I have four kids. Yes, yes, I know…. AWESOME! 

We honestly have loads of fun. So much fun. More fun that you have with your kids. Okay, that was rude.

Anyway, I hope and pray and beg God that one day they will grow up and have kids so that I can be the most awesome Grandparent on the whole planet. Make that the entire universe! I am stupid crazy about this baby I had at 36. What am I going to be like when my kid’s kids are toddling around me? Die, I tell you. I will die from the love oozing out of my body.

Why the weird blog title? Because I was going to write to just homeschoolers, but shoot, this is good for anybod-eh!

I’ve been getting Facebook messages about homeschool and I usually shoot them what I’m about to share below. However, I want anyone who is breathing to think this way. Regardless if you homeschool or not, or even have kids, thinking 200 years down the road is vital to the way we handle life today. Here’s what I tell people.:

Define your vision as to WHY you want to homeschool (or live, or breathe, or do whatever).

For instance, JT and I homeschool for many reasons, but our primary reason is because we want to instill in our children that they will receive a vision a call on their life from God and we want to equip them to receive that call in our homes.

We homeschool also because we know that what we do today will define generations to come.

We homeschool because we don’t want to get up early and catch a bus or make lunches because I’m not a morning person.

We homeschool because it works well for our family.

We homeschool because we believe we are the best equipped to get them ready for the world, mulit-generational work and ministry and we are the best to instill what we feel is the most God-driven things in our lives.

We homeschool because regular education (math, science, history) is SECONDARY to their relationship with Christ and his calling on their life.

I encourage you to take a lot of time with your spouse uncovering your vision for your family and talk about what you do as a family directly affecting eight generations from now. Yes, EIGHT. Once you hash that out, then what you do for “school” becomes very easy and very defined.

School, as we define it from our perspective, is very short sighted. Why do we “school”? We school to get them to college. Why? Why is our primary focus college? For a job? Why? Why do we focus so much on jobs and careers? If we spent half the time thinking about how we can get our children to have a vibrant relationship with Jesus so they can know what HIS plan is, then we would find that we have excelled far beyond just planning for college and career.

These are the things you need to think about. Learning to read and doing math will come. It’s really no big deal. Lift your eyes beyond that! Get a vision. Write it down and from that, what you do with school will be an easy direction. Not that is will be easy, but you will have the fuel to get you through it.

That’s why we homeschool, but really, the concept of looking at how our lives will affect eight generations will really make us reconsider what we do on an everyday basis. If you could envision your family 200 years from now, what do you want them to look like?

If it’s not too weird, or if it doesn’t make me out to look like a glutton, I usually opt for two plates at any kind of buffet. Two reasons: I don’t want my food touching. And, I want to be able to get a little bit of a lot. And since I don’t like my food touching and I want a little bit of everything, two plates will hold a lot of littles without having to heap them on one another. Ew.

Really, three or four plates would be best. One for protein, one for veggies, one for salad, one for dessert. REMEMBER, I’m not heaping stuff on, just doing little bites of said categories. #notaglutton

I’ve done this in my personal life as well. A little bit of truth over here, some over here. Let me sample that one first. Mmmm, that’s a good one. As much as this kind of eating in the physical world works, I wonder if when we sample truth if we are doing ourselves any favors.

You see, I’ve met people (and been this person) who will listen and listen and eat and eat spiritual truth all day long. We have heard a buffet of truth, but it may not have done any good. Nothing changes. Nothing touches. It’s the same little bit of truth spread out over a mess of plates.

I’d say, maybe we need to pick one truth we really struggle with and feast on that for awhile. Ingest it. Wrestle with it. Get angry about it. Argue with God over it. Think of the one truth of God that you really have a hard time swallowing and just stare at it for a long time. Pick at it for awhile, if need be. Shove it around the plate. Look it over.

I dare you. I dare you to stop eating dumb little portions of Jesus to feel better about yourself, and just stare your ugly right in the face. Stare at what scares you to believe and what might make you think differently. Eat on that ONE truth that you avoid.

