Tiny Paragraphs

Fire, Smoke Damage, and Hysterical Yelling

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Wed, 29 Feb 2012 19:09:00 +0000

Last week, I put a stick of butter in a pan, turned on the burner, and reached for the milk.

Only a few drops left.

I thought, “If I leave now, I can stop at the store before I have to pick up Lindsay.” So that’s what I did. Only I forgot to turn off the burner.

Thirty minutes later, I came home to this:

(FYI, our cupboards are ordinarily white and that's not a shadow under the microwave. Notice the knobs melted off on the right?)

Obviously I take full responsibility. But that didn’t stop me from hysterically yelling halfway around the world (via Skype) to my husband about:

“...fire in our kitchen!”

”…smoke damage!!!”

“…melted microwave!!!”

I was frantic about getting the attic fan turned on, and needed him to tell me how to remove the seal in the attic. So what did he do? He hung up on me. Yes he did. He couldn’t find a way to turn down the volume on the Skype call, and my hysteria wasn’t fitting the ambiance of the Malaysian restaurant, where he was having breakfast. There was the clink of china, the rustling of newspapers, and the hysterical screams of a frantic wife. One sound had to go.

Click.

Well, guess who wasn’t happy about the brevity of our call? When you’ve caused a fire, put your kids at risk, and are trying to save your house from smoke damage, you don’t worry about maintaining your ‘fine dining’ tone of voice. Ken obviously couldn’t smell the smoke or see the black haze in the air. All he could see was the awkward glances of people around him.

Ken’s back home now. We’ve reconciled. And the smoke effects are (almost) gone. But I’m still thinking about my tone of voice. How often do I ‘keep my voice down’ about Jesus out of social courtesy? Even when I'm very, very concerned about a friend’s future without Christ, I minimize my volume because I don’t want to make a scene (which, apparently, I can--even in other hemispheres).

But the more I read the Bible, the more I can smell the smoke and see the haze in a reality without Jesus. It makes me want to abandon my 'fine dining' tone and crank out some noise. Sure, my friends might hang up. But they also might listen, come out of the haze, and see Jesus for the first time.

"I thought you said you were athletic!"

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Mon, 27 Feb 2012 16:11:00 +0000

It's 'Yellow Ball Monday' and Miriam Walsh has the ball:

It was a ski-lover's dream. Snow laden hill. Tiny puffs of snow falling from a
January sky. Athletes gliding down the hill. Hot cocoa sippers watching from
the nearby lodge.

Enter the Walsh family. Freshly relocated to West Michigan from the sandy
beaches of California, we were striving (which really means my husband was
determined for us) to become a skiing family. How hard could it be?

The boys were ages four and eleven then. Clad in their helmets, goggles,
and skiis, they took to the snow like butter to popcorn. Their instructor
nodded his approval in our direction.

My husband left to go figure it out for himself.

My turn. I nervously awaited my instructor. He slid over to me and flashed a
smile. Did his tooth just sparkle?

“You athletic?”

“Well, I guess.” Feeling spineless.

“What?”

“Yes. Yes, I am athletic.” Searching for confidence.

“Good. Let’s go.”

After forty-five minutes of many spills without any thrills, I was ready to be
finished. Forever. The last time I fell, I just laid there like a snowball looking up
at the powder blue sky. Small faces encroached my line of vision.

“What are you spending so much time down there for, Mom?” my older
son asked. My younger son echoed the question with inquiring blink of his lids.

It was a great question. My session over, my instructor helped me up and
said, “I thought you said you were athletic!” Until that moment I thought I
was.

Words escaped me but thoughts did not. There would not be a next time.
But that’s not the example I wanted to set for my kids. I did eventually learn
to ski proficiently. In this Christian journey I fall down sometimes. Okay, a lot.
Staying down or giving up is not an option. I persevere because that’s what
authentic followers of Jesus Christ do. When we fall short, we try again, no
matter what.

And that attitude is going to come in handy when I try to make my husband’s latest dream for our family come true—snorkeling.

Miriam Walsh is a writer, speaker and a woman who lives her deep convictions. You can read more at her blog, Holy Wonder. I tell people that Miriam and I are 'twins in Christ'--both because we share a birthday and because we have deep camaraderie in the Lord. Miriam lives with her husband, Tom, and two sons in East Grand Rapids, MI.

If you're interested in having the yellow ball tossed your way, check out more information here.

You Give Me Hope

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 21:00:00 +0000

The other day, Cade (age 8) said to me, "Mom, I really love it when you tell me that you love me. You know, like when you give me a kiss at night and say you love me? It makes me feel all warm when you say that. It gives me hope."

Then yesterday, when he hopped out of the van at practice, I called, "Love you, Bud." Cade turned with this little grin and said, "See? You're giving me hope again!"

I thought 'hope' was an interesting word choice for an eight-year-old boy. Hope has to do with the future. Hope is what steadies and buoys us. Hope gives perspective. It does for me.

