Whispers of Grace

Preparing for the Storm

2010-09-10T07:30:00.000-07:00

You are at home, eating dinner and looking forward to a relaxing evening with your family, when you suddenly hear tornado sirens go off.

Where do you go?

Maybe a first-floor bathroom? An interior hallway?

On Wednesday evening, as tornadoes began touching down in the Dallas area, hundreds of people in the metroplex were forced to find a safe place.

At our house, we head for the closet under the stairs. It’s a large closet, with plenty of room for the five of us. (Brett jokes of the day when he can turn it into his “man cave.”) Since it’s our designated “safe place,” I keep our weather radio, flashlights, extra batteries, a fan, and a portable DVD player in there for emergencies.

We’ve had to take shelter in the closet several times since we’ve moved here. My kids know the drill—when you hear the sirens, grab your pillow and blanket and meet us in the closet, where we’ll create a comfy nest of pillows, watch a movie, and have some snacks. This routine keeps the kids calm until we get the all-clear from the radar.

Brett sometimes teases me about how fanatical I am about being prepared for storms. (He lived in Oklahoma, where tornadoes pass through as regularly as the ice cream truck.) I think it’s because I want to feel like I’ve got everything under control… even though, obviously, I can't control the weather. There's a reason they call these things "acts of God."

Ever since the first recorded natural disaster—the Flood--God has been reminding us that while we can and should prepare for the storms that come our way, we ultimately have to rest in His grace and trust Him to see us through.

In his book Has Christianity Failed You?, Ravi Zacharias pointed out something that I’d never realized about Noah’s ark:

When Noah was building his ark, God gave him detailed instructions about everything: how high, no higher; how long, no longer; what species to include and in what numbers—details ad nauseum. But when all had been done according to God’s instructions and the door was finally shut, it must have been a terrifying experience to realize there was no sail or rudder on this ark. Who was in control? (emphasis added)

Think about that. If ever anyone was prepared for a storm, it was Noah. After all, God gave him a hundred years to get ready. The ark was Noah’s magnum opus—the culmination of a century of painstaking work in preparation for the greatest storm the world has ever seen. He must have studied the blueprint God gave him over and over as he constructed every detail of the three-story-high, football-field-length vessel. After all, his family was about to spend an entire year aboard this oversized life boat.

Surely Noah must have scratched his head at God’s design for the ark--with no sail or rudder--and wondered, Who’s going to steer this thing?

I’ve felt like that before. When storms of life have come crashing down, flooding me with such worry and fear that I feel like I’m drowning, I’ve wondered, How am I going to get through this? Sometimes I just can’t see past the crashing waves of doubt.

Those are the times when I head for the “safe place” of God’s protection. I grab my Bible and seek shelter in the cleft of the Rock, where God’s promises and presence keep me calm. And even with the storm still raging around me, I finally realize…

The God who created the storm is the same God who is going to steer me through it.

What storm are you facing right now?

Whatever it may be--whether a natural disaster or a tempestuous situation--you can cling to this truth:

God is in control.

When I Grow Up, I Want to Be . . .

2010-09-07T08:07:00.000-07:00

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

How did you answer that question when you were a kid?

Miss B wants to be a horse trainer. Or a veterinarian. Or a teacher. Maybe all three—she can’t decide. (Perhaps she’ll be a vet who teaches horse trainers?)

J.J., on the other hand, is certain of her future career: she’s going to be an artist. In fact, she’s already trying to sell her creations. Here’s a photo of a drawing she did last week that she offered to let me buy for “only $100.” (She’s saving up to buy a puppy, she told me.) What a deal, huh?

Four-year-old Buddy wants to be an astronaut. Or a baseball player. (Move over, Alan Shepard—Buddy is going to play baseball on the moon!)

It’s fun to watch my kids grow into the people God made them to be. Each one is so unique! Miss B is rhythm and rhyme, J.J. is spunk and sparkle, and Buddy is charm and charisma.

As parents, there are lots of things that we can do for our kids. We can pray for them and raise them according to God’s Word. We can love them and encourage them. We can teach them and discipline them. But there is one thing we cannot do for our kids, no matter how hard we try:

We cannot re-create them.

It doesn’t matter how many parenting books you read or seminars you attend. You could follow the advice of experts or channel your own inner James Dobson. You could diligently instruct and train your child…

But you can’t change who God created your child to be.

Other people’s kids may be smarter, more athletic, or more outgoing. But one of the most dangerous things we could say to our children is this: “If only you could be more like so-and-so…”

If only you could make good grades like your brother.
If only you could behave like the neighbor’s kid.
If only you could play soccer like the coach’s child.
If only…

But God didn’t create our children to be someone else’s kids. He created them to be the best version of themselves.

In his book The Me I Want to Be, John Ortberg puts it like this:

As God helps you grow, you will change, but you will always be you. An acorn can grow into an oak tree, but it cannot become a rose bush. It can be a healthy oak or a stunted oak—but it won’t be a shrub. You will always be you—a growing, healthy you or a languishing you—but God did not create you to be anybody else. He pre-wired your temperament. He determined your natural gifts and talents. He made you to feel certain passions and desires. He planned your body and mind. Your uniqueness is God-designed.

Brett and I are doing our best to help our kids move toward a healthy, flourishing version of themselves. No matter where their paths may lead—to vet school, an art studio, or even NASA—we’re committed to support and encourage them as the unique people God created them to be.

And that goes for us grown-ups too. You'll never outgrow the person God created you to be. And no matter how much you admire others' talents or successes, you can't be someone else. You can only be you. The you God created you to be.

So what do you want to be when you grow up? Are you frustrated and exhausted from trying to be someone else—or are you moving toward God’s best version of you?

The Tattle Book: The Good, the Bad, and the Funny

2010-09-03T04:55:00.001-07:00

You don’t have to teach your kids how to tattle.

It’s one of those things that come naturally—like breathing and saying “Mine!” and getting a bump on the head right before picture day. And if you have multiple children, you know that nothing brings out a child’s inner Judge Judy than a sibling breaking the rules or, worse, a sibling getting away with something the Tattler has been punished for. (It’s uncanny how kids suddenly remember and respect the rules so much more when someone else is breaking them.)

I thought we had tamed the tattletale beast in our family a few years ago. But as this summer wore on, with our kids experiencing a bit too much togetherness, I noticed that they were starting to hone their FBI informant skills again.

One sweltering July afternoon, while my mom and I were watching the kids swim, I asked her advice on how to curb the tattling. She gave me a brilliant idea, borrowed from our friend Joye, a longtime kindergarten teacher.

“Whenever the kids come to you with a tattle, have them write it down in the Tattle Book,” Mom said. “Assure them that if they write out the situation in detail, you will read it later. That way, they’ll get it out of their system and will soon forget about it. And you’ll have a good laugh later when you read all the things they’ve written about each other!”

It sounded like a good plan, so I decided to give it a try.

I went home and found a spiral notebook in our school supply stash. Since it was a three-subject notebook, I decided to expand the “tattle book” idea. Not only is our Tattle Book a place for the kids to tell us about their perceived offenses, but it also includes a section for Brett and me to “tattle” the good things we catch our children doing, as well as a section for us to record the funny things they do or say (you know, those cute things you think you’ll remember forever but usually forget in a few days).

The results have been hysterical! Our 3^rd grade daughter’s tattles on her siblings are long and detailed. (She loves to write, so she’s creating a veritable novel about all the injustices done to her.) Our 1^st grade daughter’s tattles are rife with all caps and underlines and exclamation points, making sure you hear how MAD she is!!!! And our 4-year-old takes so long to write his tattles (because we have to spell the words for him) that he’s completely forgotten the offense by the time he’s written it.

The kids enjoy reading and rereading all the positive things their dad and I have “tattled” about them. And Brett and I are trying to remember to jot down all the funny things they do, like when our son mistakenly sang “Jesus diapered all the children, all the children of the world” this week.

I have to admit, the Tattle Book is one of the best ideas I’ve ever borrowed.

Did you know that God has His own Tattle Book? Oh, it’s not called that, of course; but the Bible talks about God having a book where He records all kinds of things about us. For example . . .

God records our days. “Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.” (Psalm 139:16)

God records our deeds. “I saw the dead, both great and small, standing before God’s throne. And the books were opened, including the Book of Life. And the dead were judged according to what they had done, as recorded in the books.” (Revelation 20:12)

God records our despair. “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” (Psalm 56:8)

God records our deliverance. “Then there will be a time of anguish greater than any since nations first came into existence. But at that time every one of your people whose name is written in the book will be rescued.^”(Daniel 12:1)

God records our destination. “Nothing evil will be allowed to enter [heaven], nor anyone who practices shameful idolatry and dishonesty—but only those whose names are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life.” (Revelation 21:27)

Scripture tells us that everything we do and every day of our lives is recorded in God’s book. And it kind of makes you wonder . . .

What do you want God to write about you in His book today?

If I Could Change Anything...

2010-08-30T07:52:00.000-07:00

It was 7:00 on Sunday morning, and I was enjoying a rare birthday treat: sleeping in while Brett got the kids ready for church. I wasn’t fully asleep, though, just in that blissful drifting-in-and-out-of-dreamland mode. I could hear the kids snickering in the kitchen, with Brett helping them make breakfast.

My lazy musings were quickly interrupted when my four-year-old son bounded onto the bed and shook me awake.

“Mom… Mom… MOM!!!!”

I rolled over and mumbled something like, “Mm-kay. I hear you. Stop shaking me.”

“Mom! DON’T WAKE UP!!!” he instructed. “We’re going to surprise you and say ‘Happy birthday!’ And look, I made this card for you! So don’t wake up, okay?” He jumped off the bed and scurried out of the room, all footsteps and giggles.

Um, okay.

And so began my first day of my thirty-seventh year.

It was a fun day—starting with “Happy birthday, Mom!” and homemade cards, then worshipping at church (and blushing at my husband’s sneaky surprise), and having fun with the kids. I got just what I wanted: an entire day in which I didn’t have to cook, clean, or be responsible for anything. 

At dinner last night, Brett and I were reminiscing about how much we’ve been through together. Then he asked me, “What’s the best thing that has happened to you in 37 years?”

“That’s not a fair question!” I protested. After all, there have been a LOT of wonderful things—how could I pick just one? I grew up in a great family, had fun in high school, enjoyed my years at Texas A&M, loved working at Word Publishing, and now have a wonderful husband and three amazing kids. How could I pick something as “the best”? I’ve been abundantly blessed.

And yet, I’ve also had lots of obstacles along the way. My dad’s death . . . frustrations and failures . . . miscarriage and medical problems . . . betrayals and ministry struggles.

Over a free birthday hamburger and fries (thank you, Red Robin!), Brett and I began to muse about how things would have been different “if only”—if only my dad had been around to help us, if only we had handled that situation differently, if only we hadn’t gone to that church, if only we hadn’t had to deal with those medical issues . . .

Then again, I don’t know if I would change anything.

I've learned a lot of things the hard way. But I’ve learned them well. And those experiences radically shaped my life and transformed my faith from zealous idealism into seasoned maturity. The pain has made me stronger. Deeper. Humbler. More desperate for God. More vulnerable to others. More grateful for life’s blessings.

Pardon the cliché, but these 37 years have been a long and winding road. But it’s the road that led me here. To this place. To this family. To this ministry. To this community.

And no matter how I got here, this is exactly where I want to be.

A Dinnertime Discussion

2010-08-27T05:01:00.000-07:00

Last night at dinner, Miss B was eager to show us something she’s been learning in her 3^rd grade class: how to sign the Pledge of Allegiance. (Her teacher is fluent in ASL.) She only knows part of it, but she was proud to show us what she had learned so far.

As she signed the first few words of the Pledge, Brett and I began to ask her if she knew what they meant.

“What does pledge mean?” I asked.

“It means to make a promise,” Miss B quickly responded.

“That’s right, honey,” Brett said. “What’s allegiance?”

“Oh, we talked about that in school today,” she said. “It’s being loyal to someone.”

And on we went. “What’s a republic?” “What does it mean to be under God?” “What’s indivisible?” (The sign for indivisible is really cool, by the way.)

All three kids were eager to voice their opinions, which led to a lively (if unconventional) discussion of government and authority. For example, four-year-old Buddy suggested that “under God” meant that God was above you, since He lives up in heaven; while J.J. offered that “indivisible” was like a candy bar that you have to eat whole, as opposed to M&Ms that you can sort by colors.