Avoiding what you’re so afraid might not be true, is the best way to ensure you stay a slave to that which you already believe is true. 

What is your One Truth you need to eat on for awhile?

My grandparents lived down the street from us. Their house was a wonder to my small heart. It had four levels. FOUR! Well, the master suite was it’s own, but still, what a wonder. The entire length of the living room looked out over the lake we lived on. Huge windows let the morning light in and warmed the giant room. The magnificent rock fireplace reached to the ceiling. A beast of an organ nestled up against one wall. Granny’s dazzled me as she could do both levels of keys with her hands and the foot pedals… and sing. I can still hear it pop on as she fired it up. I have no idea what happened to it. Some of her piano books are safely tucked in my music drawers.

In the mornings, Granny would make coffee wearing her everyday dress always sort of cinched up under her boobs. I even remember her putting on pantyhose in that oh-so not lady like fashion of hiking one leg up and out while pulling, and then switching to the other. There was possibly a squat involved, but I can’t remember everything (or I’ve blocked it out.) Then she’d make her way to the kitchen to do Granny things and make food appear. Magical.

In the breakfast room, Granddad would have pinwheel donuts with me in the orange chairs from the 50′s that swiveled. The ball bearings played a fun little tune back and forth. Legs dangling. Smiling up at that sweet old man face. I see that face in my dad now. We shared donuts and bright mornings looking at the sun dance on the lake.

In the living room, they had a grandfather clock. Always ticking. Always striking on the hour, quarter hour, half hour, three-quarter hour. When the entire family was there, the clock was drowned out by laughter and games. But, when we kids would stay with Granny and Granddad while Dad and Mom went who knows where, that clock’s ticking filled the quiet space through the living room. When all was still, that clock went on ticking. Something now in me doesn’t like the sound of a ticking clock. It’s a reminder that time is fading and dying. A reminder of a house left without grandparents. A reminder that life flies by and, at time, when you hear the ticking, it means all the party is gone and so are the people. It’s boring. It’s over.

Even now, at my parent’s house, when I’m there visiting, I’ll stop the clock in their living room if I happen to be there alone. Too much attached to a house I once loved down the lake. A house someone else owns.

Inevitably, any time I think about time moving on, I always hear DC Talk singing “TIME IS TICKIN’ AWAY! TICK TICK TICKIN’ AWAY!” (I’m a 38 year old grew-up-in-the-church girl). But, it’s true. Time is ticking away.

My grandparents have been dead for 25 years after a plane crash in 1986. His voice, her sewing room, and air in their house is as fresh in me as the last day I saw them. Even now, the lump in my throat threatens to over take me.

25 years.

Would they have guessed their son (my dad) would have raised three kids to love Jesus? Would they have ever know he was going to build chapels for prisons and military bases? Would they have dreamed their grandson works with a ministry serving the people of India? Would they have wondered that all their great-grandchildren would claim the name of Jesus before the age of 12? Would they have imagined their granddaughter marrying a pastor or the other granddaughter adopting an Ethiopian girl?

Did they ever consider what their descendants would do?

Do you?

Do I?

Shouldn’t we?

When their plane went down, my mom was in their house. She happen to go down there for some reason, let herself in, sat on the couch with something to drink, flipped through some photographs while the ticking of that grandfather clock kept her company. At the time they were meeting Jesus, she was remembering some good times. Their daughter-in-law, loving them as they died, and neither knew it.

What a legacy.

My mom’s love, their love, my dad’s love. This is what makes my children’s love.

What you do now matters many generations from now.

I wonder. Do I live a life that would cause a massive ripple effect on my generations to come if I were to die in a plane crash today?

Do I think about those grandchildren and great-grandchildren? You bet I do. I know what it means to look back at my family tree and I honor what they did and how they lived (and live) by making sure I teach and love my kids the same way.

The clock ticks. Nothing stops it. But I know for sure, those sweet summer days on the floor of their living room was more thank just a good time at Granny’s house. We were building a legacy… and neither knew it.

My dad purchased my favorite car to date about a year ago. It’s the Jaguar XF and I just happen to “need” it to go to Amarillo for a speaking event. You know, it just worked out better for the family all around if I took his car instead of my gas guzzler. You understand.