Even though I'm not a perfect mom, my love fills my little boy with hope. He can face the chills of the day--the words of a bully or exclusion on the playground or red ink on an assignment--with a smile. Because he knows that no matter what, he will return to me cherished and belonging.

This is the sort of love that God, who is a perfect parent, gives to all of his children. We can face our bullies and red ink with a smile, too. We know that we are cherished and belong... to Him!

Singin' "No way, no way, no way!"

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 15:50:00 +0000

It's Yellow Ball Monday, and Alice Daniels has the ball:

A number of years ago, I was in that worn-down part of the day of getting the children ready for bed. I had given my 18-month-old, Elaine, her bath, tucked her up in her crib, and was now trying to corral my 4-year-old, Lucy, and get her ready for bed. As all parents know, some days that venture is about as fruitful as herding a roomful of cats, and this was one of those days.

I finally got her bathed and dried off, but not without her wiggling and giggling and talking non-stop on a variety of topics ranging from the merits of string cheese to ladybug funerals, and generally disobeying every directive I gave her.

Finally I said, “I am getting so cross with you. You are not obeying. I want you to go into your room, put on your pajamas, and get into bed. I’ll come and check on you in a minute.” She went away, downcast, and when I went into her room a minute later, she was standing there, her big, brown eyes filled with unshed tears. She threw her arms around me and cried, “Oh, Mama! I’m so sorry. I will obey you. Please—have mercy on me!” Of course, I couldn’t resist that plea, and we ended the night on a happy note.

When I left Lucy’s room, I went across the hall to check on the baby. I peeked through a crack in the
doorway, and saw Elaine, lying in her crib in the dark, waving her pajama-clad feet in the air, and singing a little song she had apparently composed herself. The lyrics were: “Mommy, mommy, mommmmeee. No way, no way, no way!”

Several years later, this story never fails to crack me up, but I wonder sometimes if I must look similar to God. How often do I sit in the dark, kicking my feet, and saying “No way”? How much better after a spell of disobedience that I fling myself upon Him, re-promise to obey, and beg for mercy!

Oh, give thanks to the LORD, for He is good! For His mercy endures forever. Psalms 136:1

Alice N. Daniels is an educator, writer and editor. She teaches at Judson College in Illinois, and writes/edits for Significant Living Magazine, but I'm pretty sure that her favorite students/writers/readers are the two little girls that call her 'Mama'.

Alice and her husband, Darren, live in the Rockford, IL area, which is just far enough away from me that we haven't yet met in person. But we're working on a little summer plan which includes WAR International jewelry, tea drinking, and some sort of scrumptious concoction made by our mutual friend, Jamie. Stay tuned!

If you're interested in sending a story for another Yellow Ball Monday, check out more info here.

What Humiliation Does and Doesn't Accomplish

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Sat, 18 Feb 2012 15:13:00 +0000

When I was in high school, I loved piano. My choir director asked me to accompany the choir on a a couple of our songs. I said sure, I'd be happy to, though I had never accompanied before.

I practiced the songs, which were easy enough, at home, but I guess I didn't practice enough. Or at least I didn't get the tempo fast enough. Because when I tried to play with the choir, it sounded like they were dragging me along for the ride. I tried to catch up to the beat of the director's arms, which were flapping furiously, but my fingers just wouldn't cooperate.

I was embarrassed. But not nearly as embarrassed as by what happened next.

The director walked around behind me to the bass side of the piano, and with one big swoosh, he slid down the bench and bumped me off the other end, closest to the choir. His fingers picked up where mine had failed and led the melody onward. I wasn't sure what to do. Should I join the choir? Should I watch him and try to learn? Should I begin singing? I just stood there, completely humiliated, until the song ended.

Now, I'm not saying I was blameless. I probably didn't prepare as I should have. Being the very silly, social teenager that I was, I'm sure I wasn't an absolute joy to have in class. But humiliation did nothing to help me become the serious, capable musician that my teacher wanted me to be.

In fact, though I still love to play the piano, I don't like to accompany. I get nervous and my fingers don't do what I want them to. An accompanist is something I will never become.

Curiously, even though I experienced the futility of humiliation as a motivator, I've employed it myself! Not with a choir or a classroom, but sadly, with my own kids. Just this week, I said something that shamed and embarrassed one of them. My goal was to elicit responsibility and productivity, but I did just the opposite by piercing and deflating my precious child's confidence and self worth with a few razor-sharp words. Since then, I've tried to heal the wounds with sweet, repentant, kind words. But it will take many, many applications of these healing words to reverse the effects of just a few razor-like ones.

"There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing." Proverbs 12:18

Whether with rash words or actions, we can have such negative influence over others--over what they will become. But, I want to harness the potential of healing words. Especially toward my kids.