Then we got to the part of the Pledge that Miss B hadn’t yet learned to sign. But we were on a roll, so we asked her anyway. “What’s liberty?”

She wasn’t sure, so we explained to her that liberty means freedom. We talked about the Statue of Liberty and slaves being “liberated” and politicians who are called “liberals.”

And then we got to the final phrase of the Pledge: “…and justice for all.”

“What’s justice?” I asked her.

I was confident that she knew this one. After all, Brett and I have talked to the kids several times about the difference between justice and fairness. Plus, Brett has preached on the justice of God, and Miss B recently memorized Micah 6:8: “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

“Oh that’s easy, Mom,” Miss B said brightly. “Justice is a store that sells girls’ clothes.”

Sigh.

Just when you think you are finally getting somewhere with your kids…

Riding the Bus and Other Adventures in Letting the Kids Grow Up

2010-08-26T07:22:00.000-07:00

In a lot of ways, our subdivision feels like a small town. Sendera Ranch has its own playgrounds and fishing ponds, fireworks and festivals, and even its own elementary school. The girls really enjoy going to school with kids they know from church and around the neighborhood. And though the school is only a few minutes away, bus routes wind through the streets to pick up the neighborhood kids.

For two years, the girls have been begging us to let them ride the bus. But each time they’ve asked, Brett and I have said no. (We want to make sure they are safe, and Brett is concerned about the possibility of antics by the older boys… maybe because he used to be a precocious fifth-grade boy himself?)

So for all this time, we have resisted. No, girls, you cannot ride the bus. We want to take you to school.

But this year has been a season of letting our older children start to do things on their own. Miss B’s first trip to the lake with friends (and without us). J.J.’s first sleepover. The girls riding their bikes on their own on the walking trail behind our house.

We still have boundaries, of course. We know the parents of the girls’ friends. And we’ve set parameters for their bike rides so they’re not too far away from the house. Still, bit by bit, the girls are starting to develop independence and are putting into practice important life skills we’ve been teaching them at home.

But still, it’s so hard to let them grow up! I admit I struggle with my primal, and at times overwhelming, desire to keep my kids with me 24/7. Whenever they have a conflict with a friend or issue in school, I have to fight the urge to jump in there and fix it. And when they’re ready to do things on their own, I instinctively resist, yearning to keep them as safe (and as close to me) as possible. Though, deep down, I know that’s not best for them.

As all parents know, there’s a fine line between protecting your children and smothering them. Yes, we are responsible to love our kids, teach them, protect them, and enjoy them. Our children are blessings from the Lord who captured our hearts from the very first moment we cradled them in our arms.

But here’s the rub: if you keep your arms wrapped around your kids too tightly, you’ll stunt their growth.

Let’s face it: we all know grown-ups who have not actually grown up. Their well-meaning parents made sure they never experienced frustration or failure. And as a result, they never learned the art of adulthood. After all, Mom and Dad always stepped in to save them, eliminated their consequences, fought their battles, and (let’s be honest here) are probably still paying their rent.

I really don’t want our kids to turn out like that.

Brett and I love our children—as I often tell them, “All the way, with all my heart, all the time.” And we are often on our knees before God, asking Him for wisdom and grace as we strive to be parents who give our kids both roots and wings.

And if you’re a parent, that’s probably your goal too. While your specific choices for your kids may be different than ours, our desire as parents is the same: to equip our children to be God-honoring, capable, independent, responsible adults.

And like it or not, that starts with giving them little freedoms.

For our family, one of those “little freedoms” is a big yellow bus. So that’s why at 7:15 a.m. on school days, you will find me walking the girls to the bus stop at the end of our street. I’ll hug them good-bye, wave as the bus closes its doors… and then pray like crazy every step of the way home.

What's Your Story?

2010-08-25T06:45:00.000-07:00

Hello again, blog-land! After spending a wonderful, lazy summer with my kids, things are settling back into a routine around here, and that includes my blog. Though I tend to blog in fits and starts, I’m hoping I can post a little more regularly this school year.

If you’re following me on Facebook (or live around here), you know that our kids went back to school this week. So the past couple of weeks were a flurry of clothes shopping, haircuts, doctor’s visits, and all the other stuff you have to do to get the kids ready for school. For my oldest daughter, that also means appointments with her ophthalmologist and her glaucoma specialist.

She has been going to the same eye doctors since age three, and by now, everyone in the office knows her and greets her by name. (It’s kind of like that guy on Cheers: “Norm!”) She was so proud this latest round of check-ups, because so many people complimented her on how much she’s grown and how lovely she’s become.

The next morning—back on one of those lazy, sleeping-in summer mornings (sigh)—Miss B and I were the only ones awake in a quiet house. She snuggled beside me on the couch and asked, “Mom, why does everyone know me at Dr. Packwood’s and Dr. Flowers’?”

Lazily stroking her hair, I said, “You know, honey. It’s because of everything you’ve gone through.”

She curled up her legs and tucked her bare feet under the ruffle of her pink horse nightgown. “You mean, because I’ve had surgeries and stuff?”

I chuckled at the understatement. “Yeah, you could say that.” It took me a moment to realize that she was asking a genuine question.

And then it hit me—she doesn’t know her own story!

Oh, she knows bits and pieces of it, of course, but so much of her journey took place when she was so young that she honestly doesn’t remember much of it. (Which is probably a blessing, since those were a traumatic few years.)

So I spent the next half hour, just the two of us, telling Miss B her story.

I started with her unexplained headaches at age three, followed by the terrifying day her fever spiked, her left pupil inexplicably dilated, and we were whisked into the ER. Then the MRIs and CT scans and tests—and the specialist in OKC who couldn’t explain the pupil but thought she might have high eye pressure. The dreadful confirmation of that, followed by an emergency eye surgery that failed and another surgery that was so intense that she was bedridden for weeks (ever tried to keep a 3 year old perfectly still?) and caused significant side effects. Then a surgery on her right eye that failed and another surgery to put a tube in that eye. Then dozens of exams under anesthesia to check her pressure when she was too young to sit still to take a pressure reading. Oh, and all the surgeries since then, not including the laser ones. Not to mention the panicked trips between Austin and Fort Worth to take care of various complications, and the ever-present reality that we’re only ever a day away from another surgery. (Last week, her glaucoma doctor told us that she’ll probably need surgery this year on her left eye. Sigh.)

“But that’s not the whole story,” I assured her. “Your story isn’t complete without the God part.”

I reminded her that the doctors still can’t explain what caused her left pupil to pop open. (To this day, it’s fully dilated; you can barely see any of her blue iris.) We call that her “God spot.” Because if it weren’t for that pupil, the doctors would never have started looking at her eyes. And if they hadn’t looked at her eyes, they wouldn’t have discovered the glaucoma. And if they hadn’t discovered the glaucoma, she would be blind. (Glaucoma is the leading cause of irreversible blindness, because by the time most people find it, it’s too late.)

So, to protect His precious child, God reached down and touched her eye. The very thing that sets Miss B apart from other kids—her deformed pupil—is God’s permanent mark on her, the scar from which healing came. And though she’s self-conscious about that eye sometimes, especially when other kids make fun of her, it’s an essential part of her story. The story of God’s grace.

When you think of it, we all have a story. Ours is probably different from Miss B’s, but in a lot of ways, I bet it’s the same.

We were going along in life, minding our own business and doing pretty well for ourselves—until something unexpected tripped us up. Something painful, something scary, something we would never have chosen in a million years, something we desperately wish we could go back in time and erase. But for His own purposes, God chose to weave that into our life story.

And even though that painful thing probably left a scar, and though it may set you apart from other people, it’s part of your story. The story of God’s grace.

No matter what our scar is, God has included it in our story for a reason. And He gently assures us, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness" (1 Corinthians 12:9).

I don’t know what else God has in store for Miss B, and I don’t know what else He plans to write into my own story, or yours. But I do know how our stories will end:

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the old heaven and the old earth had disappeared. And the sea was also gone. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven like a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, “Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.” And the one sitting on the throne said, “Look, I am making everything new!” (Revelation 21:1–5; emphasis added)

Now, that's a story I'm proud to be part of!

When Will It Be Fixed?

2010-04-01T10:14:00.001-07:00

All the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe ... get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies, all because of his death, his blood that poured down from the Cross.

—Colossians 1:20 MSG

Life was an adventure when our kids were ages five and under. Brett was a busy pastor, and I did my best to meet my editing deadlines while keeping all three kids—an infant and two preschoolers—happy, fed, and, well . . . alive. Sometimes my biggest accomplishment was just getting through the day!

At the time, we lived south of Austin, down by the hill country. It provided for some beautiful landscapes, but when your days are an exhausting whirlwind of changing diapers, refereeing squabbles, cleaning up toys, folding endless piles of laundry, and searching for the missing lids to sippy cups, you don’t want scenery. You want your mommy.

So I was thrilled when my mom called in early March to announce that she was spending spring break with us! I looked forward to seeing her and letting her enjoy the kids. Plus, my mom has that Mary Poppins–like ability to swoop in, delight the children with stories and songs, and even make a game out of cleaning the house together. (How does she do that?)

I eagerly picked up Mom from the airport, and on our way home, I gave her a quick tour of our community. As I drove past the dance studio where the girls took lessons, my three-year-old daughter J.J. wailed from the backseat, “Oh no! We forgot to go to dance today!”

“No, darling, there’s no class today,” I reminded her. “It’s spring break.”

I continued chatting with Mom as I showed her our church, the kids’ preschool, and so on. As we were nearing the highway to head back to the house, J.J. piped up, out of the blue: “When will it be fixed?”

“What?” I looked at Mom quizzically, and she just shrugged. I declare, having preschoolers is enough to make you think you're losing your mind.

Apparently J.J. thought I was not only crazy but also hard of hearing. So she repeated her question a few decibels louder. “I said, when will it be FIXED?”

I still didn’t get it. “When will what be fixed, honey?”

Exasperated, she said, “Spring! When will spring be fixed? I want to go to dance class!”

Oh! Spring break.

As realization hit, I couldn’t control my laughter. And neither could my mom. Pretty soon, we were both laughing so hard we were crying. I have no idea how I managed to get on the highway through all those gales of giggles.

Somehow, between guffaws, I managed to reassure my concerned (and befuddled) three-year-old that spring wasn’t broken. It was just a time when schools took a “break” and gave kids a week off to have a little fun.

This year, J.J. is in kindergarten and will experience her first actual “spring break” as a school-age kid. And believe me, she’s looking forward to it! We’re taking the week off as a family to relax and have fun together.

Still, I’m amused by the memory of J.J.’s innocent question: When will it be fixed?

Spring isn’t broken, of course. But if we’re not careful, our hectic schedules and everyday stress can distract us from taking care of what’s important. Amid the swirl of carpools and deadlines and sports practice and office politics, we can lose track of the things we care about the most—our families, our friends, our faith.

So while spring doesn’t need to be fixed, it is a chance for us to fix the things that are broken.

This year, take a few days off work and spend them with your kids. Whether you’re playing Wii or building block towers or shopping at the mall, take time to listen to them—and to tell them how much you love them. Surprise your spouse with a date or the romantic getaway you’ve been talking about. Meet a friend for lunch, or call a long-distance friend to say hello.

Maybe you’ve been saying that one of these days, you’ll get back in church. So why not today? This spring—and the Easter season—is a great opportunity to join a community of believers and refresh your faith in the One who gave His life for you and loves you more than you can imagine.

After all, He’s the only One who can truly give you rest from your weariness and burdens.

And He’s the only One who can truly fix what is broken.

This article appears in the March/April issue of Haslet Style magazine.

Who Are YOU Wearing?

2010-03-09T07:16:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, the 82nd Academy Awards rolled out the red carpet for a constellation of celebrities, bedecked in the finery of Hollywood’s most sought-after designers. Interview after interview began with a nod to the celeb’s attire, as the reporter asked, “Who are you wearing?” and awaited the acknowledgment requisite to such events.

Yesterday, I took the kids shopping at Kohl’s, wielding my 30% off coupon, in search of Easter shoes. We lucked into a clearance rack that had several dressy things for the girls. As they tried on the sparkly dresses, they beamed in delight, spinning around and admiring themselves in the three-way mirror in the dressing room.