I think I got to Amarillo in about 39 minutes. (it’s a four hour drive). That car is butta! I had to purposefully not drive fast, but it was so hard! You can’t even really tell you’re going 100 mph! Honest, you can’t. Well, you can if you look down, but seriously, it’s an XF, I’m not going to look down when I look so cool in that car. Keep up my “I’m rich” image for just a little bit.

That car moves well in every gear. And it moves fast. There is no bogging down in second gear. I don’t have to change gears in that car, it does in on it’s own (unless, of course, I want to change it to manual because it will do that, I can. Of course) *sigh*.

Manual cars are quite different. They are not my favorite. The grinding of gears when I don’t hold the clutch just right, or the high running of the engine when I don’t go into the right gear. Staying in 2nd when I should be in 5th is just not as awesome and it sounds terrible. Not to mention it puts so much pressure on the engine causing it to lose momentum and eventually wear out.

Here’s the point. I recently discovered that there were things in my life that were like that. Doing things I thought were the right thing to do but it was requiring 2nd gear work while trying to drive like I was in 5th. No freedom. Bogged down. I was driving fast in 2nd gear.

Time to evaluate.

Is this thing I’m doing worth the high energy, low result it’s producing? I even wanted to be doing it, was it the right thing to do? I thought I was still in the will of God for me, but it turned out to be slowing me down and getting me nowhere. 

How do you know if you are operating in 2nd gear when you should be in 5th? How do you know when you are doing something that may have been the right thing but is now bogging you down?

Ask yourself some questions:

Is this thing bringing me joy on the front and back side of it?
Is this that I’m doing bringing results that are both rewarding and producing results?
Does this completely drain me or fuel me?
If I stop doing this, can I anticipate freedom even before I quit?
Do I believe I have a Spirit lead sense that I should stop doing this?

Then ask yourself:

What do I want to be doing that would feel like I’m in 5th gear?
What are the things that would get more attention if I quit this?

Next: Quit that thing. Get out of 2nd gear and be free to run in 5th again.  This may take some time, some journaling, and some discussions with people you know and trust. However, you will find that running in 5th gear doing 5th gear things, will be the reward, rest and results you want and need!

It’s not easy being human and working with humans. It can be worse working with Christian humans. Honestly, sometimes they just get on my nerves, humans do. Christian humans. Sometimes they say dumb things, off beat things, theologically stupid things that really could use some clearing up of the issues. Sometimes, I think I’m better than some other people. Sometimes, I just figure what I have to say and how I would do things is simply just better than someone else would say or how they would do it.

What if it is?

What if what you do and how you do it in the church really is better than someone else? What if that person really is annoying and hard to get along with and makes everyone crazy, but say they love Jesus (and they probably do) and they raise their hands and worship while you roll your eyes because you think they can’t possibly be worshipping with the attitude they carry around like a dead hippo on their hip?  (was that sentence too long?)

What happens when you are with that person you really don’t care about and they love Jesus and you love Jesus and there is a dying world out there who needs Jesus and all you  (read I) can think about is how they really should change?

What happens when we don’t have grace?

The church is not pretty. She is really rather quite embarassing. There are so many of us in the church that are dirty, rotten, addicted, angry, bitter, pissed, lonely, tainted, sarcastic, proud, rude, and down right sinful, and those are the saved ones.

If we who call ourselves Christ followers do not have the heart to show grace while we are elbow to elbow in the Darkness, what then will we have? 

Even if you’re right, even if that person is exrememly hard to get along with and bug the ever-lovin’ snot out of you, who are you to not show grace? Who am I? Who are we to not be kind, compassionate, and slow to become angry?

Granted, it might be a “grin and bear it” kind of grace, but we are in this togther and grace is required in order for this mess of a beautiful thing called “church” to actaully do what she is designed to do: reveal the mystery we call the Grace of Christ.

The ability to have grace for one another can only come from a supernatural place of Grace itself: through the power of the Holy Spirit. We are so easily irritated and puffed up with pride that we cannot try to show the grace of Jesus without the Grace of Jesus poured out on us.