What My Daughter Wants Me to Tell You

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 17:00:00 +0000

Lindsay remembers the day in first grade that she couldn't play with Abby at recess. She wanted to, but I had told her she couldn't. I said that Abby wasn't a good influence, and Lindsay needed to have more than just one friend. "So tomorrow," I told her, "I don't want you to play with Abby. I want you to find a new friend, instead."

For Lindsay, this was the longest recess of her life. She walked around sadly, twisting her toe in the wood chips, and wondering why Abby wasn't a good friend. Wondering when she would ever have a friend again.

Sadly, I don't remember this day at all. I don't even remember Abby. I do remember worrying about Lindsay's friend choices and the patterns that she was establishing. I worried a lot.

But at present, from our perch in her second half of eight grade, Lindsay's first grade friendships seem rather trivial to me. And I told her so. I said, "Oh, Linds... I'm sorry. I'm sure it wouldn't have hurt you to play with Abby."

So, Lindsay wanted me to tell you this. She's thinking that you might have a kindergartner or first or second grader who has chosen a less than stellar friend, or has picked up some bad habits, or is falling behind. She wants you to know that parenting is a process and you don't have put shellac on your kid just yet. There is time for some tweaking and fine tuning.

And in seven or eight years, you'll realize that the one you're making the most adjustments to is you.

A Treat by Any Other Name...

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 14:18:00 +0000

It's Yellow Ball Monday, and Karen Lehr has the ball:

Somewhere along the line, I have taught my kids that there are 'healthy snacks and 'unhealthy' ones. Most likely it was after Valentines Day or Halloween, when they are begging for candy every ten minutes. I've explained that candy isn't healthy and we need to eat something else. But this has prompted my kids to ask the annoying question, "Can I have an unhealthy snack?" To which I immediately respond, "NO!"

What kind of mom feeds her kids unhealthy snacks? But I wonder... If they rephrased it--if they asked for a 'treat' instead of an 'unhealthy snack'. Would I consent? Perhaps.

I have some 'unhealthy snacks' in my life, too. But I like to think of them as 'treats'.

I love to treat myself to books, and devour them readily. But, as a Christian, if I don't check the nutritional content of my reading material, I can quickly become spiritually ill.

I also like to treat myself to time with other women. I'm a stay-at-home-mom, and sometimes I feel starved for adult interaction. Like a hungry child indulging in a snack, I speak freely with my friends and feel energized! However, I'm prone to unhealthy snacking in this area, too. Like when I vent about people who annoy me, and leave the conversation feeling more drained that filled.

If I call my unhealthy snacks 'treats', I'm far too likely to ignore their nutritional content, and harm my spiritual health. What are you snacking on today?

Karen Lehr is married to Kirk and together they have three girls: Ruth (6), Bethany (4), and Hannah (1). Karen has no aspirations to write professionally, but enjoys teaching her girls about God's Word. She also enjoys preparing elementary Bible lessons for the Sunday School and Kid's Club at First Baptist Church of Mt. Pleasant, MI.

If you're interested in taking a turn with the Yellow Ball, find more information here.

My First Date with Ken

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 16:00:00 +0000

My friend recently went on a first date. She said the guy was nice, but the way he paid for her coffee was a little awkward. It didn't bother her that he wanted to pay. That was nice. Maybe he was just a little too emphatic about it. "No, no! I insist!!" he said, when her coffee rang up at, like, $1.45.

"Oooohh... such generosity!" I gushed, poking fun at the poor guy. But soon the laughs were on me when Ken described our first date.

It was a blind date, set up by our mutual friend, Renee. We met her boyfriend and her at a little diner for lunch on a Saturday afternoon. It was nice, and we all got along really well.

But when the bill came, Ken noticed that I didn't offer to pay. He was planning to cover mine, but he had grown accustomed to telling his dates, "No, no... I'll get it. I insist."

No coaxing was needed on this date. I didn't reach for my purse. I didn't ask if I could chip in. I didn't even offer to get the tip. I just kept chatting as if no one had ever heard of the girl paying for her own lunch on a first date.

So, Ken smiled to himself and picked up the tab. And thus began a long history of him doing just that.

Many would think I gave a very weak 'first date impression'--that I should have projected a more capable, independent image by insisting on paying for my lunch. After all, I have a college education, equal rights to employment, and opportunities that my grandmothers never enjoyed. But, while I am thankful for these blessings, I'm glad that I haven't allowed myself to be held hostage by them. I think that my relationship with Ken has been the strongest when I haven't exerted my independence--when I've allowed him to provide for and lead me. And when I've been content to let him do so.

Maybe my friend's date deserves more credit than we gave him. I think relationships work best when the guy says, "I insist!" And when the girl doesn't.

What do you think?

Who's camping in your yard?

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 17:33:00 +0000

It's Yellow Ball Monday and Chris Brauns has the ball:

A number of years ago, my wife and I talked at dinner with our four young children, about whether or not we ought to let angels camp on our deck.