It’s funny how much your attitude can change, just by putting on fancy clothes. “The clothes make the man,” the old saying goes, and it’s true that when you dress up, you tend to have better posture, speak more precisely, and mind your manners more than, say, when you’re wearing sweats. My dad understood this, and he used to tell us, “Dress for the occasion, because your clothes affect your behavior.”

Perhaps not coincidentally, our women’s Bible study group is going through the Precept study of Covenant. In lesson 1, we observed a few Old Testament covenants, and we discovered that the ancient practice of cutting covenant included several elements, including an oath, a condition, a sign, a name change, witnesses, and a covenant meal. (Incidentally, does this remind you of a wedding ceremony?) This week, we’re discovering another element of cutting covenant—exchanging clothes.

In 1 Samuel 18:1–5, we are told of the extraordinary friendship between King Saul’s son Jonathan and the future king of Israel, David. In the face of his father’s opposition to his friend, “Jonathan made a covenant with David . . . And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was on him and gave it to David, with his armor, including his sword and his bow and his belt.”

Why did Jonathan give David his clothes? It was part of the covenant. As our study explains, “When Jonathan gave David his robe, David was symbolically ‘putting on Jonathan.’ In covenant, two become one. Likewise, when we repent and receive the Lord Jesus Christ, we enter into the New Covenant of grace, merging ourselves in Him. In doing so, we, in essence, put on His robe.”

In other words, we put on Christ. We become like Him.

This exchange of clothes is a recurring theme in the New Testament. Over and over, we are exhorted to lay aside the old self and put on the new self, to put aside our sin and be clothed with the righteousness of Christ—an idea rich with covenant themes.

Take a look at just a few of these descriptions:

All who have been united with Christ in baptism have put on the character of Christ, like putting on new clothes. (Galatians 3:26)

The night is almost gone; the day of salvation will soon be here. So remove your dark deeds like dirty clothes, and put on the shining armor of right living. Because we belong to the day, we must live decent lives for all to see. Don’t participate in the darkness of wild parties and drunkenness, or in sexual promiscuity and immoral living, or in quarreling and jealousy. Instead, clothe yourself with the presence of the Lord Jesus Christ. And don’t let yourself think about ways to indulge your evil desires. (Romans 13:12–14; emphasis added)

Since you have heard about Jesus and have learned the truth that comes from him, throw off your old sinful nature and your former way of life, which is corrupted by lust and deception. Instead, let the Spirit renew your thoughts and attitudes. Put on your new nature, created to be like God—truly righteous and holy. (Ephesians 4:21–24)

After urging Christians to put on the “new nature” in Ephesians 4, the apostle Paul spends the rest of the chapter describing what our new attire looks like:

So stop telling lies. Let us tell our neighbors the truth, for we are all parts of the same body. And “don’t sin by letting anger control you.” Don’t let the sun go down while you are still angry, for anger gives a foothold to the devil. If you are a thief, quit stealing. Instead, use your hands for good hard work, and then give generously to others in need. Don’t use foul or abusive language. Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them. And do not bring sorrow to God’s Holy Spirit by the way you live. Remember, he has identified you as his own, guaranteeing that you will be saved on the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander, as well as all types of evil behavior. Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you. (Ephesians 4:25-31)

When we partake of Christ's covenant of grace, Scripture is clear: we exchange our sin-stained garment for Christ's pure and holy one. And by putting on His clothes, we are wrapped in His identity. Our attitude and behavior are consistent with the character of Christ Himself.

We are clothed with Christ. And as the saying goes, “The clothes make the man (or woman).”

So this week, as you and I go through our daily routine of getting dressed, whether for the everyday routine or a special occasion, let’s look beyond our wardrobe and ask ourselves:

Who are YOU wearing?

And the Award Goes to ... YOU!

2010-03-08T12:01:00.000-08:00

Last night, I turned on the TV to catch a few minutes of the Academy Awards. When I tuned in, the camera was focused on Ben Stiller, elaborately dressed as a blue alien from Avatar. (Whoa! Wasn’t expecting that!) As I watched the next few awards, I enjoyed scanning the crowd and seeing all the stunning gowns. (Did anyone else notice that this year most of the dresses were actually modest?)

Seeing the celebrities gush over their Oscar statues reminded me of Pastor’s Brett’s sermon last week. He’s been preaching through the book of 2 Timothy, and last week’s message was “Live Balanced,” drawn from 2 Timothy 1:15–18, where Paul says that while many believers turned away from him, one was a loyal friend.

Using a stability ball as a visual aid, Brett demonstrated the importance of strengthening your core by centering on Christ, rather than tilting toward the opinions of others—regardless of whether those people are criticizing and betraying you, or praising and blessing you. Either way, when you focus on the opinions of others, you lose your balance!

The acceptance speeches last night—reminiscent of Sally Field’s infamous (but slightly misquoted) line: “You like me! You really like me!”—made me realize how often we, too, earnestly seek the approval of others, clutching their praise like a treasured golden statue.

Yet when we take our eyes off Christ and look to others for their approval, we lose our balance. And if we’re not careful, we’ll end up like Humpty Dumpty, poised for a great fall.

But here’s the great news—when we stay centered on Christ instead of tipping toward the opinions of people, we will receive a heavenly award! It’s not a golden statue, but an eternal prize, one worth getting excited about.

As he closes his second letter to Timothy, the apostle Paul gives us a glimpse of this heavenly award:

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful.And now the prize awaits me—the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on the day of his return. And the prize is not just for me but for all who eagerly look forward to his appearing.” (2 Timothy 4:7–8; emphasis added)

Someday, when we, too, have fought the good fight and remained faithful, we will be in the presence of our Lord, the righteous Judge. We will cast off this perishable body and put on the imperishable, be clothed in dazzling white robes, and hear the words we’ve been longing for: “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord.”

And on that day, the award will go to . . . YOU! Because, after all, He likes you! He really likes you!

You Could Have Just Asked!

2010-02-25T06:04:00.000-08:00

If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all generously and without reproach, and it will be given to him.

--James 1:5

Thanks for your patience during my hiatus from blogging! I’ve been writing for publication, and the publisher has asked me not to post those stories electronically. But stay tuned! I’ll let you know where you can find them in the bookstores.

As we begin the Lenten season, I am looking forward to receiving free daily reflections from Dr. Larry Crabb. And thinking of Dr. Crabb, I was reminded of a funny incident that happened years ago . . .

A few years back, we lived just south of Austin in a two-story house that had a game room and all the bedrooms upstairs. My husband, an executive pastor at the time, worked in the study downstairs. Being an odd hybrid of working-stay-at-home mother, I didn’t have an official home office; instead, I lugged my laptop around the house and edited while watching our preschool girls, who were ages four and two. (Our little guy wasn’t born yet.)

The upside of working from home are the hours (anytime you want to work) and the commute (none whatsoever). But the downside is that sometimes the lines between work life and family life are blurred.

Such was the case one late morning when I was in the process of editing Soul Talk by—you guessed it!—Dr. Larry Crabb. I should mention here, for those of you who aren’t familiar with Dr. Crabb, that he is one of America’s premier Christian psychologists. He is scholar in residence at Colorado University and spiritual director of the American Academy of Christian Counselors. He is also founder of New Way Ministries, popular Bible teacher and speaker, and author of dozens of books on subjects ranging from counseling to family life.

I needed to call him to discuss the latest revisions to his book, so I set out lots of toys for the girls in the game room and told them to please play quietly while Mommy made a very important work phone call. And I told Brett to please listen for the girls and come upstairs if he heard anything. Then I took my laptop and phone into our bedroom and shut the door.

(I bet you can guess what happens next, huh?)

I was enjoying my phone call with Dr. Crabb—who is truly gracious, professional, and kind—when about midway into our phone conversation, the girls burst into the bedroom, squalling and bellyaching about some disagreement. (Note to self: I should have locked the door.)

“Mom! She stole my toy!”

“Did not!”

“Did too! Mom, she’s lying!”

“Am not!”

“Are too! Make her give it back! It’s miiiiiiine!!!”

Scream.

Mortified, and trying to conjure up enough telepathy to make Brett come upstairs, I said into the receiver, “Excuse me, Dr. Crabb. I need to handle something really quick. I’m so sorry.”

Then I proceeded to deal with the situation. I can’t remember exactly what I did, probably something like confiscate the toy and put it in time-out, and then send the girls to their bedrooms. And I’m pretty sure I used that half-whisper, half-growling And you better get along or else tone of voice as I shooed them out of the room and shut the door behind them.

Picking up the phone again, I distinctly remember being struck by a sinking feeling of realization—Dr. Larry Crabb had overheard the entire interchange with my kids. Dr. Larry Crabb, the premier psychologist and family counselor. The guy who trains counselors and writes books about parenting. He had just overheard me discipline my preschoolers.

Yikes!

Back on the call, I remember fumbling some kind of apology and then saying something like, “I’m sure you probably heard my kids squabbling. I hope I handled that right!”

Dr. Crabb chuckled good-naturedly, clearly getting a kick out of the situation. And I’ll never forget what he said next: “Yeah, I heard it. Your kids are just regular kids, that’s all. And don’t worry: you handled it well. But you know, I was here the whole time. If you needed help, you could have just asked!”

In the years since then, I have worked with Dr. Crabb on a few other books. We have a great working relationship, and he always asks me about our kids and our church. A few months ago, I was working with him on his current book, 66 Love Letters: A Conversation with God That Invites You into His Story. I asked him if he remembered that incident, years ago, with my squabbling kids. He did, and we both got a good laugh at the memory.

I’ve thought of that incident several times since then. Because, you see, every moment of every day, I have Someone much wiser and infinitely more capable of helping present with me. He is ready, willing, and able to help me raise our children in a godly manner. Best of all, He can not only give me counseling advice, but He can give me true wisdom.

And anytime I need His help, I could just ask!

Flashback Friday: Queen for a Day

2010-02-04T22:15:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Flashback Friday! Here's a post from August 2008, on a day when I was doing a little wishful thinking . . . and got a much-needed God-nudge.

The thunderstorms that rolled in yesterday put a damper on our plans to go to the playground. So instead, we stayed inside and tried to make the most of the afternoon.

The four of us paraded upstairs, where Miss B pulled out the Dance Praise 2 mat and started some fancy footwork in the game room.

JJ headed to her bedroom to put on a play.“I’m going to be the princess,” she announced, pulling out a tiara and a purple dress.

“Okay. What should Buddy be?” I asked, as her younger brother nosed around beside her in the dress-up box.

“Oh, he can be the boring guy,” JJ said dismissively.

Hmm. Okay. I handed Buddy a hard hat and instructed him to “be boring.” He put the hat on backwards and grabbed a toy baseball bat. “O-tay, Mama!” He grinned broadly. Huh. That boy couldn’t be boring if he tried.

I turned back to JJ. “What do you want me to be?”

She handed me some costume jewelry. “You can be the queen!” she announced. Then she handed me her prized Disney Princess magic wand—the kind that you push a button and briiiing! Your wish comes true.

Bejeweled with my magic wand, a sparkly tiara, and pink beaded necklace, I took my place on my “throne” (JJ’s bed) and began my reign as “queen.” It went something like this:

Buddy grabs JJ’s lip gloss when she’s not looking.

JJ: “Hey, give me that! Hey! HEY!”

Buddy, clinging to the lip gloss with all his might: “AAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!”

Me, waving my magic wand: “I'm the queen, and I say don’t fight with your brother!” Briiing!

JJ giggles and smiles. I unfurl Buddy’s clenched fist, retrieve the lip gloss, and grab a tissue to wipe the glittery pink goo from his cheek.

A few minutes later . . .

Miss B, coming into the room: “Hey, what are you guys doing?”

JJ: “We’re having a play. I’m the princess!”

Miss B: “No fair, I wanna be the princess!”

JJ, firmly: “No. You can be the maid.”

Miss B: “I don’t wanna be the maid! I’m wanna be the princess!”

JJ: “Nooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!! I’m the princess!!!!!!!!”

Me, waving my magic wand: “Children, get along!” Briiiing!

JJ and Miss B giggle at me and reach a compromise: JJ can be the princess, but Miss B will be the empress. (She's smart, that kid.)

This went on for about ten minutes, with my “royal subjects” (mostly) agreeing to do what I commanded with my magic wand. And with each briiiing!, I thought, Hey, this is great. We should play this game more often!

Don’t you wish there were some kind of “magic wand” to grab on those days when you feel like you’re about to lose your cool—or your mind?

Stop whining! Briiing!
Take your nap! Briiing!
Clean your room! Briiing!

