Lies, Guilt, Freedom, and Love

When we found out that we were pregnant with our second child, I immediately started to pray for another son. I just felt like my heart was wired to have 2 boys, that God did not wire me to be the mom of a daughter, and that having that extra person to wrestle with  - especially during the hours of the day that Daddy is at work - for my firstborn would be absolutely perfect.

At 16 weeks, we had an ultrasound done due to some complications I was experiencing with the pregnancy. I told the technician that I knew that sometimes at 16 weeks you could tell the gender, and that if anything was obvious she didn't have to hide it from us because in 2 weeks we were going to find out anyways. There was a point in which she stopped the wand and pointed out on the monitor something she thought she saw: "Look at this," she said pointing at the screen. "Now, it's early to tell, but that certainly does look like something doesn't it? But don't start decorating yet, wait until your next ultrasound because I could be wrong."

I didn't start decorating - but I did start picking out and discussing names with my husband. Names like "Matthew" and "Xander" and "Dexter" and other names that you call a boy. I was over the moon with excitement because we were going to have another little boy! ANOTHER BOY! I was going to be one of those Moms of Boys who were always lamenting the troubles of having boys - but I was never going to lament, because BOYS!!!

Evie - 12/2013 ultrasound

Two weeks later, the full workup ultrasound happened. While my incredibly active baby flipped and flopped and the tech somehow managed to get all of the measurements she needed, she looked also for the gender indicator.

"Right there!" she declared. I looked and saw nothing. Nothing at all. Two chunky little spread eagle thighs that she had frozen on the screen.

"Right there what?"

"You're having a little girl! Look at that, see - one, two, three - those three little lines show me that you're having a girl."

...and my heart sank. There would be no "Matthew Dexter" puttering around my house (it was the name I had decided on even though there had been no agreement yet with my other half). There would be no addition of testosterone to the fold.

I feigned excitement. "Cool! A girl!" I said (or something like that). I buried my disappointment and just prayed that the remainder of the pregnancy go well, that the hematoma I had would resolve itself and cause no harm on my little girl. We prayed over a name for her and scoured baby name books (because we didn't like any of the family names we had as first names for a daughter) and waited. At 28 weeks or so - the day before we found out the hematoma had indeed resolved itself - we landed on the name Evangeline, which means "bearer of good news".

Yet here I was, disappointed that I had a daughter growing in my belly. And the first few months of her life she just cried - the child that refused to believe she was a baby, was stubborn and independent and determined from the day she was born. Not only had God given me a daughter - He had given me a daughter that was every mother's wish to their own children: she was just like me.

Somewhere around Evie's first birthday as her personality was really starting to form and that independence was forming into an active, bouncing, exploring toddler who was the best companion her big brother could have ever asked for... the guilt set in.

How could I have EVER questioned God's judgment in giving us a daughter? What kind of mother am I to have been disappointed with any sort of healthy child growing inside me - especially when I didn't think I could have one successful pregnancy, never mind two? What would my daughter say if she ever found out that I was disappointed that SHE is my child and that I didn't get a "yes" answer to my prayers of another boy? Why would I think that anyone other than who God gifted to our family would be a better friend and sibling to Will than our Evie-girl? 

I spent the next year wrestling with this guilt, this doubt of my worth as a mother in ever questioning the gift of my bright, bold, loving, loquacious, adorable, wonderful daughter. Anyone who has ever dealt with "Mom-Guilt" or "Parent-Guilt" knows that it can be some of the heaviest, most self-doubt creating, horrible brands of guilt that exists. It's like the glitter of emotions; once it covers something or enters your heart, it's near impossible to get rid of it - and when you think it might be gone you find more that's even more impossible to remove than the glitter you thought you already got rid of.

There were a few times that I would be watching my daughter in some sort of moment, something that was showing how she was growing and developing into this absolutely wonderful little person, and I would feel that gut-punch of guilt again at the doubt I had when she was still in-utero. So many times I would hold back tears because the guilt would come out of nowhere, in a wave, and I wouldn't know how to contain it.

Then one night as I was making dinner somewhere around my sweet Evangeline's seccond birthday, my guilt seeped through enough that my husband saw that something was wrong. I confessed to him these waves of guilt I would feel, that I hated that part myself for ever doubting God's plan in our daughter, that I wished I had never felt that way.

"D," he said, "I think it's time to let that go. Do you love your daughter?"

"Well... yeah, of course, I mean... look at her - she's Evie."

"Then? Let it go, D. You know God has. And I don't ever doubt that you love her. So? Let it go."