I ought to explain that one. Our kids knew that the Bible says that the angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear God. And, that God commands his angels concerning His people. So, at dinner we pictured what that all looks like.

Do angels have to punch in when they are on duty? Do angels talk with each other about who is assigned to our family?

You might roll your eyes at such talk, but our children were young and we prayed they would absorb the reality that angels truly do watch over them. We wanted them to know that one way or another, angels encamp around us.

But, there was a problem with our angel picture. At that time was that we had moved into a house that needed a new yard. We were surrounded by mud. The kids wondered if angels would consider that ideal camping. One daughter thought maybe that we could grant them permission to camp out on the deck.

As the theologian in the family, I reminded the kids that angels get their marching orders from God and not from us. The deck was all theirs if God so chose.

Be encouraged. If you know Christ, then God commands His angels concerning you. Psalm 34:7 says that the Angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him. If you know Christ, angels pitch their tents in your yard. Or, in the words of Psalm 91, God will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. . . . a thousand may fall at your side, 10,000 at your right hand, but it will not come near you.

* * * * *

Thanks to Chris Brauns, who blogs at A Brick in The Valley, for contributing. I first met Chris, back when he was tossing the yellow ball to the counselors--I, being the one who hogged it the most--at Camp Calvary. Chris has been such an encouragement to me, both as a pastor and as a friend. I'm not sure I would have begun writing, if it hadn't been for Chris's encouragement, and I'm positive I wouldn't have ventured into archery instruction.

Chris is the author of two books, Unpacking Forgiveness, published by Crossway, and When the Word Leads Your Pastoral Search, published by Moody. He is currently working on his third book, to be published in 2012. Chris is a pastor, popular speaker, and husband to my good friend, Jamie. They are raising four fantastic kids in Stillman Valley, IL.

If you're interested in sending a story for another Yellow Ball Monday, check out more info here.

00:43

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

"What?!?"

I slammed on the breaks and pulled into someone's driveway so I could turn back toward our house.

With ever increasing decimal and agitation, I yelled, "How could you have forgotten your shin guards? I reminded you five times!! Do you realize this is going to make you late for your very first practice? I can't believe this! Do you know how much money we've spent on your soccer? If you really want to do this, you're going to have to be way more responsible than this!!! What were you thinking??"

It was then that I glanced down at my cell phone, which was still in my hand. And, oh no.

It showed 00:43.

I pressed the red button with my thumb and it began blinking at 00:44. Horrified, I began mentally calculating how many seconds I had used in my rant. Yup. About 43 seconds.

In my crazed tongue lashing, I had forgotten that I just widened my audience to include the friend I had just dialed. Drat, drat, drat! I hate it when my private sins lose their privacy. (Actually, my son would argue that my sin wasn't actually that private, but you know what I mean.)

A few minutes later, after I had apologized to my son and pointed the car back in the direction of soccer practice, I redialed my friend. When she picked up, I said sheepishly, "Anna? I'm mortified."

She assured me that she had held the phone away from her ear to give me privacy, and that she is no stranger to mom rants. But, still.

The thing that bothered me most (and bothers me still) was that my shame was less over losing my temper with my son, and more over my friend hearing it. So basically, I want to appear far less flawed than I actually am. Which is called hypocrisy.

Jesus warned about hypocrisy in Luke 12:2-3 when he said, "Nothing is covered up that will not be revealed or hidden that will not be known... and whatever you have whispered in private rooms shall be proclaimed on the housetops." (Luke 12:2-3)

I could add, 'Whatever you scream in the car with the windows up will be broadcast by Verizon.'

It only took 00:43 of someone else listening in for me to be shown the hypocrisy in my heart. Her ears on the matter helped me to get perspective, and have a truly repentant heart before my son and before my God.

But, does God give me these glimpses of my heart's nastiness to condemn me? To show me just how decrepit I am? No, because with Him, there's always grace. 43 seconds of sinfulness is met with an eternity of grace. Yes, he wants me to see my sin. But only so that I recognize, and more deeply cherish, his grace.

Classroom Valentine's Party Games!

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 21:15:00 +0000

For Room Moms, Party Planners, and Sunday School Teachers, and anyone else planning a Valentine's Party: Here are a couple of game ideas, using Conversation Hearts.

Candy Heart Seven Up
This works for first graders all the way up. It's just like 'Seven Up', only instead of tapping thumbs, you're placing a candy heart on the person's desk. Here's how you play:

Give each child a bag of candy hearts. Then choose seven kids to come to the front with their candy.
Have the class close their eyes and put heads down. No peeking! (I've been know to have peekers sit out for a round.)
The seven kids sneak to one person's desk and place a candy heart on it with a message like, "You Rock" or "My BFF".
When all seven are back in front, have the kids open their eyes and stand up if they've been given a candy heart.
One by one, they have a chance to guess who gave it to them (once older kids wise up to the game, they'll start leaving unlikely messages to throw their friends off...). If they guess correctly, they get to trade places with the friend in front for the next round.