Or maybe for you, it would look more like,

Overdue bills, disappear! Briiing!
Marriage, be restored! Briiing!
Someone, pay attention to me! Briiing!

But we all know that’s not how God created us. After all, if we had a magic wand, we wouldn’t need Him! What our loving, heavenly Father really wants for us is not a carefree life, but a faith that clings to Him amid life’s struggles.

A year ago, my husband sensed God’s call to plant a church. So we sold our home in Austin, packed up our family of five, and moved to Fort Worth with the assurance of God’s calling—but with no church members, sponsors, or financial aid of any kind. It was just Brett and me, our children, and God’s call.

One of the verses I kept going back to during those faith-clinging, loaves-and-fishes days was Psalm 37:5: “Depend on the Lord; trust him, and he will take care of you.” I often found myself reminding God of this verse: “God, we’re completely depending on You here. See this? You promised that if we depend on You, You will take care of us!” And then I’d sense God’s gentle response: Yes, my child, I know you are depending on Me. But do you trust Me?

Humph. I was kind of hoping God would just wave His “magic wand” and give us everything we needed. Briiing! Here are your church members. Briiing! Here’s a salary for Brett. Briiing! Here are your building and church office and worship leader and staff and children’s ministry workers and . . . You get the idea. But instead, God was teaching me to trust Him.

And He still is.

I’m no longer reigning as “queen” around here; that game ended all too quickly yesterday. But I am a daughter of the King, depending on and trusting my heavenly Father a little more each day.

And that’s the kind of royalty I’m proud to be!

Something Has to Happen

2010-02-03T07:13:00.001-08:00

This morning, as I was driving Miss B to school for her first coaching session of the UIL storytelling team, I asked her if she remembered the elements of a good story. (My poor kids; other moms can teach their children how to bake, sew, and do all kinds of crafts—all I can do is teach mine how to incorporate a good throughline in their writing.)

Miss B didn’t miss a beat. We had talked about this before she wrote her PTA Reflections story a few months ago. (Which, incidentally, was the only second grade entry I saw that featured not only a story, but also a title page, dedication, table of contents, and an about the author page. Sniff, sniff. She makes this mama so proud!)

“First, you have to have a character you care about,” Miss B said. “Next, you have to have a setting. Then, something has to happen. And by the end, the character has to learn something and be different because of what happened in the story.”

Granted, this is a very simplistic rendition of what we discussed. (For more on the elements of story, I highly recommend The Hero’s 2 Journeys, by Michael Hauge and Christopher Vogler.) But she at least remembered the main parts.

I hugged her good-bye and headed back to the car, ready to zip home and get J.J. ready for school. But during the drive home, I kept thinking about this:

Then, something has to happen.

It’s a simple idea, really. No story can be compelling, exciting, or motivating without something happening. You can’t just let your hero sit there and do nothing. (As Vogler said, “You can’t make a movie about going to work. Unless, of course, your hero encounters kidnappers, assassins, and terrorists on the way to the office.”)

In every good story, the hero encounters something—a challenge, a conflict, a quest. Faced with this obstacle, the hero has the opportunity to overcome and learn from it. And if the story is effective, the hero at the beginning is not the same hero at the end. A fundamental transformation has taken place somewhere along the way.

The same thing is true in life, isn’t it? No matter how much we want to avoid challenge or conflict, the truth is that if we’re ever going to become the people God has created us to be, something has to happen.

You can’t just sit there and do nothing.

What “something” will it take for you to stop reading other people’s stories and start living your own? What risk will you take, challenge will you overcome, dream will you fulfill? And most importantly, what’s stopping you?

Or maybe you have all the "something" in your life you can handle right now. You are struggling with (even paralyzed by) pain or shame or heartache or grief. No matter how much you wish you could grab an eraser and blot out that “something” from the pages of your life, your story wouldn’t be complete without it. You see, the Author has woven that “something” into your story, giving you the opportunity to work through it and, in the process, to learn, to grow, and to be transformed into the image of Christ (2 Cor. 3:18).

Because it's the same in storytelling and in life: in every good story, something has to happen.

And if your life story is effective, you won’t be the same at the end. A fundamental transformation will have happened along the way.

For All the Craft-Challenged Moms Out There...

2010-02-02T04:37:00.000-08:00

Valentine’s Day Haiku

Teachers want “crafty”

I feel like a lousy mom

On Valentine’s Day

I let out a sigh in the car pickup lane
As the girls pile in and both eagerly exclaim:
“Guess what, Mom? Next Friday is Valentine’s Day!
We get to make boxes to put on display!”

And it’s not just my two school-age kids who need aid;
But my son’s Mom’s Day Out wants a box to be made.
My kids think it’s great; they’re all eager to start;
Convinced that their boxes will be great works of art.

There are moms who can scrapbook and make crafts with ease;
But I’m the first to admit I am not one of these.
For I am a writer; words are what I do.
I’m no good with glitter, ribbon, or hot glue.

When it comes to heart doilies and glue sticks and beads
I can’t make them work; art supplies make me freeze.
I dread the notes teachers send this time of year,
Quite sure they are asking the one thing I fear.

We craft-challenged moms are so misunderstood;
We can’t make a red-and-pink box that looks good.
Maybe I’ll write something—that’s what I’ll do!
I’ll send the kids off with a Valentine’s haiku:

Children, I love you

Sorry your boxes are lame

But you are the best!

Someday I’m Going to Miss This . . . Right?

2010-02-01T08:13:00.001-08:00

Last Sunday, I told you all about how I woke up in a quiet house, grabbed my Bible and a warm blanket, and enjoyed some rare (albeit much too short) time to myself before the kids awoke.

Well, yesterday was the complete opposite of that. Times ten.

It went something like this:

Just after 6 a.m., Brett walked into our room and turned on the light, stirring me out of sleep. “Jen? Jen?! Where are you, honey? I need to wear my windpants today. Do you know where they are?”

To his credit, my husband didn’t mean to wake me up. You see, he assumed I was awake because I wasn’t on my pillow, where of course he expected me to be.

Nope, I was sleeping at the foot of the bed.

Apparently sometime during the night, our three-year-old son came downstairs and climbed in bed with us. (I have no memory of this.) He then sprawled out horizontally in such a way that, defying all laws of physics, his tiny body covered the entire length of our king-sized bed. Desperate for a little patch of mattress to call my own, I crawled to the foot of the bed to stake my claim.

So that’s where I was when Brett flicked on the light. I mumbled something about there being clean khakis in his closet and for crying out loud you can’t preach in windpants, and pulled the comforter over my frozen feet.

“No, I need my windpants,” he said. “I’m preaching on spiritual exercise, so I’m wearing athletic gear today. Are they in the laundry?”

With a heavy sigh, I flung the comforter back and got out of bed, knowing good and well that I wouldn’t have gone back to sleep anyway. (Another one of those things they don’t tell you before having kids: no matter how deeply you could sleep pre-kids, the first night you bring your baby home, you are instantly and permanently transformed into a light sleeper.)

After a fruitless search of the clean laundry pile, the dresser, and the laundry sorter, I remembered that I had thrown a load into the dryer on my way to bed the night before. (See, I’m okay with the washing and drying part; it’s the folding and putting up part that trips me up!) A quick check of the dryer revealed the aforementioned pants—wrinkled but clean. (Whew!) I set the timer to ten minutes and told Brett they’d be ready soon.

By this time, as you might have guessed, the kids heard me breathing—which set off their sixth sense to wake up. The pitter-patter of little feet squelched any hopes I might have had for a peaceful morning.

And the real fun began.

Buddy wanted cereal for breakfast, but I forgot to run the dishwasher and we were out of bowls, so I had to hand-wash one for him. J.J. asked for oatmeal . . . until the teakettle whistled, at which time she decided that she wanted toast.

I continued through my morning routine of brewing coffee (first things first!), parceling out the kids’ vitamins (“Mom, I want the purple one, not the pink one!”), and refereeing typical morning squabbles (“J.J, don't tell your brother that boys don’t eat pink vitamins. That wasn't kind. Now apologize to him. . . . No, do it again, and this time I want you to mean it!”).

As I scooped out some dog food and opened the back door to let her outside, I remembered it was Fifth Sunday Feast at church. So I grabbed a frozen lasagna and threw it in the oven.

After breakfast, I sent the kids upstairs to get their clothes and come down to take showers. (I know, I know. I was supposed to do this the night before, but Brett worked late and it was a crazy Saturday and we got off schedule.)

Three showers, four outfit changes (“No, you cannot wear your red dress with your pink leggings and brown shoes!”), two squabbles, one art supply disaster (don’t ask), and one wrapped baby shower gift later, I had exactly fifteen minutes to take my own (cold by now) shower, fix my hair and makeup, get the lasagna ready, pack the diaper bag, grab the baby gift, get the kids' coats and Bibles, herd my crew into the minivan to get to church—and somewhere during the drive, switch hats from frazzled mom to pleasant pastor’s wife.

I wish I could tell you otherwise, but this is a pretty typical Sunday morning at the Stair house.

As I dropped off the last kid in his Sunday school class and made my way into the sanctuary (oops, I mean multipurpose room), I thought about something I read last week in Forever, Erma—a collection of favorite columns from the beloved humorist Erma Bombeck.

Those of you who giggled your way through Erma’s columns over the years no doubt loved her humorous take on everything from diapers to nosy neighbors. Her writing spans three decades of motherhood, from the harried mom stage (for which I am Exhibit A) to midlife and beyond.

Though I laughed till I cried at some of her own kids’ antics (and breathed a sigh of relief to know that our family is sort of normal), I was especially struck by the columns she wrote as an empty nester, after her kids were grown.

Erma wrote poignantly about how she had longed all those years for the time when her house would finally stay clean and she’d be caught up on laundry—only to grieve when it actually happened. She admitted that after years of telling her kids to pick up their rooms and fix their own snacks, when her grown children came home for a visit, she’d follow them around like a concierge, asking “Can I fix you something to eat? Do you need me to wash your clothes? Can I help you with anything?”

She wrote about how quiet it was after the kids left.

After laughing and crying my way through Forever, Erma last week, I’m trying to remember how wistful she was in her later years. So today, as I again went through our morning routine with the kids, I kept reminding myself to enjoy the moment, as busy and chaotic as it may be.

Because someday I’m going to look back and miss all of this . . . right?

Flashback Friday: Inquiring Minds Want to Know . . .

2010-01-29T06:38:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Flashback Friday! For a while (or until I run out of material!), I'll repost something on Fridays for you to enjoy. This one is from November 2008. And, yes, J.J. is still asking me puzzling questions like this every day . . .

Several of you who read my latest post e-mailed me to say how cute JJ was to ask so many questions. And many of you shared stories about your own inquisitive little ones.

To be honest, JJ’s questions keep me on my toes! Anyone who thinks that you’d have to sacrifice your intellect to stay home with your kids obviously hasn’t ever had a five-year-old. Or at least a five-year-old like JJ, anyway. Far from letting my mind turn to mush, staying home with my kids has forced me to develop the ability to think on my feet, every day.

Just for fun, I kept track of the questions JJ asked me in the past twenty-four-hours. Apart from the relatively benign ones (“Can I watch a movie?” or “Does this match?”), here are—I kid you not—some of the things she has asked me, from the gross to the profound:

Yesterday afternoon, playing in the backyard:
· What do ladybugs eat? (Um, they eat aphids, I think. And maybe grass.)

· How long do ladybugs live? (I have no idea. Put it in your bug house with some grass and we’ll find out!)

· What’s faster: a leopard or a cheetah? ([The girls found a yellow ladybug and were arguing about what to name it.] I think a cheetah is faster. I’m not sure.)

· Are roly-polies and ladybugs friends? (I don’t know. Go ahead and stick that ladybug in the bug house with your roly-poly and see what happens.)

Last night:

· How come Gran calls it “supper”? (Because some people in the South call lunch “dinner” and dinner “supper.” That’s what GG and Papa call it too.)

· What would happen if I put my boogers in this fairy wand? (Eww! Gross! Don’t do that! Yuck.)

This morning:

· Mom, I have a secret. I asked Boo to do my art homework for me. Is that okay? (No, honey, that’s not okay! You have to do your own homework. If you ask someone else to do it, that’s called cheating, and that’s a bad choice. Besides, how are you ever going to get better at drawing if you don’t practice?)

