.
I quickly realized that I didn’t have the words to ask God to respond the way I wanted Him too. All I could pray was “don’t let him die!” but that didn’t really capture the mighty work I was asking God to do. So I started praying Scriptures for my son.
Moms, please don’t let these days slip by too quickly. Stop to play.
Stop to sing and rock. Stop to pray with your toddler. Hug the
squabbling siblings and sneak out of the house to have a Sonic date with
So begins one of my favorite children's Christmas stories, The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey.I've been reading this to my
three-year-old for the last several nights and have had to brush the tears from
my eyes more than a few times.
As a child growing up in a Roman Catholic family during the 1960s, we celebrated Halloween. That is to say, on October 31, we cobbled together homemade costumes of sad hobos, friendly ghosts, and fierce pirates so we could run from one house to another shouting “Trick or Treat!” as we gathered lots of candy.
Being a mother is just plain, hard work. At times, it feels like slave labor! Moms can identify with the cartoon of a toddler looking at a wedding album with his daddy and saying, “So that’s the day Mommy came to work for us!”
I was feeling a little under the weather the other day, so my sweet husband decided to take my boys out for breakfast to give me a break. When the hostess asked how many to seat and my husband replied “just the three of us,” she bent in close and whispered, “Did momma leave?”
My two year old is a very good boy most of the time, but there are times when he is downright carnal. And if given the opportunity to choose between what’s best for him and what isn’t, he usually picks option b. Sunday was the perfect example . . .
As a teen determined to make a difference, I wanted to live all out for Christ, whether that meant heading to a third world country to spread the gospel or immersing myself in academic theological training. One aspect of “making a difference” really didn’t hit my radar screen, though . . .
If Bella were my daughter, I’d warn her loudly and clearly about falling for a counterfeit version of true romance. In the real world, the Bellas who fall for the Edwards usually don’t live happily ever after. In the real world, twilight turns to night.
Motherhood gives us feelings of fuzzy blankets and baby rattles and toys
to line the crib. But motherhood is actually one of God’s refining
fires. The reality of motherhood is that it’s a place to learn
surrender, letting go, trusting, and believing that God is God.
Not only is this birthday a reminder that I’m no spring chicken, it also
has me wondering where the dancing has gone. Life has a way of taking
the dance right out of our hearts. Age seems to inevitably usher stress,
sadness, fear, and anxiety into our lives and those carefree days of
baby bouncing fade quickly away.
All mothers know the significance of tiny clothes. They are precious reminders of how small our babies once were. They smell like new life and remind us of rocking chairs, first smiles, and 3 a.m. feedings.
I’d been having a really bad day. You know, the kind of day where everything that possibly can go wrong, does. My toddler had thrown one too many fits, my baby needed a little too much of my attention, lunch was burning on the stove, and my house looked like a toy bomb had gone off . . .
The miscarriage came in the early morning hours the day after the doctor’s visit. A womb emptied its treasure far too early, a daughter delved into pain deeper than she’s ever known, and questions fill the empty spaces.
We spend years trusting God for the ability to accomplish feeding, grooming, clothing, talking, bandaging, correcting, praying, instructing, laughing, crying, playing, applauding, hugging, loving . . . and then we trust God for the ability to let go.
"If I could pray one thing for tweens, it would be that at their age, they can grasp how much Jesus loves them. If they really can grasp that and have that God-confidence . . . man, it will be life-changing!"
Every morning, Maryann wakes up and thanks God for the cross. It’s the centerpiece of her life. Maryann was raised in a Christian family. However, in high school she got absorbed into the drug and party culture, and found out she was pregnant at the age of 17. She had an abortion, which she kept a secret for 15 years, before specifically confessing her sin.