Candy Heart Messages

This can be adapted for school or church, and will work better for 4th-6th grades, but might work well for younger kids, too.

Give each child some construction paper hearts, and a bag of candy hearts.
They should choose several people that they'd like to give a Valentine and come up with a message of encouragement for them, using the candy heart's words in their message.
Decorate the heart and glue the candy hearts in place.
Here are some examples:

Your work is always SO FINE! Keep it up!
I LUV YOUr art work! You are a really good artist!
MY LOVEly mother thinks you are a fun kid to have around. Hope you can come over soon!
I'll bet Mrs. Bailey is going to give YOU & ME an A on our Math tests!

In Sunday School, you can have even more fun!

Here are some examples:

It's SO COOL that God gave me you for a sister!
You help me GET REALly into Jesus!
WHATEVER you do, I can tell you do it for the glory of God!
Jesus is YOU ROCK of salvation--I can tell by the way you live!

Either give the hearts away in class, or take them home. The kids can either give them to their friends and family members, or hide them in backpacks, desks, and drawers as a surprise.

Do you have other Valentine's Classroom Games to share? Either post them in the comments or send them to me at shanpopkin@gmail.com. If I get some 'too-good-not-to-share' ideas, I might do another post. :)

Who Wants the Yellow Ball Next?

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 03:16:00 +0000

When I was a summer camp counselor, our director kept this yellow playground ball in the room where the counselors met. You could call for The Yellow Ball when you had a story to share, a statement to make, or just wanted to rant for a while. You'd hold the ball while you talked, and everyone would listen and nod and not interrupt. And then... you felt glad that you had shared.

With my Tiny Paragraphs blog, I feel like I've been hogging The Yellow Ball for quite some time. I'd like to give some others the chance to talk. So, I'm kicking off 2012 Yellow Ball Mondays. If you are lucky enough to get The Yellow Ball, you'll get to share your story! We'll all listen and nod and save our comments for the end; and I promise... you'll feel really glad that you shared.

Now, if you want to rant or make shock-effect statements, you'll have to find another blog. But if you have a story to share--a 'tiny paragraph'? Then Yellow Ball Monday is for you. Here are the guidelines:

I'd love to hear from other writers. Or those who would like to call themselves a writer (I feel this way on most days). Or those who just have a 'tiny paragraph' that others will enjoy. Also, if you have a friend who might be interested, would you send her/him a link to this post?
Send your 'tiny paragraphs' to me at shanpopkin@gmail.com. Here's what I ask: Please tell a story--something that happened to you or your child; something you observed, etc. Keep your word count between 300 and 350 words. In a sentence or two at the end, link your 'tiny paragraph' to the One Great Story. (For more about what I mean by this, go here.) Make sure that your spiritual parallel or comparison is consistent with the Bible's teaching.
If you'd like, we'll include a short bio and a picture of you at the end. We can link to your blog, website, or Facebook page... whatever way you might like to give readers a chance to connect more with you. Or, if you'd rather remain anonymous, that's fine, too.
Also, if you're interested in having me edit or make suggestions for your 'tiny paragraph', I'm up for that. I'd love to share what I've learned about storytelling with you. (This might especially appeal to new[er] writers.)

I can't promise that I'll publish everything I receive. Nor can I promise that I'll have a Yellow Ball story every Monday of 2012 (that depends on you!). But I do promise to consider every 'tiny paragraph' I receive, so... Who wants the Yellow Ball next?

Life After Birth

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 18:39:00 +0000

I really liked this. We don't think of ourselves as having an umbilical cord attached to God... but where does our food and water and oxygen and everything else we need come from? I look at these babies with such tenderness. If I could, I would tell them, "Very, very soon you'll get to meet your Mom and see her face. And someday you'll grow to understand how very much she has done for you."

And very tenderly, this is what God says about himself....to me, to you, and to every atheist who ever drew breath.

Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.
Hebrews 11:1

Why am I doing this stay-at-home thing again?

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 20:40:00 +0000

I'm stooped over, washing green marker off the wall. I have a bucket of water at my side and the phone up to my ear. I'm discussing carpool arrangements, but I have to keep excusing myself so I can tell my kindergartner to stop tormenting the girls upstairs. At the same time, I'm balancing my two-year-old, who insists on 'climbing' me.

Suddenly, all at once, I smell the chili burning on the stove, hear the girls screech, "Nooo!!!" as my son pries his way into their room, and feel my toddler fall from my back into the bucket of water.

And then, the doorbell rings. It's my neighbor. She has just gotten off work and is here to pick up her daughter. Five minutes later, as I watch her open the door of her posh SUV, I can't help but notice her trendy heels and classy suit.

As I push up the sleeves to my hooded sweatshirt, now wet from holding a soppy baby, and begin dumping the burnt chili into the sink, I ask myself, "Why am I doing this again? I mean, I want to be a stay-at-home mom, right?"