To show grace is to know Grace.

Fellow follower of Jesus, let us have grace with one another. This dark black world cannot see the Light if we are hiding it in our disdain. We are very good at being the Light of the world, what about being the Light to each other.

Grace to you all.

It was Sunday morning and I was reaching in the car to get our our baby girl from her car seat. I paused a moment and had my left hand up on the top of the open door. The window was rolled down about two inches. My fingers curled around the space between the window and it’s seal. In that pause, my sweet husband decided to go ahead and roll up the windows before shutting off the engine. My fingers didn’t have a chance.

In the excruciating second it took to smash the ever-lovin’ life out of my fingers, it took half as long for me to pull them out and do some sort of ‘holy-mother-that-hurt!’ dance right there in the parking lot (I did not cuss. Someone give me a medal). Instinctively, my right hand grabbed the now throbbing remains of the left. I knew I had to look, but I didn’t expect to see what I saw.

Sure, we’ve all hurt our fingers in widows, but have we all had their middle finger’s nail pulled out of the nail bed and left sitting there bloody and helpless? I didn’t think so.

I ran inside and met a friend at the door who instantly turned on her inner emergency  mom and hovered over me in bathroom like a Momma over her vomiting toddler, calming me down and agreeing that yes, I did need to go the emergency room. She assured me my two young children would be fine and practically shooed me out the door.

Once at the ER, it was worse than expected. Not only was that nail on the wrong side of my skin, but that tiny little bone at the tippy-top of my middle finger was broken. BROKEN. The force of that Ford Taurus’s window was too much for my twig-like middle finger. Back to the nail. Two shots that would have numbed a rhino’s horn were injected on either side of the base of my finger. He warned me it would hurt. How kind.

Numbed up and a few minutes later, the nail was….gone. Yes, he had to take it off. (breathe people, breathe). He bandaged me up and told me to come back later to take another look at the bone. Seems that a broken bone was the least of my worries. Something about a cut nerve and the nail never growing back seemed to be what he mumbled out of his mouth. Blink.

Never mind the fact I was in a praise band and played the piano. Turns out a vocalist can have a giant bandaged middle finger and still sing. The next week while singing, I tried not to, but when I lowered my hand the throbbing would start so I had to keep it up at about stomach level. I could have just gone ahead and stuck it on up there to worship, but really, who wants to wonder if they’re being flipped off by the back up singer?

Over time, of course, it began to heal.  But, you know when you hurt something, somehow, someway you will bump it or hit it or, um, slam it in a door. Yeah. I did that. The thing about wounds is that they are vulnerable. Vulnerable to getting hurt again and again, until they are healed.  Some wounds, like my finger, stay sensitive, but never really hurt again. But it wouldn’t have healed right if I hadn’t gone to a healer.

The same is true in our emotional wounds, spirit wounds. Something happens that is excruciating in our lives and our impulse is to grab it, hold on to it and cry, not letting any one take a look to see what kind of attention it needs to be healed. We don’t tell anyone we’re bleeding. Not even God. Especially not God.

He cannot heal what we do not let Him touch.

If you grip your pain to the point it becomes a festering blob of an infection, you’ve done yourself no favors. But, if you release your grip around that which hurts so bad, hold it out to the healing love of Jesus, and give it time with Him, you will be healed. That spot will never be the same, but it won’t hurt anymore and you won’t be bound to it in a stronghold of false protection.

He loves you and wants nothing more than you bandage your wounds and heal you. It will be a great story.

Raise your hand if you needed a night light when you were little? I did. We had closets that had lights that would turn on when you opened the door and shut off when you closed the door. So, I would prop my closet door open and keep that sliver of light in the perfect spot for catching that ever-looming creepy thing that I’m certain was going to grab my foot if it hung over the edge of my bed.

