All or Nothing

A while back, our family was sitting at the kitchen table enjoying supper together. Immediately, after my 12 year old daughter, Eve, stretched her arms up, her little brother yelled, "Look at all that hair under your arms!" I've been denying for awhile that Eve is in the full throws of puberty, but this was a wake up call. With a summer full of swimming coming, I knew it was time to teach my little girl how to shave. I took her in my bathroom, gave her a new razor and a quick lesson on proper shaving techniques. I sent her up to her shower with the promise of coming to check on her after I finished cleaning up the supper dishes. A few minutes later, Luke came running down the stairs screaming, "Mom! Eve is bleeding everywhere! She's going to die!" Being the heartfelt mother I am, I told him she was just going to have to wait to die until I finished the dishes. In my defense, Luke can be a little dramatic, and I hadn't even heard Eve's shower turn on, so I didn't think things could be too bad yet. Unfortunately, I was very wrong. The image that came down the stairs took a while to process. It looked like my daughter, but there was something red smeared all over her. "Mama, I tried to shave like you said, but it really hurt!" That's when I realized the red smears were blood. After a sob filled conversation, the facts finally became clear. Eve thought since she was told she could shave her underarms, she might as well go all out. She had tried to shave her entire body. Legs, arms, fingers, toes, face . . . fortunately she skipped the eyebrows! My shaving lesson had not included the importance of using soap and water or maneuvering around bony knees. I never thought to include the dangers razors can bring to elbows and knuckles. Once I got her all cleaned up, she came out with the true source of her agony. "Mama, you said once somebody starts shaving, her hair grows back thicker, right? How am I going to go to middle school looking like a big fuzzy bear?" That was it - I could take it no more. I started laughing so hard I could barely breath. Eve stared at me at first and then joined in. After falling on the couch and wiping away our tears, all I could think about is how much I loved my little girl.

One of the many things I love about my daughter is her exuberance. She always jumps into everything she does with everything she has. One never has to wonder what she is thinking - she'll let you know. If she is happy, she's dancing around the room. If she's mad, she's slamming doors and making plans to move to Turkey. Some would say she needs to tone things down a bit, think things through. But I see her as living out God's plan for her. Reminds me of one of Jesus' close friends. When Peter saw Jesus walking on water, what did he do? Jumped right in. When a Roman guard was trying to hurt Jesus, what did Peter do? Chop off his ear. In harder times, when people recognized Peter as a Christ follower, what did he do? Completely denied knowing him. I'm sure there were those that told Peter to tone it down a bit. Work on his internal filter. But God used him as a powerful force in bringing His kingdom to Earth. Does Pentecost ring a bell?

So even though she might come out nicked up, embarrass me a bit with her lack of filter, and scare me to death with her impulsiveness, I choose to be amazed by the young woman God is turning her into. I choose to sit back and watch the roller coaster of life God is going to take us on. But I might hold on to the razors for awhile.

Learning to Fly

Luke shot down the stairs with a grin and twinkle in his eye. “Mom, I really, really, really need my bicycle helmet and the video camera!” Although questions like this are common in our house, I always have the same response. “Where is your sister?” At only 17 months apart, my two youngest children spend their days planning elaborate adventures in their playroom fittingly named “The Lab.” Luke, at age seven, is the mastermind while Grace, age six, very willingly plays the role of his guinea pig.


On this day, after following Luke up to his room, I walked in to find Grace sitting calmly in the top bunk of Luke’s bed, one end of a jump rope tied around her waist while the other was looped through a blade on the ceiling fan. She pushed up her safety goggles as she asked Luke if he had found his bicycle helmet. Knowing the nature of most of their escapades, I inquired of my little engineer concerning his plan. “Well, Mom you know how we’ve been trying to get Grace to fly? (A fact I was most certainly and frightfully aware of.) I thought since the ceiling fan goes so fast, we could tie Grace to it and she could fly around the room!”


There are moments in life when one has a choice. These choices could likely affect the rest of one’s life. Taking in the scene, I realized I had three options: 1) I could run to my bed, crawl under the covers and lament to the gods for giving me such crazy children and find the nearest candy man (aka psychiatrist) to drug me, my children, or possibly both until they go to college. 2) I could begin an hour long lecture on safety and consequences with a possible call to the proper authorities. 3) I could just go with it. Aware of the fact our insurance did not currently have a prescription plan and appreciating their use of safety goggles and helmet, I chose to just go with it.