· Are cats fuzzy? (Yes, they’re fuzzy. Technically, they’re furry, but that’s close enough.)

· (Looking in the mirror) I wish I could have Boo’s face, except not with glasses. Her face is prettier than mine. Can I have Boo’s face instead? (What? Why would you want her face? You’re absolutely beautiful, just the way God made you.)

· (Taking a bath) What makes the soap turn into bubbles? (Uh, I’m not sure. The soapy part, when it hits the water, gets all bubbly. That’s just the way soap is. [Clearly, I didn’t pay enough attention in science class.])

Today at lunch:

· Can I see my bugs now? (Well, okay. Here’s the bug house. Looks like the ladybug is still walking around, but your roly-poly isn’t alive anymore.)

· What does “alive” mean? (Um, let’s see. To be alive means to be living and breathing. To have life.)

· What’s “life”? (Life is, um . . . Life is what God gives to people and animals, to live and breathe and move. It’s what makes us different from rocks and toys and stuff.)

· So your daddy is like a rock? (Uh, no. My daddy died, but he is alive in heaven with Jesus.)

· Is your daddy in the ground, or in heaven? (Well, both, kind of. My daddy’s body is in the ground, but his soul is in heaven with Jesus.)

· What’s a “soul”? (Hmm. Your soul, or spirit, is what is inside you. It’s not your skin and bones but the inside part of you that thinks and loves and feels. The part that God made very special, in His image, and what makes us different than animals.)

Whew! See what I mean? And these are just a few of the things I’ve had to answer since yesterday.

Motherhood is a tough and often thankless job, and it’s definitely not for the faint of heart—or mind. Every day, I do my best to nurture these three inquisitive children God has entrusted to us. And every day, I pray that I’ll be able to “speak the truth in love” in a way that honors God and helps them “grow up in all things, into Him who is the head—Christ” (Ephesians 4:15 NKJV).

Looking Forward to What Lies Ahead

2010-01-28T08:05:00.000-08:00

Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us.

—Philippians 3:13–14 NLT

Like many Americans, my husband and I tuned into President Obama’s State of the Union address last night. As I listened to the president discuss the various issues our country is facing, I was struck by something.

Before I go on, let me clarify: I’m not taking issue with the president’s policies in this blog. So whether you’re a Democrat, Republican, independent, or something in-between, you can exhale now and keep reading. (Though if you’d like to read a more detailed response to the SOTU, you can read my husband’s post.)

What struck me most about the president’s address last night was how often he referred to the previous administration. Regardless of whether you side with former president or with the current one, there’s an important principle of leadership (and life) to notice here.

After one full year in office, President Obama is still looking backward.

Now, I’m not saying that he doesn’t have plans for the present or for the future. And I’m not saying that this president didn’t inherit some complicated matters from the previous one. But consider this: after one year of leading the free world, our president is still looking over his shoulder, thumbing backward, and saying, “Look at what a mess the previous guy made. Look at how bad things were when I got here.”

Some of you are starting to bristle, thinking I’m getting political. Not at all. Though I do research the issues and vote, I’ve never been actively involved in politics, other than being elected to my high school student council (“Don’t be zany; vote for Haney!”) and being thrust into church politics (which, sad to say, are every bit as vicious and brutal—if not more so—than Capitol Hill).

So to avoid misunderstanding, let’s take this same principle into another arena. One I know a little better.

Let’s imagine that a large, influential church has, for whatever reason, gone through a change in leadership. The former pastor is gone, and now there’s a new pastor leading the congregation. Let’s even imagine (for the sake of argument) that the former pastor was a real jerk. He embezzled from the offerings, threatened the elders, and ran off with the church secretary. He really made a mess of things before he left. (Remember, I'm not drawing parallels to politics here, so don't read too much into this.)

Now, imagine that you are that new pastor. You’ve come to lead a hurting congregation. Their trust has been shattered. They are skeptical of you and your leadership. Some of them are just waiting for you to prove yourself to be as much a scoundrel as the previous guy.

So what would you do? Would you spend the first year of your pastorate pointing back at the former pastor and reminding your people of how bad things were when you got there? Would you continually use the former pastor as a sermon illustration of how not to do things? Would you keep bringing up past hurts and past problems?

Or would you stand behind the pulpit that first Sunday and say to those precious people, “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt, but our God is good. Let’s stay focused on our vision and ask God to give us wisdom and strength as we move forward.” And then from that Sunday on, would you put aside the past (because you know that only breeds negativity and resentment) and focus on moving forward, doing what God has called you to do?

It's the same principle for both the president and the preacher. Do you see it yet?

Okay, let me give you another example, one a little closer to home.

Last week, I took the kids outside to ride their bikes on the walking trail that runs behind our house. My older daughter can ride her bike well and zips along the path with ease. My younger daughter can ride her bike as long as she has training wheels and a helmet, because sometimes she goes too fast and loses control.

But my three-year-old son is still learning the mechanics of how a bike works. He doesn’t yet know how to turn his head and look at something without also turning his handlebars. So when he’s zipping along the walking trail on his trike and hears a neighbor’s dog barking, he’ll turn his head (and handlebars) to say hello—and veer off the pavement and into the grass. And when he’s pedaling down the sidewalk and hears his sisters coming up behind him, he’ll turn around to look at them—and subsequently tip over and fall off.

“You have to keep looking forward,” I’ll remind him, over and over. “Look straight ahead, buddy. Keep your handlebars straight, like this, and you’ll stay on the path.”

Because the principle is the same, whether you’re riding a bike, pastoring a church, or leading the free world.

You’ll never move forward if you're busy looking behind you.

Yes, we can—and must—learn from the past. And we must accept the reality that past circumstances have shaped our present ones. But as playwright George Bernard Shaw said, “We are made wise not by the recollection of our past, but by the responsibility for our future.”

Or as the apostle Paul wrote, “I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us. (Philippians 3:13–14 NLT; emphasis added).

I want my life to move forward. I don’t want to get sidelined by looking back and blaming others (or myself) for the past. I want to press on to reach the end of the race and live a life that is pleasing to God.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the mishaps and zigzags of life, it’s this:

The best way to keep moving forward isn’t to look behind you. Nor is it to turn and look beside you.

It’s not even to look straight ahead.

It’s to look up.

The Gift of Grandmas

2010-01-27T06:46:00.001-08:00

Grandmas are one of God’s greatest gifts.

Grandmas gladly take a night out of their busy week to drive all the way across the metroplex to watch their grandchildren—for free.

Grandmas show up an hour early—just in case you and your husband want to sneak away a little earlier for your date.

Grandmas happily hand over the keys—so you can take her nice, clean car on your date while she drives the kids home in your dusty, crumb-filled minivan.

Grandmas take the grandkids to Chick-fil-A—and instead of driving through, they bravely go inside with all three kids and let them play.

Grandmas treat them to kids’ meals and ice cream—but refuse to take the $20 bill you provided and instead hide it in the kitchen where you don’t find it until after they leave.

Grandmas buckle up those three squirmy, sugar-filled grandkids and drive them home—at night, in D/FW rush-hour traffic.

Grandmas make a game out of bedtime and soon have all three kids in pajamas, teeth brushed, prayed over, and sound asleep—even after all that sugar and excitement.

Grandmas look around at what needs to be done—and then they fold the laundry, wash the dishes you left in the sink on your rush out the door, straighten the living room, and lay out the kids' clothes for the next day.

Grandmas tell you not to rush home—they have it under control, so feel free to take your time.

Grandmas are excited to see you when you get back, and instead of hurrying out the door, they ask all about how your date went—and they really want to know.

Grandmas tell you that your kids were wonderfully well behaved and not a problem at all—though you know that all the sugar and excitement of the night probably led to a squabble or two (or more...).

Grandmas smile when you give them the gift you brought home, a book from Grandma's favorite fiction series (because of course your date included the bookstore, right?)—and then they graciously demur, thanking you for the book but insisting that you read it first.

Grandmas give you a great big hug when they finally leave for the night—and say it was truly their pleasure and you really need to go out more often.

When God made grandmas, I'm pretty sure He smiled.

Because when it comes down to it, outside of God Himself, no one loves you and your kids like Grandma.

Thanks, Mom!

Date Night!

2010-01-26T06:16:00.000-08:00

When it comes to presents, I’m not the type of girl who asks for jewelry or clothes or gift certificates to the spa. I tend to be more practical-minded (after all, if you’re going to spend money, it might as well be on something you need!), so it will come as no surprise to my friends and family to know that, for Christmas, I asked Brett for a blender.

My wonderful husband, who did buy me a blender by the way, slipped an envelope into the box. An envelope filled with four pair of tickets to Bass Performance Hall productions! I was beside myself in shock and glee. I love going to the theater, to the symphony, to museums and such. But with a family of five (and a husband who loves sports), our family outings are usually at the Rangers ballpark, McDonalds, or the $1.50 hot dog combo at Costco.

“This year, honey, we’re going to have four real dates,” Brett said, as I teared up holding the tickets. “Four times you can get dressed up and go out with other grown-ups. I’ve already talked to your mom, and she’s agreed to watch the kids. So mark your calendar, babe. We have four dates this year!”

Now, for those of you who are reading this and are (1) still single, (2) newly married, or (3) independently wealthy, you may be thinking, Four dates in a year? That’s it?! What’s the big deal?

The big deal, my friends, is this:

Tonight, I will put on something other than jeans and a T-shirt. I might even—gasp!—iron something (if I can remember how to iron). I will not only shower, but also style my hair—and actually put on makeup. I may even hunt around and see if I can find a pair of earrings and a necklace buried somewhere under the kids’ Tylenol and spray-on detangler.

Then, I will get into the car with my husband, and the only seat belt I’ll fasten will be my own. I will listen to anything on the radio I want to. And not once will I have to answer “How much longer?” or referee “She’s not letting me play her Leapster!” or contort my body to flail my right arm back to pick up a toy that fell on the floor.

Brett and I will go out to dinner somewhere that doesn’t have a play land or French fries, and we’ll talk to each other in complete sentences that do not include the words “potty,” “sit still,” or “starving children in Africa.” I won’t be so busy cutting up meat and buttering rolls that my own food is cold before I get to it. In fact, I might actually be able to eat my entire meal, from start to finish, without interruption.

And before we leave, I’ll probably go to the bathroom. All. By. Myself. (Insert the “Hallelujah chorus” here.)

Then we’ll drive over to Bass Hall, and we can park wherever we want to. In the back row, if we please, because I’ll only have my purse to carry, instead of the ten-pound diaper bag stuffed with snacks, toys, books, crayons, miscellaneous Happy Meal toys, and an assortment of unidentified objects. (Who knows, I may throw caution to the wind and leave my purse in the car. Just imagine the freedom of not having to carry anything!) Brett and I will hold hands and stroll through the parking lot with ease, instead of looking like a couple of border collies herding a pack of wandering children.

We’ll walk inside the theater and stroll leisurely to our seats. I’ll actually be able to peruse the playbill, instead of instructing anyone (in that “you better listen up or else” loud whisper) to sit down, quit playing with their folding seat, and for heaven’s sake look forward and quit staring at that man behind you!

Brett and I will watch the entire play, and not once will I have to dive into my bag to pass out fruit snacks or M&Ms. I won’t have to answer a zillion questions about “How much longer?” or “What’s that lady doing?” or “Mom, can I go to the potty?”

Instead of extending my “Mom arm” (you moms know what I mean: you stretch your arm along the seat behind your kids, ostensibly as a sign of love, but it’s really so that you’re in closer reach to gently but firmly thwack the back of their heads when they get unruly), I just might lean over and put my head on Brett’s shoulder.

And watch the entire play. In peace. Ahhh.

And after the play . . . well, never mind. You get the picture.

So thank you, honey, for the tickets! I’m so excited about tonight. I just need to dig through the laundry pile and see if I can find something clean to wear . . .

A Little Piece of Quiet

2010-01-25T04:03:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning, I woke up at 5:30 to a quiet house. I slipped out of bed and peeked in Brett’s office. He was putting a few final touches on his sermon, and all three kids were still sound asleep.

Finally! I thought. I woke up before the kids and don’t have to be anywhere for a while!

Feeling almost giddy (well, as giddy as one can feel before a cup of coffee, that is) at the rare treat of having some time to myself in the morning, I grabbed my Bible, notebook, and still-warm electric throw and headed for our oversized recliner. Although no devotional time seems complete without a steaming cup of java, I knew that the whirr of our grind-and-brew would probably awaken the kids, so I decided to forgo the joe . . . for now, anyway.