When you're in the middle of the chaos, it's easy to dream about a sterile, non-cheerio infested office. You wonder how it would feel to enter that place in your own trendy heals and classy suit. You can almost feel the non-sticky door knob, inviting you to come in and 'find yourself'.

In times like these, it's good to remind myself of what I've already found: The satisfaction of spending myself on my family. The noble hope of layering godly character onto the hearts of three little people who will soon be catapulted into the next generation. The wonder that God uniquely gifted me for this role. And the anticipation of his probing review of my life--when he will sift and weigh my investments.

Yes, I remember now. Why am I a stay-at-home mom? I'm here because I want to be.

This was taken from an article I wrote several years ago, published by Heartcry! Journal. Read more here.

You me at hell.

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 16:00:00 +0000

I know it's old fashioned to talk about hell. But since Jesus did, I think we should at least mention it to our kids. I mean, we tell them about the danger of hot stoves and electrical sockets and busy roads; shouldn't we also tell them about the one who can kill both body and soul?

The tricky thing is to not manipulate. I made this mistake. When Lindsay was four, I took her out on the front porch and told her, "There's a place called Hell. It's hot and dark and burning. It never stops and you can never get out. You're going there unless you ask Jesus to save you."

What choice did I give her? She caved in and 'got saved'. But for years she wondered if she really was. I think it's because it wasn't the Holy Spirit working in her heart that day; it was me.

But on the other hand, conversations about hell have actually opened my kids' hearts to God. You'd think it would be the opposite. (ie: "God made that horrible place? I don't like God. I'm going to plug my ears now.") But hell is accountability. It tells us that God is not OK with us trashing his name or ignoring his standards.

Hell is reciprocal to God's worth. If you insult an important person, you might get sent to the principal's office or have to pay a fine. But if you insult God, you get eternal damnation. Therefore, God must be worth a lot. And he expects us to act like it.

I have talked to my kids about God's grace and mercy and kindness and love since they were little. But until I talked to them about his wrath, they didn't really understand his worth, and they didn't realize how much they needed his mercy.

What have you said you your kids about Hell?

Sloppy Tooth Fairy Hands (Tooth Tale #2)

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 18:49:00 +0000

Recently, my eleven-year-old came down to see me in the office after everyone else had gone to bed. He explained that Daddy had been scrounging around under his pillow and woke him up. "But Dad didn't find my tooth," he told me. "It was still under there, so I wanted to bring it down to you."

I had no idea that Tooth Fairies even visited eleven-year-old kids--especially those that go to bed just a few minutes before their dads. But this particular kid is especially strapped for cash, and pawning your teeth is about the easiest way there is to make a buck.

So, I think we were on Day 4 of him sleeping with this particular tooth under his pillow--after announcing that he was doing so, of course. And that's by no means a record at our house! My son knows that if he asks (and asks and asks), he'll receive. Not to say he won't be bumped awake by sloppy Tooth Fairy hands...

Jesus talked about this phenomenon. He said, "If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your father who is in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" (Matt. 7:11)

What was Jesus saying? He said we should be like my 11-year-old, when approaching our Father God: Ask!

A Second Grade Skeptic (Tooth Tale #1)

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 18:45:00 +0000

My friend's son lost a tooth at school last week. His teacher overheard him telling all of his second grade friends that he wasn't going to tell his parents about the tooth. He was going to sneak it under his pillow without them knowing and then prove, once and for all, that the Tooth Fairy is not real. (Apparently this kid isn't strapped for cash like mine are.)

Well, the teacher couldn't stand by and let that happen so she made a call. To the Tooth Fairy, of course.

There have been times when I, like the second grade teacher, have observed a person on the brink of disbelief. I see them teetering toward faithlessness and I want to do something! So I try to reason with them. Or I try to coax them back into the fold with my kindness. Or I try to remind them of why they came to Jesus in the first place.

But you can't force someone to believe. And while my efforts were nice, I think the second grade teacher has the right idea. She went to the source--the one who could inspire belief. She went to the Tooth Fairy, herself. Jesus is capable of far more than swapping a tooth for some coins. If someone needs convincing, He must be the one to do it.

Holey Underwear

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 16:03:00 +0000

My friend was out with her two preschool boys, and decided to stop in a store. Not thinking about the privacy she usually maintains at home, she took the boys with her into a dressing room to try on some skirts.

Watching her carefully, her four-year-old said, "Mommy! You have pretty underwear. I really like them. They are very pretty!"

My friend was thankful that she was behind doors and could stay there for a bit until the pink faded from her cheeks. But his next comment brought an even darker shade: "But Mommy, you have a hole in your underwear. It's a little one. I see it right there in the back."

Four-year-olds have a way of making private rooms seem not-so-private, don't they? Our kids also see beneath the pretty layers that we add to our hearts. My kids know exactly who I am--the good, the bad, and the holey. And in this way, they see me the way God does.