Not wanting to squelch my children’s creativity, I decided to ask about their planning process. That is when Grace showed me her baby doll. Luke went on to explain how they had first tested the ceiling fan idea with the doll. Seeing the extreme weight different between Baby Cinderella and my sweet Grace, I came across a major flaw. They both were looking at me with such excited expressions, determined their plan would work. Who am I to crush their dreams? I just threw down a few more pillows under the fan and prayed for no broken bones.


Really, isn’t that our job as parents – to help our children learn to fly? They are each given specific abilities and passions that steer their hearts. It is our duty to provide the environment for them to plan, imagine, and create. Unfortunately, we also need to let them fail. So we just offer some comfort and protection and watch them soar.


Thankfully, my son is not the most skillful knot-tier in the world, so Grace’s jump rope came loose from the fan as soon as she jumped fearlessly, faithful of her brother’s abilities. A few days later, I just watched as Luke led Grace outside with a handful of balloons and a roll of yarn. After a few moments, Grace tiptoed back inside and whispered, “Mama, if I fly away too far and get stuck in a tree, will you come get me?” Of course baby; I’ll always give you a safe place to land.

Mommy Porn

So, I wasn't going to weigh in on this whole issue, but I just can't hold back anymore. I just keep hearing the phrase "Mommy Porn" thrown around and it's starting to drive me a little crazy. To clarify, I haven't seen Magic Mike or read Fifty Shades of Grey and don't plan on doing either. Throughout my own spirit and journey this year, the idea of only filling my heart and mind with things that are pure and lovely has been a guiding force. As a Christian woman, Magic Mike and Fifty Shades of Grey don't fit into the category of pure and lovely. That's it for me. There is not much debate. But for some reason, both this movie and book series have seemed to stir up quite a controversy. I have heard many refer to them as mommy porn. While I don't believe either of these are entertainment Christian women need to be a part of, calling them mommy porn gives them a power they just don't have. Pornography is a disease that infects the heart of the righteous, destroys relationships, and oppresses both those in the industry and those who access it. One of the primary sources of porn's power is the control it has over those that use it. It creates an atmosphere of shame and regret which then leads to secrecy and deceit. While Magic Mike and the Shades series are destructive in their own ways, they do not lead to the same end as pornography. The women that are reading and watching are certainly not being secretive. Women are really more interested in having fun whooping and hollering with their friends than actually seeing Channing Tatum's booty. Okay, well most woman. Again, I do not want to be misunderstood and lead anyone to believe these are appropriate for those of us who are living a holy, set apart life. But to put it in the same category as pornography is a gross injustice. If we want to see mommy porn in action, go to my kitchen. Snacks hidden away, eaten in secret. Fast food wrappers thrown in the trash outside so no one will know what I ate. Guilt when I look at the scale knowing with each bite I'm giving my kids a little less time with their mama. That's mommy porn in all its glory.

Mama's Hope

I love to hold my daughter's hand. I rub each finger and think of all she will do with these hands.  When will she get her first manicure getting ready for a special night? Who will be the first special someone to hold her hand? Will she later need to use the same fingers I now stroke to wipe away the tears he causes or cover her mouth as she laughs for joy? As her mind matures and her fingers stretch, will they be used to create magical paintings, play music that soothes the soul, delicately stitch the heart tissue of a trusting patient, or scrub dishes in the backroom of a New York greasy spoon? Will she cradle her child's head in her hands or cover her face as she weeps over her empty womb? Whose ring will grace her finger? Will it be worn with love or become a constant reminder of the source of bitterness she carries? As her hands begin to show the scars and callouses of life, who will be there to keep them warm? As age spots come, will she look down at them and be content with a life well lived or will she see tight clinched fists twisted with regret and disappointment? My hope for her is to live with her hands stretched open, palms to the sky, receiving God's blessing, letting it flow through her and passing on to others. In my brokenness, I rest in the faith it is not me alone who is responsible for her future. Though it is a daily sacrifice, I fold my own hands and put my hope in the One who created her chubby fingers and is continually knitting her tomorrows. Such is the hope of a mama.