Darkness. I’m not sure it’s anyone’s favorite. It plays tricks on you. That chair in the corner is the local ax murderer. That coat hanging on the door handle is some troll who snuck in behind you. The senses pick up. Our eyes widen but we really can’t see any farther than our nose. Our arms stretch out to make sure we don’t run into the wall or that ax murderer. Our ears hears what must be a mouth-breather. We close our mouths and roll our bug-eyes while trying to talk to ourselves as the adults we are!

Darkness. Once you find the light switch, however, everything returns to normal. Heart rate comes down. The running wild imagination has been sat in the corner for a time out. Bad, bad imagination. Ax murderer. Pshhh. Trolls. Bah. Those things aren’t real. (Well, an ax murderer could be real, but go with me on this.)

What about the darkness that isn’t related to the actual sun going down? What about the darkness that falls on your emotions, mind, heart, spirit? It can feel like walking in a dark room and closing the door behind you. Then, once you’re in, it’s difficult to find the wherewith all to turn around and open the door. Life circumstances might be blocking it. Season of life bringing difficult things to process and maneuver through. Maybe there are real hormonal and chemical things that need to be addressed. Regardless, the darkness falls and we need help finding the Light.

I recently went through some darkness. There were multiple factors to it: moving 600 miles away from friends and family, transition in new place, new job, hormones gone wild, and just plain grief. Thankfully, I had wits about me to keep exercising, keep eating right and taking good supplements, but what really brought breakthrough was confession and talking to friends. One friend even pinpointed a deep-rooted sin that I was aware of but had never dealt with. I was pierced.

Something else pulled me from my pit. It was the very voice of Jesus. You see, just as a dark room can play havoc on our senses and play tricks on us, so can spiritual and emotional darkness. We can be in our dark time and the Truth doesn’t seem to get through to us even though we know it. I’m sure there are many truths embedded in us, but our enemy is just as tricky as that coat hanging on the door handle. He twists the truth and we’re unsure what is even real. We are frightened and certain our time has come. Our hearts ache and our circumstances don’t change and the darkness looms…even for Believers.

So, what do we do?

Let’s continue with the dark room analogy. Arms extended in the night. Eye bugged out. Ears on alert. We hunt for the switch or for the handle to let the light in. As hard as it may seem in your dark place, you must do what you would do in a dark room: seek out the Light. One thing we can be certain of in our darkness, when we reach out to Jesus, He will be there.

“I will cry to God with my voice, even to God with my voice, and He will give ear and hearken to me. In the day of my trouble I seek (inquire of and desperately require) the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out (in prayer) without slacking up…I (earnestly) remember God; I am disquieted and I groan; I muse in prayer, and my spirit faints (overwhelmed)…I call to remembrance my song in the night; with my heart I will meditate and my spirit searches diligently.” Psalm 77:1-2, 3, 6 AMP

Ever feel like David? See what he did? Even in his darkness, he reached out. Even in pain, he sought the Lord. We can do the same thing. There may not be answers, but there will be Jesus. Soon, you will find the darkness is pushed back by the Light of Jesus and His powerful Name over you. You will discover healing and hope. You will be lifted up by the very hand of God. You will be changed and renewed. Hold on, the Light is here!

It’s something we don’t necessarily talk about much, but the truth of the matter is God has given women the ability to have some control over men.

Before smoke comes out your ears, or you’re already warming up your clapping hands, hear me out. Just look at what happened to Adam and Eve. According to Genesis 3, Adam was right there with Eve when she took the bite of the forbidden fruit.

What was it about Eve that caused Adam to blunder through the smoke screen and go with it? Did she say something to him? Did she flash that perfect smile? Why didn’t he stop her? How did she manipulate the fresh, incarnate heartbeat of God to disobey his maker?

I’m not saying she was being vindictive or hateful. No, I’m just saying she was powerful over her man. She could influence him. And, I’m not saying that Adam was a push-over either. She just had a way with her man and it caused him to sin.

Ladies, God has put in us the power of influence. What we do with it can either build a man up in Christ or tear him down. I thank my husband all the time for taking care of us financially, spiritually, emotionally and many other ways. I began doing this even before he really stepped up to the plate in some of those areas. I spoke over him a vision for what I knew he could be, and he rose to it.