I don't have any privacy from God. And while he's not so concerned with the status of my underwear, the condition of my heart concerns him most of all.

Being Hospitable with Little (Or Much)

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 16:26:00 +0000

When we were first married, we were in a really fun 'young marrieds' group at church. Our leaders were very generous and very wealthy. They had a huge home with an indoor swimming pool, and they opened it to our group on a weekly basis. We had Bible studies, New Year's Eve parties, and baby showers there. I was literally in their home dozens of times. It was great.

And it would have been easy to relax with this scenario. We had a tiny house. We didn't have a lot of extra cash. And our leaders were doing enough hospitality to make up for any lack. But Ken and I decided that if we waited for the perfect circumstances, we might never be hospitable.

So we invited our group over. We told them to bring lawn chairs and their own meat to grill, and gave them our address with a date and time.

You'll never guess what happened... They came!

I can't tell you that it went perfectly. Our grill went out and people had to fry their burgers in our kitchen. And our driveway wasn't exactly a picturesque setting to gather all of our friends (we had no back yard). But I can tell you that we had fun. One girl even sent me a note telling me what a great time they had. She said, "I can't believe we fit 36 people in your living room!"

And better yet, our little driveway cookout seemed to spawn a whole bunch of front doors opening in the months to come. It made me wonder if being hospitable with little (rather than much) gives others permission to do the same.

Hospitality is about sharing. If you have a pool under your roof, great. But if not, you can still share. So, go ahead--invite some friends over. They might just come.

What Not To Do if You Flip Your Car on the Highway

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 17:59:00 +0000

Ken and Lindsay 2011

A few years ago, my husband flipped his Honda Accord. The highway was dry that day, but his left tire ventured just far enough over the line to find some ice, causing his right tires to grab the car and toss it over into the ditch on the right.

Thankfully, though the car was in bad shape, Ken wasn't hurt. In fact, when he realized that (thankfully again!) no other cars were involved, he grabbed his laptop and began walking toward the next exit. Minutes later, some kind soul pulled over and gave him a ride to work.

At his desk, Ken called a tow truck and then resumed his day. So forty-five minutes after rolling his car, Ken was leading a meeting. He didn't expect the meeting to be interrupted by the receptionist downstairs, who said Officer Groya had stopped by for a friendly chat.

Ken had never been in the back of a state trooper car before. But there, at the front entrance of Amway, he got to stare through the car's cage and listen to a reading of laws about accidents. Apparently, the law did not allow for going to work after you flip your car into a ditch. He was charged with 'fleeing the scene of an accident' by a not-so-chipper Groya.

Ken had to pay some big bucks for a lawyer to help him get the charges dropped. And next time he flips his car, (hopefully he won't!) he'll know to call the authorities, even if he doesn't need help.

I think that Ken's mistake is such an easy one to make. We crash some part of our lives with a divorce or an addiction or a secret sin. We look around and say, "I'm fine. Nobody else is hurt. I'm moving on." We have no idea that our mistake has implications for anybody else. But, oh how it does. The consequences we create for others might not be outlined in any law book, but they are forceful enough to alter entire courses of life.

The next time you crash some part of your life (hopefully you won't!), look beyond the implications for yourself. Don't 'flee the scene'. Pick up the phone and call for help. And the most important help comes from the Lord.

Slicing into Christmas with a Steak Knife

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 15:30:00 +0000

My friend, Alice, had been sick and/or caring for sick kids all through the Christmas season. On Christmas Eve-Eve, she still hadn't wrapped any gifts. Wanting her little girls to have a whole day of anticipating the beautifully enticing packages under the tree, she stayed up late into the night wrapping the new dolls, books, coats, and mittens that she had purchased. She carefully measured out wrapping paper, curled ribbon, and wrote out gift tags. Then she collapsed into bed.

Her two-year-old woke her up shortly thereafter with a terrible cough, and Alice spent the night trying to console her thrashing, fussy child. At 6:00 a.m., when the baby decided to get up for the day, Alice crawled back into bed and let her roam the bedroom with her doll stroller. The last thing Alice remembered was her four-year-old coming in, saying, "Want to play, Elaine? It's Christmas! It's Jesus' birthday!"

Some time later, Alice awakened to a poke and an excited little voice, saying, "Mama! Look what I found!" She stared groggily into the face of a doll. A new doll.

Leaping out of bed, Alice shrieked, "Where did you get that?" She rushed down stairs to find shreds of wrapping paper, tattered bits of ribbon, and gifts strewn about the entire living room. The girls had even gotten the steak knives from the drawer to help themselves into the packages more readily.

Seeing her hopes for Christmas collapse in an instant, one sleep deprived Alice burst into tears. Little Lucy said, "But Mama... it's Christmas! It's Jesus' birthday! And we wanted to open the packages because they were so beautiful..."

