Currently viewing the category: "Repent"

heart_miniThe volume had been high at home for a couple of days. Daughter had been struggling with issues, some known and some unknown. What is known is that life is hard at seven. Life is hard at 40-something. Life is just hard.Playgroundjpg

It is hard being here, in this broken place with broken people carrying around lofty expectations, when we were made to be there, in that perfect place, in heaven with God. Yet our faith requires us to live a life of not yet in a very broken now.

I am the first to admit that home is broken and to be clear, I am not getting divorced. We are simply imperfect and still figuring out how to be “healthy” in a sick space. For as hard as it is for us, it somehow seems compounded for daughter.

She had been riddled with anxiety and acting out more so than usual those couple of days. I tried so hard to figure it out. As a mommy, my heart bled for the hurt I could see as she lashed out, yelling and seemingly out of control. There must be a reason, something I could fix. Read Full Article →

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I saw this meme on a friend’s page on Facebook the other day and it made me laugh. I read it out loud to husband who also chuckled. I am not sure if it was sincere or obligatory in an attempt to ward off my using one of the words against him.Five Deadly Women Words

I know I have said these words in exactly that way and I bet many of you have as well. Whether you are male or female, I am sure you relate to this “secret” language that we are making light of here.

I started to share the post to have a laugh over it with friends but was stopped short. A sense of deep sadness swept over me as the truth about using this “secret” language or “code words” took hold.

We speak these code words, sometimes flippantly, in frustration, or maybe even in exasperation, expecting our spouses to understand.  We may even use these code words on our children, friends, or coworkers.

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Feeling great about navigating through the impossible conversation, sister and I began the process of sorting through Dad’s stuff in the house on the mountain at the lake. My heart ached realizing that all of his years of living were reduced to stuff on shelves, in closets, drawers and boxes. My dread was renewed at the sheer volume of stuff. Dad never threw anything away.blue flowers background Prov 15

I am not sure what compelled him to hang on to everything, and I mean everything. Like the American Kennel Club registration papers for the dog we had when I was a child, our sweet family dog who died when I was 13. Or the auto insurance policies to the Dodge station wagon (yes, the large green “Brady Bunch” wagon with the wood panel down the side) from 1972 through 1977. There were things like his childhood stuffed bear to every letter, birthday card and father’s day card I had ever sent him. Read Full Article →

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 →

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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