About five verses into my Bible reading, I heard the slap, slap, slap of my three-year-old son’s bare feet approaching through the kitchen. (Why do little boys prefer to stomp instead of just plain old walking?) Still tussle-headed from sleep, he groggily climbed into my lap.

I sighed. Loudly. Then I adjusted my Bible and notebook around my curled-up son, read a few more verses . . . and saw the wide-awake eyes of my six-year-old peering over my Bible.

“Mornin’, Mama! What’s for breakfast?”

“Yay, Bwek-fast! I want cereal,” Buddy piped up, suddenly full of energy and clambering off my lap.

“I want cereal too . . .” came the voice of my eight-year-old, who was wrapped in a blanket and padding her way down the stairs.

Why do my kids always wake up early on the days I'm trying to have some quiet time? Do they have some kind of sixth sense?

With another sigh, I closed my Bible and said a silent prayer, asking God to give me peace . . . and patience.

* * *

Eight and a half years ago, equally exhausted and exhilarated, I looked into the bright blue eyes of our tiny, squirmy, beautiful firstborn. At that moment, I signed a permanent leave of absence from my former position of Boss of My Own Schedule.

(Funny, they don’t tell you these things before you have kids!)

Ever since then—and especially since welcoming two more tiny, squirmy newborns into the family—my days (and early on, my nights) have been variously filled with feeding schedules, napping schedules, bedtime schedules, and so on. Now that the kids are getting older, I’ve added school schedules, homework schedules, carpool schedules, after-school activity schedules, and Mother’s Day Out schedules to the ever-growing list of demands on my time. Not to mention my work schedule (editing around fifty books a year) and, of course, the schedule of the growing church my husband pastors.

I don’t know about you, but these days, it seems everyone wants a little piece of me.

And all I want is a little piece of quiet.

* * *

“Our culture seems to be getting louder and louder,” observed songwriter/musician Fernando Ortega. “It’s not only loud, it’s in your face. It is growing increasingly more difficult to be in a meditative state.”

(Ah, I’m guessing Ortega must have kids.)

But the truth is, it’s not just my kids keeping me from a “meditative state.” It’s everything else that clamors for my attention.

Whether it’s responding to e-mails, catching up on Facebook, or listening to the news while I get ready in the morning, I have dozens of time-wasters at the ready, eager to gobble up what little spare time I do have.

Now, there’s certainly nothing wrong with e-mail, Facebook, or the news. These are just a few of the ways I fritter away the time that I could be spending with the Lover of my soul.

It’s so hard to tune out the various demands on my time . . . and tune in to God.

Earlier this year, I posted about how my rising blood pressure and restless nights prompted me to make a New Year’s resolution to stop working at night and instead spend that time letting my soul rest and linger on God through Bible study, prayer, and writing. To help me stay focused on my goal, I underlined in my Bible verses such as “Meditate in your heart upon your bed, and be still . . . In peace I will both lie down and sleep” (Psalm 4:4, 8) and, of course, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

And then I posted about how quickly I broke that resolution.

Because there are far too many things vying for my time. I thought I could do “just one little thing” before diving into my Bible study . . . only to discover two hours later, I’d wasted my whole evening. Well, not wasted, exactly. I finished a work project that night, but at what cost?

Earlier this month, my doctor put me on blood pressure medication. Because there’s a high price tag on a life devoid of peace and quiet.

So as I turn my calendar today to this last week of January, I’m revisiting my New Year’s resolutions. I’m renewing my commitment to stop using my evenings to squeeze in a few more work hours, another load of laundry, or catch up on e-mails.

Because, while those things are good and necessary in their proper time, they’re robbing me of my soul’s deepest need.

What I really need is just a little piece of quiet.

(P.S. Please pray for me, that I’ll be able to rest in the Lord and trust Him to work out details such as how to meet all these book deadlines without working evenings. If He can multiply loaves and fishes, surely He can multiply my work hours during the day, right?)

Do We Ever Realize Life While We're Living It?

2010-01-22T04:48:00.000-08:00

When a singular theme emerges three times in the span of a week, you tend to take notice.

On Monday, I posted a reflection on Randy Pausch’s book The Last Lecture, which I borrowed from the library at the suggestion of my friend Amy. (I was looking for something for our book club to discuss, and she had heard great things about it.) I agree: it’s worth the read. Randy’s focus in the book is not on his impending death but on his desire to live well. (As Curt Harding commented on my Facebook page: “That was the pleasant surprise of that book. It’s about life.” Well put!)

At the time, I hadn’t realized that my dad’s birthday was this week. It wasn’t on my radar until I was watching the weather, and the date flashed on the screen. Oh my. I thought. Today would have been Dad’s 65th birthday. I won’t repeat the info I posted yesterday, but suffice it to say that my father was an amazing man who left a lasting legacy not only for his family but for all who knew him. He was a man who, like Randy Pausch, knew how to live with all his might.

A few days ago, I took the kids to the library again. (The library is sort of my home away from home since Brett and I had to drastically cut this year’s budget for buying books. Sigh.) While the kids were poking through their section, I wandered over to see if by chance I could find a copy of Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. They didn’t have it… but sandwiched between the books on writing and books about computer science were some rare gems—classics I haven’t read yet! The first one to catch my eye was “Our Town,” by Thornton Wilder. I’ve heard of this Pulitzer Prize–winning play and seen it quoted in other books, but I hadn’t actually read it before. A short play in three acts, it seemed an interesting and quick read, so I added it to our pile of kids’ books, a Dora DVD, and Babe.

What I didn’t know at the time (but most of you probably do) is that the theme of “Our Town” is, put simply, this: appreciate the everyday ordinariness of life and don’t take your life—or the people you love—for granted.

Hello? Anyone sensing a theme here?

• The Last Lecture—in the face of death, a man lives fully and with all his might.

• Dad’s birthday—fond memories of a man who left a legacy of a life well lived.

• “Our Town”—a play about appreciating life, because you never know which day is your last.

Now, I don’t want to give away too much of the play, in case there are one or two of you out there who haven’t read or seen a production of it, but “Our Town” doesn’t feature a complex plot with lots of twists and turns; rather, it simply portrays an ordinary town with ordinary folks living their ordinary lives. (Think Norman Rockefeller and Mayberry set in a Frank Capra film.)

The play takes place in three acts: Act 1 is “Birth,” Act 2 is “Love and Marriage,” and Act 3 is “Death.” The play begins with a literal birth (a doctor delivering twins) and ends with . . . well, you can guess. Though several years pass between the opening act and the final scene, Wilder skillfully constructs the setting so that the play begins in the morning and ends at 11 p.m., giving the sense of a single day, the ebb and flow of life.

I could go on about some of the play’s motifs, but you can do a Google search and read commentary from those far more qualified than I to speak on its literary value. But I want to highlight one scene that struck me. It’s in Act 3, and one of the main characters has died. Desperate to experience at least some of the joy of living again, she asks (and receives) the opportunity to relive one of the happiest days she can remember: her twelfth birthday.

As she’s transported back to this day, in her home and with her family, she is anguished to discover that the day passed as any other ordinary day. A busy family is having a hurried breakfast and making plans for the day . . . just another day . . .

Realizing that no amount of urging can make her loved ones slow down enough to take notice of the day—to savor the moment and truly appreciate one another—she turns to the stage manager and pleads for the flashback to stop. “I can’t,” she says. “I can’t go on. It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at one another.”

She begins to sob.

“I didn’t realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed. Take me back—up the hill—to my grave. But first: Wait! One more look.

“Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by, Grover’s Corners . . . Mama and Papa. Good-by to clocks ticking . . . and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths . . . and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.”

Looking toward the stage manager, she then asks abruptly, “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every minute?”

I won’t tell you the stage manager’s answer . . . because I’m more interested in your answer (and mine).

Do we ever realize life while we’re living it, every minute?

Today is just another ordinary day. You woke up, you did your morning routine, you had breakfast, you went (or are planning to go) to work.

My dad did that on February 2, 1989. He had no idea that day would be his last on earth. It was just another ordinary day.

I’m not trying to be morbid here at all. But after the same theme has kept popping up over and over this week, what I’m pondering is this:

Am I truly realizing my life, every minute of it?

Am I making the most of each day that God has given me--including today?

Have I told my husband and children today that I love them? Have I taken the time to look at them—to really notice them—and appreciate them? Have I made a difference in someone’s life today? Am I living in such a way that if God were to call me home, my family would be flooded with letters from people who saw the light of my ordinary life and glorified my Father in heaven?

What kind of legacy am I creating for my own children?

You see, a legacy isn’t something you can put off till tomorrow or tuck away on a “to-do” list. It’s not something you’ll get around to someday when life calms down or when the kids go to school or when things slow down at work.

Our legacy is what we’re doing right now, in this moment, on this ordinary day.

Just something I’m thinking about this week. Something I hope maybe you’ll think about too.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

2010-01-21T12:54:00.000-08:00

Twenty-one years ago on this day, we celebrated my father’s forty-fourth birthday. I can’t remember exactly what we did that day—maybe we went out to eat at one of Dad’s favorite restaurants: The Old San Francisco Steakhouse (where we’d ooh and aah over the girl swinging to precipitous heights), Red Lobster (where we kids would squirm and squeal over the aquatic creatures), or perhaps it was Traildust (where Dad delighted in wearing outrageous neckties, knowing they’d be cut off and displayed there). Maybe he wore one of his infamous Hawaiian shirts that night, and maybe he teased our waitress with a grinning, “Tell you what: I’ll flip a coin; double or nothing.”

One thing I know for sure: on that day—January 21, 1989—we had no idea that it would be Dad’s last birthday here on earth. Two weeks later, he had a sudden and massive heart attack that ushered him into the presence of Jesus—much sooner than we wanted, but exactly on time according to God, who numbers our days and calls us home at exactly His appointed time (Job 14:5; Psalm 37:18).

My younger sister, Heather, was only eight years old when my dad died. (Note: I have an eight-year-old daughter, and I realized anew today just how young eight years is. Very young. Much too young to lose a father forever. Oh, God, You alone know best.) Concerned that Heather wouldn’t remember much about her father, my mom asked a few of Dad’s friends and business associates to write a letter to Heather, sharing a memory or thought about Dad.

The result, as anyone who knew Brian Haney would have guessed, is that the floodgates opened, and letters poured in. I have a file folder brimming with letters from friends, family, members of the Sunday school classes he taught over the years, business associates—people from all over the nation eagerly contributed to the patchwork of letters woven with remembrances of my dad.

Every year, on the anniversary of Dad’s homegoing, I pull out that file folder and reread the letters, to remember. Twelve years ago, I shared them with my then-fiancé Brett, handing him the bulging folder and saying, “Here, I’d like to introduce you to my dad. You would have loved him.” And no doubt, he would have loved Brett. And my kids. I can’t wait for him to meet them in heaven.

So today, on what would have been Dad’s sixty-fifth birthday, I’d like to share just a glimpse of these letters with you. I can’t possibly share them all—there are far too many!—but I can at least introduce you to the man who had a lifelong impact on me, who taught me to love the Lord and His church, who showed me how to have fun, and demonstrated a life of faithfulness, integrity, and joy.

Jan and girls,

We can never tell you enough what you have all meant to our lives. We miss Brian terribly! Your encouraging words to us as newlyweds and then as young adults have meant more to us than you’ll ever know. But most important, you and Brian taught us that Christianity is a lifestyle and begins in the home! Thank you for that. Brian, of course, showed us that the Christian life is fun and to be shared. Thank you both for sharing!

In Him,

Scott and Brenda Jackson

(church friends)

Dear Jan and the girls,

The first time I met Brian, I knew he was a winner. There are a few people you meet in your lifetime who you immediately know are someone special, and Brian was one of them. He was self-confident, sincere, and had a special presence about him. I knew he was a person I wanted to become associated with.

Brian was the first salesman hired in the Dallas district, and without question, the best. Brian’s customers saw the same thing in him that I did and he was tremendously respected in the grocery industry.

I worked closely with Brian throughout our nineteen years of business and personal relationship. When I became Regional Manager in Lever’s Personal Products Division, the first person I asked to join our team was Brian. As usual, his district won every award.

When I was promoted to National Sales Manager, I tried to persuade Brian to relocate to Los Angeles, as a Regional Manager, and later to relocate to New York to head up our National Accounts Department. Brian refused both promotions for personal reasons.