Eventually Alice consoled her little girls and assured them that Christmas was not ruined. Even though they wouldn't be opening any gifts on Christmas morning, they would still have fun and enjoy the day.

In a few years, Alice's girls will know that for each gift, there is a right and a wrong time to rip into the package--and steak knives are usually not the best gift-opening tool of choice. But there is one gift which should be opened with all the enthusiasm and urgency that Alice's girls displayed. The Giver of this Gift loves nothing more than a steak knife approach to the package. I'm speaking, of course, of the first, and greatest gift of Christmas: God's gift of his Son, Jesus.

If He is not yours, and you are not His, don't delay. This Gift has an expiration date known only to the Giver. And if He is yours, why not carve out some time--steak knife style--to savor Him today?

The Best Christmas Game!

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 21:02:00 +0000

Last week, I asked for your best classroom Christmas games, and promised to post my favorite.

The one that I loved most was a blog post, entitled "Not So Silent Night". (And I have to agree-- this family party looked anything but quiet!) The author, Nicole, posted a dozen or so pictures from her family party's Christmas 'Minute-To-Win-It' games. Here's a sample:

These games look oh-so-fun, and I plan to use a few at our own family party tomorrow night! I think they would also work great with a classroom party, so be sure to check them out and file them for next year!

Thanks to Kim Blovits for sharing this! I have a present for you... :) Ho ho ho!

Mixed-Up-And-Confused Mama

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 14:15:00 +0000

This morning, I told Cade, "You get to wear your pj's to school! It's Polar Express day!"

He said, "Oh! But, mom are you sure it's today? What if it's another Monday and you have it mixed up?" I assured him that it was today--next Monday he won't have school because it will be the day after Christmas. So he brushed his teeth and went to pick out the perfect stuffed bear to bring.

But on his way down the stairs, after glancing at himself in the mirror, I heard him say quietly, "Lord, please, please help it to really be pajama day at school today."

When you're in second grade, going to school in your pj's is like parachuting out of a plane--quite thrilling, but you're hoping everyone got the details straight.

I guess it's great to know that my boy trusts the Lord, even if he can't completely trust his quite-often-mixed-up-and-confused Mama.

(Before the bus came, I dug through the trash to make sure I had the date from the note right. Today IS the 19th, right?)

NEEDED: Classroom Christmas Party Games!

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 04:20:00 +0000

I do have one game. Christmas Bingo is ready to go for Cade's second grade class. (The link takes you to the printable game, created by yours truly.) But I'll bet there are some better games out there. And in my opinion, a party hinges on the games.

So, while you gradeschool moms are in the throws of classroom Christmas party-ing, can you send your great game ideas (either your own or one you've seen) to me?

Please give some simple instructions for your game, tell what grade levels it would work for, and let me know why kids dig it. I'll post the one that I think is best, and if it's yours I'll send a Christmas present from ME to YOU in the mail!

Also, if you post my plea for great games on your blog or facebook page, and you send the winner my way, YOU get a present, too! (Tell your friends to mention your name.)

Send your ideas to: shanpopkin@gmail.com. Please get them to me by midnight of Wednesday, 12/21. I'll post the winner on Thursday, 12/22.

In the meantime, Cade's second grade class will be playing Christmas Bingo. But, next year...

(Christmas) Game On!

Makenna's Jingle Bell

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Popkin) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 14:38:00 +0000

At the end of our Bible study Christmas brunch yesterday, the little ones came in with their jingle bells. They had darling costumes and had practiced their lines and songs. But the best part of the show was cute, little about-to-turn-three Makenna.

As the kids were shuffling onto the stage and getting settled, she pointed and exclaimed, "Oh! Theeeere's my mama!" Then she gave a smile that showed all of her dimples as she waved to her mom, about four tables back. "Hi, Mama!" she said cheerfully. I couldn't help but glance at her mom. She was sweetly trying to redirect Makenna's attention to her teacher.

The others were beginning their first song, but Makenna had more to say to her mom. "Look! Mama, I got a jingle bell!" she said, leaning forward and jingling it for effect. "Mama, look!" And then her expression, still locked on her mom, fell. She frowned a bit, tapped her lips, and then tried to focus on her teacher, who was leading the Christmas carol.

After a few bars, her eyes wandered back to her mom and she tried again. "Mama, look! I
got a jingle bell!" Another frown, and this time there was a whimper. "But I just want to show you..." This went on throughout the entire performance, until Makenna, who now had tears running down her cheeks, was dismissed to run into the arms of her beloved mom.

Well, guess who I wanted to meet? I may have passed her in the hallway a dozen times before this, but because of Makenna, I was dying to meet her mom.

It made me wonder. What if we were each like Makenna--completely oblivious to the performance factor of life and locked in on our beloved Jesus, wanting to share everything with him? I'll bet it would make others want to turn and take a closer look at Jesus, or maybe even meet him for the first time.