From the monthly archives: "June 2013"

Watching daughter’s reflection in the mirror this morning, thinking how grown up she looks as she stands next to me, a proclamation was made, “I wish I was blonde.” My heart sank as the voice of envy and insecurity comes out of the mouth of my precious, beautiful girl.

And so for daughter the battle begins at the age of seven. The battle we all face about our appearance, our bodies, the things we don’t like about ourselves, the fight against envy and insecurity. It is the war of negativity, the whispers of the enemy and our roots struggling to take hold in the rich soil of our Father and not the wasteland of self loathing and the enemy .

I don’t remember when it began for me but I know it was young, maybe even before daughter.  I never felt like the pretty one. I was short. My hair was thin and mousey. I was always a little pudgy. All the critical passages of womanhood came late for me. The boys paid no attention, or at least ones I wanted to look my way. I let my list of inadequacies begin to define me. Read Full Article →

My eyes at half mast, my heart in angst, I walked out to my desk in the dark this very early morning. I flipped on the light, able to see but I heard nothing. It is another day of deafening silence.

Why when God has been so present, answering so many of my prayers daily, has He been so painfully quiet in this one are of my life? This one hugely significant area of my life for which I have been seeking wisdom and direction for months, actually years and still I hear nothing. It has taken me to a place of frustration and sometimes anger, testing my faith.

I am simply not good at waiting and I have been waiting, and waiting, and waiting.  Last December as I was sitting at a women’s Christmas dinner, the speaker charged us with relinquishing ourselves to God and asking for His direction. I almost laughed, thinking that is all I have been doing for months, but out of obedience I prayed.  What came next was an answer I never expected and did not like at all. The answer was, “Barbara, you know what to do.”

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As I sit here in my office, all I hear is the loud sounds that come from the machine that is cleaning my carpet. It is the same carpet that needed to be cleaned for a second time in less than a month because stepdaughter and her friend chose to throw a party at our home while we were out of town for the long weekend.

I am flooded with thoughts as the noise propels me to relive the moments of our return from our blissful and peaceful weekend away to discover the painfully obvious clues of the goings on in our home during our absence.

I can feel the resistance of my feet and hear the “shhhhht-shhhhht” sound of my shoes sticking to the linoleum floor. I can see the stains in the carpet in the bedroom that look like someone tossed the liquid of their cup into the air in a circular motion, splattering everywhere in some modern art design. I can see the beer bottles left in the salad drawer of the refrigerator, the cigarette butts littered across both our front and back lawns, and the sound of the neighbor talking to husband out front about what actually happened here the night before. I can feel the array of emotions that coursed through my veins and shot straight into my heart.

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