We prayed together that night about it. I prayed about it for a while after that and I know that Steve did too. I know this because at some point the guilt just... disappeared. I hadn't noticed it at all, but it had just withered away and disappeared like dust on a windy day. There was no second thought about it until the other day when I was laughing and giggling with my Evie on the couch and I got this overwhelming wave of emotion - but it wasn't guilt. It was joy, it was wonder, it was love. Then again a few days later as I listened to her telling me a story in a language structure that no 2.5-year-old should have yet. Joy, wonder, and love.

These moments kept happening again and again and again. Joy. Wonder. Love. Joy. Wonder. Love. It was during one of these moments that it hit me: the guilt was gone.

God had taken the guilt off of my shoulders and opened my eyes to the wondrous gift of our little girl. He removed that weight of self-doubt and instead opened my heart to experience that which He wants all parents to experience with children. Joy. Wonder. Love.

In that realization I felt so much freedom. Freedom to enjoy my daughter, to focus on building my relationship with her, freedom to experience the joy of having a daughter and the freedom that comes with having confidence that God's plan is indeed better than any plan we could imagine. 
Moms... Dads... Parents... we all experience guilt in our parenting, am I right? Sometimes we snap at our kids when we lose our patience or we forget about something that we said we would do or we don't pay as much attention as we feel like we should or whatever other list of things we beat ourselves up over in any given moment or day or week. We forget to have grace with ourselves, to remember that we are human and imperfect, that we will never be able to be one of those fictional parents that have been created by society as the flag-bearer of perfection in parenting.

We also forget that when parent-guilt sets in, when we start to experience self-doubt, when we hear those whisperings that we have somehow failed and that because of that failure we cannot be the parent God has called us to be - we forget that those words, those feelings do not come from God. We forget that those are lies, that those feelings are not the truth, that those are things that come from the Enemy. John 8:44 tells us of Satan that "...He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding on to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he speaks, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies." 

Lies of self-doubt are not of God. There are plenty of kinds of healthy guilt that DO indeed come from God - but that weighty, paralyzing, self-doubting, inescapably burdensome guilt is not. That is not the kind of guilt meant to make us grow, to repent from our sin and become closer to Him. Rather, that is is the kind of guilt that further divides us from God and brings us off of the path He has set for our lives. We need to be able to recognize when our guilt - especially that horrible parent-guilt - is not of God so that we can pray, combat it, and be released from it. Only then will we be able to hear the Holy Spirit work in our hearts and do the work in our parenting that God has called us to do.

Evangeline - "bearer of good news".

And here I thought that good news she brought with her was just that we chose her name the same time that the hematoma was one... turns out it was so, so much more than that.

Joy. Wonder. Love.

Too Much?

When I was a kid, I used to love building towers out of crayons. I would build a foundation and then assemble as many crayons as I could in a sort of log-cabin-esque structure in an upward fashion. They were cool, I practiced my fine motor and balancing skills, and it entertained my siblings. 

If you've ever built one of these structures then you know that they aren't the most stable in the world. They are fun to build, pretty to look at, but eventually the shaky foundation gives out. If the foundation doesn't roll away then one of the crayons from the upper levels scooches out of place. When either of these things happen - everything comes tumbling down.

Another illustration.

Think, if you will, of a beautiful piece of China and a bountiful Thanksgiving buffet. As you go through the buffet everything looks so delicious that you just have to try it. You take so much onto your plate that you're cramming it onto the edges and the roll has to go on top of the stuffing... wait... no... then you can't pour gravy over the top. So the roll goes to the side of the plate, half off the edge. Now the beautiful China is completely covered - you may have well just used a paper plate. You have overwhelmed your plate with food... and likely, if you clean it off, are left with a stomach ache. 

These two illustrations, I think, are a good summation of what happens when we take too much on our plates. When we add too many things onto the structure of our lives. 

We become overwhelmed with all the things in the balance and our sanity comes tumbling down. We get so full that we end up emotionally or spiritually sick and unable to move. 

When we talk about the clutter in our lives and we talk about how it's so much more than stuff - it is so true. It's amazing how the emotional and spiritual clutter that we often stack onto ourselves can cause instability in so many areas. 

The reasons we have for not offloading the items on our plate are many. "But they're counting on me", "If I don't do it, no one else will", "No, it needs to be done this way and only I know how to do it". These reasons are incredibly selfish and prideful sounding, aren't they? Are we really that important to the fabric of society that the walls will crumble if we cease to exist from an area of it?

When we made the decision that I would come home from work to take care of the kids full-time, I felt so many of these things about my job. Because of the way I "ended" my time in the office (my blood pressure had become unstable in the last weeks of pregnancy and I was forced to work from home with several rest-breaks throughout the course of the day), I was unable to tie loose ends, finish projects I was working on, and had several files of backlogged to-do items that I had guilt were incompleted. I had to make a choice to add on to the adjusting of being a stay-at-home-mom to attempt to clean everything up or I had to let it go and trust that those who would come after me would do the best job they knew how for the customer and the company. 