• I would thank him for working so hard at work.
• I would thank him for being attentive to the girls.
• I would thank him for hearing me out when I had a bad day.
• I tell him often that I think he is such a man.

Warrior talk, if you will. I asked him what are the ways I make him feel like I man. Here’s his responses:

• “When you build me up in front of other people and I can hear you.”
• “When you tell me you feel safe with me.”
• “When you compliment the way I look, you know, like a stud!”
• “When you have my back with the girls even if you disagree with me.”

All of these have the ring of respect. Men crave respect just as we crave love. Respect your man.

If you have a struggle with this, find something that you do respect him for and tell him so. He might be a hard worker. Maybe he can balance a budget like no man’s business. Maybe he can make a small cottage out of a 2×4 and nails.

Whatever you can find to show respect, find it and say it. They live off of respect. Don’t steal it from them. Speak it into their lives. If you can’t, start praying for ways that you can. Start being deliberate about finding something you can thank him for, rather than nag him for.

Now, we all know that nagging never works. You might get what you want, but it won’t be how you want it. He’ll do it because he’s sick of hearing you nag.

Take a note from the Bible.

Proverbs 27:15-16 A quarrelsome wife is like a constant dripping on a rainy day; restraining her is like restraining the wind or grasping oil with the hand.

Are you someone prone to being quarrelsome? I know that this can come from not getting your needs met either. He doesn’t meet your needs, you don’t meet his, so he doesn’t meet yours. Around and around it goes. But, we can be the one to decide to make a change. Stop the cycle.Be the one who speaks life into your husband.

Speak honor.

Speak respect.

You might just notice that your world is a lot more wonderful. Your words hold the power to drive your man into a cave or to raise your man into a Warrior. Speak wisely.

Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.
Prov. 16:24

I can feel the tears on the back side of my eyeballs as I load the dishwasher. They aren’t quite at the burning point yet. They are just making their way to the eye. No one sees them, but I feel them. Some days, that feeling comes too often throughout the day. Why? Here are some reasons:

There are days when I feel like I’ve totally failed my children.

There are days when I wish I would just get that email I need so desperately.

Sometimes I wonder if my mistakes shifted me off the true path God had for me.

My tone was incredibly rude, and the tears in her eyes confirmed it.

It’s too hard.

We’ve made the wrong decision.

I’m overweight and can’t seem to get a handle on it.

Am I making a difference?

Why is there so much laundry!?

Tears can be an indicator of deep wells of emotion rising to the top. Sometimes, those emotions are only amplified by the waves of hormones just before Aunt Flo comes to town. She really can make things more difficult. Amen?

So what do I do? I go ahead and cry sometimes. I let those salty knives shallow in my eyes. Maybe I blink and they fall. Maybe they dry up as quickly as they came. Maybe a good Ugly Cry is in order. Regardless, crying releases something. Crying unhinges doors we lock trying to cope. Crying can be incredibly refreshing, but also may make me want to just go take a nap and see if my face (which feels like the size of a basketball) will return to normal in a few hours.

I like crying. It’s raw, it’s real. It’s passionate. Tears show my heart regardless if I’m right or not. They tell me I’m feeling things and sensing something I can’t control. Tears show I’m a person created by a loving and tender God.

Obviously, not all tears are from saddness or frustration. Just yesterday, JT and I were sitting on the deck. He saw my Bible and we realized that he had given that to me as a wedding gift. We remembered all the other wonderful gifts he has given me through the years. Then we tried to remember any I had given him. We came up short. Then we started to laugh. Well, I started to laugh. And laugh. And blush. I am absolutely the worst gift giver when it comes to him. I mean lousy! I was laughing so hard tears were streaming down my face!

Good tears. Full of life tears. God tears of laughter. I imagine Jesus had a few tears like that with his boys. I imagine he was quite tender and quite tickled quite often. His tears fell for his friend Lazarus at the tomb. Maybe those were tears of many other emotions. We won’t ever know all the reasons for his tears. One thing we do know, he was like us.

He wept.

And so do we. Our creator knows our tears and one day will wipe them all away.

Why do you cry?