The personal reasons were his family. His family always came first, which I greatly respected. I could have learned a lot from Brian in this area.

I never met a person who could balance his business, personal, and religious life so well. I never once saw Brian in a situation that his family would not have been proud of him. Brian led by example, and he made many other people better for having known him.

One of our most fun times was when I opened my own company, and Brian became my boss. Brian used to love to kid me about how everything comes full circle. Brian was very instrumental in helping me get my company off the ground. He worked with us as if he were a member of our team. He was very patient and helpful as we strived to reach his high standards. Brian was the first and only person ever on my company’s Board of Directors. . . .

I was shocked when told of his passing. There have been few times in my life that I have cried, and that was one of them. He was one of my very closest friends, and I would have done anything for him.

The funeral was a tremendous tribute to Brian. Hundreds of people attended from all over the country, both personal and business associates. I have never been more impressed in my life.

There are very few Brian Haneys that come along in this world, and the “Haney Ladies” had the greatest guy I ever met. Brian had a major impact on my life, and I will never forget him.

Love,

Dan Womack

(business associate)

Dear Heather,

Brian was a very special man to us. We looked up to him and thought the world of him. We knew him a long time. He touched our lives the most when we were newly married. He was the director of young adults at Lakeland then. Every Sunday we would come to church and we knew Brian was there, because he rearranged the chairs every week. I guess it was his way of keeping things exciting, and that it did. Brian loved Sunday school parties, so we could play some of his games. His favorite was pushing a peanut across the floor with our nose. We did this relay style. Brian got as much kick out of watching us as if he were playing himself. He loved games, and we would beg him to let us think of the games the next time.

Brian always had a smile on his face where ever you saw him and a jolly little laugh. He was a good teacher of the Bible and a leader. Brian was our dear friend, and we loved him a lot.

Love,
Tony and Teresa Thurmond
(church friends)

Jan and girls,

I learned more about values and priorities from Brian than from any man I’ve ever met. A lot of people state that God and family are important in their lives, but Brian lived that belief every day of his life. With that kind of peace of mind, it is easy to see why he was such a cheerful, confident man.

The question of “Why Brian?” is one that I and many others are asking at this time, but as he told me on the golf course last week, “I’ll be there . . . my slate’s clean. I’ll see what I can do for you guys if I get there first!”

His sense of humor, willingness to always help others, and his unabashed love for God and family are just a few of the traits that I will miss, but never forget. . . .

The services at Lakeland, aptly titled “A Celebration of Life,” were as moving and inspiring as any I have ever witnessed. Our group got together afterward for some “good ole Texas barbecue” as Brian fondly called it, and reminisced of our many happy experiences with him.

Love,
Dan Murphy
(business associate)

Dear Beth, Jennifer, and Heather,

Brian meant a great deal to me as a Christian brother, friend, and fellow deacon. There were some characteristics that he had that I hope you each will take as your own. They are as follows:

1. He loved people.

2. He was always positive about everything and believed God would give positive results.

3. He was always willing to help others in their time of need.

4. He was willing to listen to us.

5. He loved Jesus and reflected that love.

There were two times that were especially fun times with your dad that I will always remember. They are as follows:

1. One evening, we had a meal at your home for our supper group, and we had to eat our meal in courses and only with certain pieces of hardware to use.

2. The weekend we had Western emphasis at church, he had all the different games such as seed spitting, water balloons, egg throwing, cow chips, etc. He enjoyed directing it and it was a day enjoyed by everyone, especially me.

I miss your dad very much. . . . May God bless you all in the days ahead.

In Christ’s love,

Carl Welch

(fellow deacon at FBC Highland Village)

Brian Haney was undoubtedly one of the most unique individuals I have had the privilege of knowing in my lifetime.

As a coworker in Lakeland Baptist Church, Brian understood and practiced the fine art of organizing and motivating people in order to achieve the goals and objectives of the church. He was an eternal optimist and a contagiously enthusiastic person. His priority and emphasis was always on people. He was a great communicator. He dearly loved people and knew how to show it. He was never satisfied to maintain the status quo. Brian was, without a doubt, the most effective lay Sunday school worker I have ever had the privilege of knowing.

As a businessman, I had the opportunity to relate to Brian in the cold, sometimes cruel, world of buying and selling as a buyer for the A&P Food Stores, when he was a salesman for Lever Brothers Co. For approximately eight years, we experienced the challenge of making a profit for our respective companies in a highly competitive market. During this time I learned that when Brian promised something, you could count on it being done as stated. He was a man of his word.

As a friend, Brian was a person I knew I could call on at any time, day or night, without apology, and he would respond. . . .

Brian was much more than this, but space will not allow a record of who and what he was. He was a man of God. He was my good friend, and I miss him very much. I know we will meet again in Heaven!

Wayne Galbreath

(church friend and fellow deacon at Lakeland)

Brian Haney was such a special Christian friend to me.

There are many things I could write about, but a few stand out as being very special.

I remember that several years ago, he would come by the church many times after work just to say hello to us and see how we were doing. Knowing that I was a widow and having difficulty getting by financially, he came by the church at Christmastime and brought me a huge box of every kind of soap, toothpaste, etc. Juts things he knew I needed, not realizing the full extent that he was helping me. I shall always be grateful for that ministry.

He loved Jesus so much that all he did was just an overflow of that love. He could not help but share it with others in ministering to them.

Yes, he was a very special man and he loved his family so very much. You were the most important thing in his life, with the exception of Jesus.

Please don’t think of how young he was when the Lord called him home—just think of how much living he did in those years.

My best to all of you,
Ava Flanagan
(church secretary at Lakeland)

Dear Jan and girls,

Very simply, Brian, in the short 13 months I knew him, had the greatest impact as a human and Christian in my life, outside my wife of course. He was a joy to my heart at all times. He allowed God to “shine” though him. He was at all times an inspiration to me and all those he came in contact with. He never failed to say to me how much he valued our friendship and thanked me for helping him with my time in business matters! I, of course, was quick to point out the fact that his spirit, clarity, and wit were not only a breath of God-given fresh air to me and my wife, but also to all of his fellow workers at Ragu. When I think of how our Lord wishes us to “sow” seeds of salvation and treat our fellow human beings with the greatest of commandments, “love,” Brian our (my) friend is number one.

One time we had to share a room together at a business function due to the fact that the hotel was short of space. We shared thoughts most of the evening. I told Brian that I was wrestling with a problem about witnessing and being what God wanted me to be. As always, he cleared the thought process right up for me. He said, “Jim, just reach up and hold His hand as a child would and just walk beside and with Him. He wants you to be just you; that’s why He created you the way you are.”

Once again the Lord puts in place those necessary people in each of our lives to get the job done. Brian was that kind of Christian and friend. In business matters and meetings, he insisted that everyone get their egos out of the way and deal from a position of truthfulness and constructive thoughts that were not only good for the spirit but good for the body (business) on the whole. When Linda and I think of Brian, it always brings a smile to our faces and a warmness to our hearts.

What a great legacy to leave. . . .

Our love and prayers to you always,

Jim Pagliaroni

(business associate)

Dear Heather,

I remember your daddy as a friend beyond comparison. He was a man of compassion, a man of dedication, someone you could always count on, and in short, a man I was always proud to introduce as my friend. For over 20 years, we knew each other, and my feelings for him are today as loving as when we first met.

There are few people on this earth that I person can honestly love. I think a dad would always love his wife, his children, and his family. Beyond those, a person has acquaintances that they can enjoy each other’s company and be friends with for a time. But there are a few that you would always be friends with and that you enjoy their company even when you’re doing nothing. These friends go beyond the norm and a deeper feeling develops. That feeling is the same as a person would feel for his own family and is simply love. That was the friendship your dad and I had for each other. I will always treasure our relationship.

Your dad was very human. In time and maybe even now, you will remember him as someone who could do no wrong. Well, your dad could do less wrong than most men. So, your remembrances will be justified. . . .

Your dad was a wonderful optimist. He always knew his golf score was going to be good, that the fish were really going to bite, and that even some bad Lever product was really good. (He never had many bad ones though!) People like that, you like being around. I heard it said his laugh was infectious. That means, when he laughed, it made others happy and they felt like laughing too. His whole being was like that; his giving of himself made others want to give too, his desire to excel helped others excel, his faith gave others hope.

He had a personal relationship with Christ so we who also have that special relationship know your dad is with Him. But the effect your dad had on others changed lives for the better, and I think that’s the best thing that can be said about a person’s life. . . .

In time, you will hear it said many times that a person lives on through those whose lives he touches. Your dad touched your life and he touched mine. We will both carry that relationship throughout our lives, and we will both be better people for it.

I love you!
Lem Smith
(longtime, dear family friend)

All through life, you meet all different kinds of people. Some are casual acquaintances, some are close friends, and some are special friends. Brian was one of those special friends to me.

I first met Brian in the fall of 1980. He welcomed me to the Personal Products Division of Lever Brothers Company at a meeting in Dallas. Right from our first meeting, I could sense that Brian was a very special person. He had a way about him that put everybody at ease. Brian would make sure that all of his employees understood that he was willing to help them out with any problem they had whether it was business or personal. You did not have to be around Brian long to see where his strength came from, because he would tell you that Jesus was the center of his life.

In a very short time, I grew to love Brian as a boss and especially as a very good friend. He was not only my boss but he soon developed into a big brother to me. Many times I was in need of someone to talk to and Brian would always invite me into his office and close the door. He would say, “I’ve got big ears, what do you need to talk about?” I knew that he really did care and he was not just trying to give me lip service.

When Brian would work with me in the field, he would expect me to give it my very best. I always worked hard and smart (as Brian would say) for him because of the respect I had for the man. . . . .

Brian was one of the top performers at Lever Brothers. He was very well respected not only for his achievements but also for his beliefs in the Lord. No one kidded Brian about his faith, they just knew the Lord was #1! Brian would always let everyone know that his success was due to “his team,” not just Brian alone. I remember at our national sales meetings, he would always have us dress alike so everyone would see that we were a team. When he was awarded any awards, he would have us come up on stage along with him because he was such a team person.

Brian was always concerned about everyone’s faith in the Lord. When people around him were hurting, he would let you know that there was one person you could turn to—Jesus! Brian would on occasion, quote Scripture to people who were hurting. During these special times, you were able not only to grow close to Brian, but you grew close to Jesus, which is what Brian wanted for you to begin with.

Brian was a very fun loving person. He loved to tell jokes (clean ones, of course!). Many times, he would tell a joke and he would be laughing so hard he couldn’t finish it. His laugh was a classic! When he got started laughing, he couldn’t stop and neither could the people around him. Most of the time, we would be laughing more at Brian than at his jokes. He would always play practical jokes on his friends Joe Haley, Terry Worlds, and Tom Gentry. They always seemed to get even with Brian though.

Brian simply lived life to its finest extent.

After Jesus, the most important thing in Brian’s life was his family. His eyes would sparkle as he talked about any one of his girls. Each of you were so special to him. He was so proud of all his girls’ accomplishments. Usually, the first thing he would talk about during our Friday meetings was his girls and what they had done during the week. One thing that he let us know was that he would never remove his wedding ring. He said that once he stated his vows, he was not to take his ring off. The ring represented that he and Jan had become one. . . .

It has taken me quite a while to write this letter because of my love for Brian. I know how it hurt each of you to lose your husband and father, but I also lost one of my very best friends—my “big brother.” I can’t wait for the moment when I get to Heaven and meet up with Brian again. I can picture it now—Brian and St. Peter fishing, eating bar-b-que, and telling Aggie jokes!!!

God bless you all,

Dan Abram

Well, there are dozens of other letters I could share with you, but time (and tears!) will not permit it. I just wanted to share a few of them with you today, in memory and honor of my dad.

Happy birthday, Dad! We miss you and love you!

I Have a Great Plan!

2010-01-20T06:39:00.001-08:00

“I have a great plan, Mama!”

I was out running a couple of errands yesterday afternoon with our young son in tow. He had been happily chattering away in the backseat of our minivan—making up a story about a prince, a dinosaur, a few of his friends, some bad guys, and a monster of some sort—when suddenly he stopped and announced that he had a "great plan."

Oh, that kid. He always has a plan. Good grief, he’s only three.

We still had a bit of a drive, so I decided to humor him. “Okay, honey. What’s your plan?”