Guess what? The work got absorbed, the customers were taken care of, and no one complained to me it wasn't perfect before I left. I've maintained the relationships with some of the people I worked with and no harm was done by letting it go. This applies to so many areas of our lives. Yes, we are called to serve, to love one another, and to make sure we take care of each other - I am not arguing that. Are there things that maybe only we know how to do - sure there are, but shouldn't we train someone else to do those things? Will the gears of society stop turning and the Earth stop rotating on its axis when we leave this life and meet Jesus in Heaven?  

The things that we've taken on our hearts, our schedules, our to-do lists? If we let go of the unnecessary ones or the ones we need to release to pay more attention to the things God has called us to RIGHT NOW - someone else will pick them up. If they're not necessary, then it won't matter anyways. If we let go of the wrong things and need to readjust - God will make that obvious to you. 

Evaluate your plates and decide if you've got too much on them. Throw away the roll and skip the... no, don't skip the gravy - but maybe don't take so much stuffing. Don't build your crayon towers or houses of cards too high. Use steady hands to build your structures and make sure you leave ample room for dessert. You can't do that with shoddy materials or too much of the dinner buffet taking up space in your stomach.

It's OK to let it go.

Out of Order

Forty-five.

Forty-five is the number of minutes that my just-about 2-year-old daughter spent in a full-blown screaming temper tantrum this morning.

Her mood began to turn when she was attempting to get herself dressed, couldn't get her head through the hole of her shirt, asked for help - and then completely freaked out when I attempted to provide the help that she had just requested.

It continued to go downhill when she grabbed my leg while I was trying to make the breakfast she had just said she wanted to eat and asked her to let go so that I could go to the fridge to get the container of milk that she had just asked for a cup of.

The final straw that set her from whining and complaining to a total meltdown happened when she asked me for more cereal and I told her that no, she had to eat her eggs (that I gave her the ketchup she asked for to dip them in) and banana (that I cut up the way that she prefers to eat it) before I gave her more cereal.

The shift from total meltdown to total NUCLEAR meltdown happened when she decided that she would only eat the eggs and banana with the blue fork her brother prefers instead of the green fork that she typically requests (and did this morning) - and her brother did not want to switch forks with her.

It was at this point that Mommy withdrew (mentally, I was still in the kitchen) and stopped paying attention to the tantrum-throwing toddler safely buckled into her high chair beside her. Her poor brother was trying to ask me something and I couldn't hear a word he was saying due to the loud volume of crying/shrieking occurring on my left-hand side and the fact that his mouth was jammed full of banana. I'm presuming he asked me if he could get down, because when I said I couldn't hear him rather than repeating himself he just looked at his hands for mess, wiped his face on his arm, and hopped down to go play.

At minute 30, this same brother hid in the hall closet because he'd had just enough of the temper tantrum. I so wanted to hide in there with him, but this was not in the cards.

I'm proud to say that I only shouted her name once on this particular morning to attempt to get her to stop and for the remainder of the time was able to either ignore her completely or speak with her/discipline her calmly.

"When little people have big emotions, it's our job to share our calm, not join their chaos." These words are attributed to L.R. Knost, who is a best-selling parenting & children's author that I had never heard of until I saw this quote. I don't care what else she writes - I barely remember to carve out time to read the books I'm already in the middle of - these words are so important. I recently had read another list of parenting tips that reminded the reader to not yell back when your child is in a tantrum because it just adds fuel to the fire. Chaos begets more chaos; think of a tornado as it grows and the bigger radius of destruction that is left in its path the bigger that it gets.

The real question then is this: If I am surrounded by chaos - where in the world do I find calm? When I have one child flailing about screaming so loudly I'm praying that no one calls the Department of Children and Families and the other one so frustrated that the tact of hiding in a closet is chosen - where is the calm? Where is the calm when all I want to do is shut down and display an "Out of Order" sign hanging from the tip of my nose?

A year or so ago I sat in my moms' group listening to the wisdom of Martha Fletcher. Martha is the mother of 6 children, has incredible faith in Jesus, and is such a perfect example of God's grace in imperfect parenting. I adore listening to her speak - hearing her words imparted on our group is such a wonderful blessing. She was speaking on this particular day about being just completely worn out and gave us some stories of times that she was worn out and had lost it and felt like she had nothing left when her children were small. Where, she said, can we find resources left when we feel like we have reached the absolute bottom of our reserves?

The page from my notebook where I wrote down this awesome wisdom. Never forget it.

Jesus, she said, has an endless supply of resources to share with us. He WANTS to share them with us. He WANTS to support us in our quest to raise up these tiny emotional humans into capable, somewhat adjusted grown-ups.