He announced, “After we go to the library [he pronounces it ‘li-bear-y’], we can go home and you can give me some cookies. And you’ll be nice to me and you’ll say okay I can have them and you not say 'Wait till after dinner and blah blah…' but you be nice and let me have some, okay? How 'bout that? That’s a good plan.”

Wait a minute. Did he just say “blah blah”?!

Without giving me a chance to respond (smart kid), he barreled on, “And you say yes, okay? Because I don’t like no. No doesn’t make me happy. No is not my favorite. So you say yes and I’ll have some cookies when we get home, okay, Mom? Yeah, that’s a great plan.”

(See, this is one of the things they don’t tell you before you have kids. That you have to think on your feet in situations like this… which happen pretty much every day.)

Trying to figure out which issue to address first, I said, “Buddy, my rules for you are not ‘blah, blah.’ And I am being nice to you when I say wait to eat your cookies until after dinner. Because if you eat too many cookies now, you won’t be hungry for your good dinner and you’ll have a tummy ache.”

“But Mo-om!” he protested. “Don’t say no! No is not my favorite!”

“Wait a minute,” I said, stopping him mid-whine. “I didn’t say no. But I didn’t say yes either. Tell you what: let’s wait and see how you behave in the library. Then, if you have a happy heart and obey me in there, I’ll let you have one cookie before dinner. How about that?”

“Okay, Mama!” he piped up cheerily. “That sounds like a good plan.” With that issue settled, he picked up his story about a monster and a dinosaur… or something like that.

When I recounted the conversation to Brett last night, we both got a good chuckle out of Buddy’s ingenuity. I tell you, that boy is chock-full of personality, bursting at the seams with charm. (And we agreed to talk to him about the blah, blah part, since that was showing disrespect.)

More often than I’d like to admit, as I’m giggling over something the kids have done, God uses their antics to shine a spotlight on how I’ve been relating to Him in much the same way.

If I’m honest, how often do I approach God with “I have a great plan!” (Someone once quipped, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.”)

Then I casually suggest to the sovereign God of the universe—in a spiritual way, of course, quoting Bible verses and such—how He could accomplish my “great plan” and even how my “great plan” could help so many other people and blah, blah.

(Can you just imagine how this sounds to God?)

And how many times, so enamored with my own plans and dreams and schemes for the future, do I say (or at least think), “And You be nice and don’t tell me no, God.” Because no is not my favorite either.

But God, like a good parent, knows what’s best for me. His rules are for my good. His plans are for my best. And His ways are much higher than my own (Isaiah 55:8–9). Sometimes He says no to my so-called great plan, not because He’s “not nice,” but because He has something infinitely better for me in mind. “God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! (Ephesians 3:20 MSG).

Sometimes, when I have a “happy heart” and live in obedience to God, He gives me a cookie, so to speak. His Word tells us that when we focus on Him and find delight in His ways, He gives us the desires of our hearts (Psalm 37:4). (Of course, when we delight in the Lord, our desires begin to look a lot like His.)

And it’s only when we abandon our own plans and embrace the perfect will of God that we will experience “real and eternal life, more and better life than we ever dreamed of” (John 10:10 MSG).

So I have a great plan. This time, instead of telling God my plans and asking Him to say yes to what I want, I’ll trust in Him and seek what He has in store for me.

Because God’s Word and His will are so much more than blah, blah.

Coming Clean on My “Dirty” Little Secret

2010-01-19T04:36:00.000-08:00

Okay, after admitting in my post yesterday that I tend to be a bit of a neatnik, I decided it would only be fair to confess to you my “dirty” little secret.

Ready?

Here it is…. (Um, Mom? Are you reading this? You better shut your eyes. This will horrify you.)

Ugh. The laundry. Piles and piles of clean laundry. I just can’t seem to catch up!

Now, I’m the type of person who actually enjoys scrubbing and vacuuming and dusting (it gives me a sense of order amid the chaos, I think). But for some reason, I can’t stand doing the laundry. Oh, I don’t mind the washing and drying part. It’s the folding and hanging and putting-up part that I keep putting off. And the more I put it off, the more overflowing baskets of clean clothes I keep hiding in my closet. (“Out of sight, out of mind,” right?)

So when my in-laws came to visit this weekend, our house was sparkling clean, but my bedroom closet was crammed full with my secret stash of laundry baskets. And truth be told, on any given day when you come over to our house, even if the main rooms are clean, I’m probably hiding at least a couple of baskets of clean clothes in our closet.

Of course, my mother raised me much better than this. And she has repeatedly shared with me her cheery laundry tip: “If you just wash and fold a load of laundry every day, it won’t pile up!”

Yes, technically that is true. And once in a while, I become determined to conquer my laundry monster and valiantly wash and dry and fold and put up at least one load of laundry every day.

That usually lasts about a week. Maybe less. Then I’m back to my usual “stash the clean laundry in the closet” routine. (Hey, at least it’s clean. We just have to go laundry-basket diving for outfits and matching socks…)

I think one of the most frustrating parts of the laundry is that it is never done. Never. Even on the days when I resolutely fold and hang and fold and hang until every last pair of socks and jeans are properly tucked away in dressers and closets… it’s only a couple of hours before the kids toss that day’s dirty outfits and towels back into my heretofore pristine laundry sorter.

Sigh.

It’s just too much work, I sometimes think. So I put it off. And the more I put it off, the more it piles up…

Years ago, the teacher in my Community Bible Study group also lamented the never-endingness of her laundry. The mother of teenage sons, she described her laundry room as a perpetual pile of stinky socks and athletic gear—just when she was ready to celebrate being caught up, in came another pile of dirty clothes. I was a young mother of a toddler and an infant at the time (and still amazed at how much laundry two tiny children could generate!), and I commiserated with the teacher as she shared her disdain of this interminable chore. Ah, a kindred spirit!

And then she said something I will never forget. “It’s the same way with confessing our sins to the Lord,” she gently pointed out. “We’re never quite done. Just when we think we’ve come clean before God and repented of all our sins, we turn around and realize that we’ve sinned again. And again. And the more we put off confession, the more our sin piles up and becomes a barrier to us hearing from God and experiencing His presence in our lives.”

Ouch.

But here’s the great part. The Bible says, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9)

Now, God's Word is clear: He has already forgiven all my sins. All of my sins were future sins when His Son, Jesus, bore them on Calvary (Isaiah 53:5; 2 Corinthians 5:21). And God judged all my sin once and for all at the Cross (Hebrews 9:14).

But when I confess my sin to God--agreeing with Him that I have missed the mark--I experience His forgiveness and grace and mercy anew. And in the act of acknowledging my weakness and leaning on His strength, I come to know Him in a deeper, sweeter way.

So I’ve made up my mind: tonight, I will finally tackle the terrible tower of laundry that is taking over our living room.

And while I’m folding towels and hanging T-shirts, I’m going to pray through the things I need to come clean about before the Lord. Because nothing is better than a clear conscience and a restored communion with the One who created us and longs to have an intimate, ongoing, personal presence in our lives—unhindered by the “dirty laundry” of sin.

(Though finally getting rid of this pile of clothes might be a close second.)

* * *

When I refused to confess my sin, my body wasted away, and I groaned all day long. Day and night your hand of discipline was heavy on me. My strength evaporated like water in the summer heat.

Finally, I confessed all my sins to you and stopped trying to hide my guilt. I said to myself, “I will confess my rebellion to the LORD.” And you forgave me! All my guilt is gone.

—Psalm 32:3–5 NLT

Lessons from "The Last Lecture"

2010-01-18T12:17:00.001-08:00

“Every man dies; not every man really lives.”

—William Wallace, Braveheart

Last week, while my kids were browsing the library shelves, I picked up a copy of The Last Lecture, by Randy Pausch, at my friend Amy’s recommendation. I’d seen the book before and had been intrigued, but I’d avoided checking it out because it hit a little close to home—written by a forty-something father of three who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given only months to live. (My own father died in his forties of a heart attack, leaving behind three children and a grieving widow.)

But what Randy Pausch had that my father did not have was the gift of saying good-bye. After his diagnosis, Randy was asked to give a lecture at Carnegie Mellon University, where he was a tenured computer science professor. The lecture—entitled “Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams”—wasn’t about dying; it was about overcoming obstacles and living with all your might. (If you haven’t yet seen the lecture, it’s worth watching on the book's website.)

Pausch’s lecture was posted on YouTube and became such a hit that in the few months he had left before succumbing to cancer, he teamed up with Jeffrey Zaslow to turn it into a book. Now, this isn’t an astounding, life-altering book, nor does it provide mesmerizing secrets about the meaning of life. This is, instead, a father imparting his wisdom, his childhood stories, his experiences and lessons learned, to the three young children who will grow up without him. It’s the kind of thing we all wish we could leave behind for our own children, filled with common-sense wisdom and a glimpse into a life well lived.

Though I enjoyed so many of Randy’s stories in this book, one that stood out to me was “Pouring Soda in the Backseat.” Recalling a day he spent with his sister’s children (before he married and had kids of his own), he writes, in part:

Once, about a dozen years ago, when Chris was seven years old and Laura was nine, I picked them up in my brand-new Volkswagen Cabrio convertible. “Be careful in your Uncle Randy’s new car,” my sister told them. “Wipe your feet before you get in it. Don’t mess anything up. Don’t get it dirty.”

I listened to her, and thought, as only a bachelor uncle can: “That’s just the sort of admonition that sets kids up for failure. Of course they’d eventually get my car dirty. Kids can’t help it.” So I made things easy. While my sister was outlining the rules, I slowly and deliberately opened a can of soda, turned it over, and poured it on the cloth seats in the back of the convertible. My message: People are more important than things. A car, even a pristine gem like my new convertible, was just a thing.

I love that story, along with other adventures Randy describes with his niece and nephew, including such things as asking, “Why do pancakes have to be round?” and making “an unintentional Roschach test” out of the batter (which reminds me of my own dad, who delighted in shaping pancake batter into our names and various cartoon characters).

But the main reason I like the soda-in-the-convertible story is that I’m so much like Randy’s sister. Her mantra is my own: keep it clean; don’t mess it up. A perfectionist from birth, I was the type of kid who color-coded my school subject folders (English is green, math is red, science is blue…) and I’d stay after class to reason with my high school teachers to get a 98 (gasp! the horror!) restored to a 100. I carefully selected my college and seminary courses to ensure I’d keep my 4.0 GPA, and I even used to keep a can of Pledge at work to polish my desk at the end of the day (honest!), which was of course the source of merciless (and good-natured) teasing from my publishing colleagues.

All of this, you see, was before I got married… and then had three kids.

Life changes exponentially—and indelibly—when that happens.

One of the things I love about my husband, Brett, is his ability to see the big picture much more clearly than I can. I get so lost in the details—Is it clean? Is it orderly?—that I lose sight of something much more important—Is it fun? Is it memorable? . . . and most importantly, Does it communicate love?

A couple of years ago, just days after we moved into our new-to-us home in Sendera Ranch, our then fourteen-month-old son gleefully “christened” our home by pouring coffee all over our bedroom carpet. (You can read about that adventure here.)

Thankfully, things like crayon on the walls, forgotten fast-food cups in the back of the minivan, and coffee spilled on the carpet aren’t heart-stopping events for me anymore. I know that a little paint and a steam vac can fix most things—and what can’t be fixed (like, for example, the fork indentions on our dining table) become memories. They simply fold into this beautiful mess of life that God has given me.

But I wish I had learned this lesson long ago. I wish in our early years of marriage, and back when the kids were babies, I hadn’t been so busy obsessing over the details that I missed the fact that dishes in the sink, scratches on the table, coffee stains, and exploded juice cups are just part of the adventure of marriage and raising three amazing treasures from God. I spent far too much of my life worried about keeping things in order . . . instead of making sure my loved ones know that they are infinitely more valuable to me than any car—or carpet.

That’s why I love The Last Lecture. Because like Randy, I want my kids to learn from my mistakes. I want them to know, right now while they’re young, that you don’t have to be perfect. That it’s okay to make a B or C on a report card. It’s okay to spill your juice on the carpet. It’s okay to try... and fail.

And above all, I’d want them to know that people are more important than things. That my husband and children are infinitely more important to me than any house or car or thing.

And no matter how many more days God gives me on this earth, I want to enjoy each of them to the fullest with my loved ones in this crazy, dented, scuffed-up, stained life ... covered and cleansed by God's amazing grace.

Thank you, Randy, for that reminder.