And can I just tell you - in my experience, this is SO true. I feel that left to my own limited resources, I would never be able to parent my children. Left to my own wit and wisdom, I would not be able to steer them on the path towards God's plan for their lives.

I have three bits of scripture that I draw on to help me keep the calm in the chaos that can sometimes come into our home:

1. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you." (Jeremiah 29:11-12)  Parents - God has a plan for your children, and God has a plan for you as well. Part of God's plan for me is to follow His lead in raising Godly children who can harness the ways in which He has wired them to be able to focus on and follow His plan for them. In the example of my 45-minute tantrum-throwing daughter - God has wired her with a strong will, clear preferences, confidence, independence, and many other traits that are so common in those we look to make our leaders. The same goes for my empathetic, reserved, caring, but somehow as equally strong-willed son. We are each wired and gifted according to the plans that God has for our lives - if we focus on Him, if we communicate with him, and if we harness those gifts in the ways that He has intended them then we are able to do great things. By reminding myself constantly that God has a plan for her and her personality, I am able to focus on parenting her in the way that she needs.

2. "As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you..." (Isaiah 66:13a) In the moments of chaos where I know I need to be the calm, in those times that the tornado of emotion is swirling around in our home, in the times that I need to be the shelter from the storm that I feel I'm actually a part of - I lean on this knowledge. When I am comforting my children and taking them in my arms, sometimes I close my eyes and feel God beside me placing His arm around my shoulder. When I am standing firm in disciplining my children and they are standing firm in their own will against me because they want to grow on their own terms, sometimes I stand a little straighter and feel God nearby reassuring me that I'm right in following His instructions in parenting. In the times that I need to feel that I (and my husband) are not alone in this parenting journey - this bit of scripture is all that I need to know that if I am raising my child according to God's plan that He is with me.

3. "He tends to His flock like a shepherd: He gathers His lambs in His arms and carries them close to His heart; He gently leads those who have young." (Isaiah 40:11) My son is big on being picked up and held close. He is a gentle soul and is an incredibly loving child; one of the best ways he understands love from another person at this point in his life is when they are willing to pick him up and hold him close to their heart. We went to Florida in December and it absolutely made his life when at the Garden Grill one morning for breakfast - Mickey Mouse got down on his knee and picked him up. There was one night that he asked if God could pick him up. This verse - this is the verse I can point him to when he is old enough to understand scripture and fully understand God to say yes, a thousand times yes - God picks you up. God loves to pick us up and He loves to hold us close to His heart. As a parent, God is picking me up every day - some days several times a day. It is so reassuring to know that if I need to I can close my eyes, take a deep breath, and feel God's loving presence.

Forty. Five. Minutes.

That forty-five minutes is so short and so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The choices that I make as far as how I handle myself and whether or not I follow God's lead in those forty-five minutes are not insignificant.

I looked into my daughter's eyes and saw... myself. I saw a little girl who wants the world HER way and wants to do it ALL herself. Then I saw God's work in wiring her and felt the Holy Spirit remind my heart of His will for us. I felt Him beside me as I knelt down to my daughter's level in her "calm space chair" and reassured her that she was loved but that this behavior would not get her what she desired. I felt Him press on my heart and wrap His love around me as I turned my back to my children for a minute to compose myself.

When the tantrum passed and hugs were exchanged and a compromise on food was reached (Cream of Wheat with whole milk) and everyone recentered we went on to have a fairly decent morning. I don't kid myself into thinking that we will never see another temper tantrum again or that I won't want to join my son in hiding in the closet when it happens - but when it does, I have God's promises to rely on. I won't always be perfect in seeking His will and I won't always remember to let Him lead me every step of the way. I am human and I am imperfect.

And so are my kids. His grace is for them as much as it is for me - and it's up to me to make sure I show them that.

In the meantime - I'll save my "Out of Order" sign for another time... when I'm sick... and Dad's home as back-up.

Car Repairs and Famines

We wandered around the dealership killing time for the fourth time in a month. An oil change and standard inspection had revealed that my 2007 Honda CR-V needed several other maintenance updates and a recall fix done and this was to be my final visit in getting those things completed. I looked forward to being done with this run of car upkeep because as much as I love my children - I do not enjoy the time we spend together in car service waiting rooms. 

I pulled into the service bay that morning and was thankful for this last visit as I pulled my children out of the vehicle.

I should have known better.

Within moments of me checking in the car, the service representative was back at my side in the waiting area informing me that my car was leaking a bluish fluid. She didn't think it was coolant, was hopeful that maybe it was washer fluid and not a critical issue.

"Please, please let it be washer fluid," I thought to myself as I took a deep breath and felt the tension building through my shoulders, arms, and eyebrows. I felt the tears creeping in and pushed them back, holding out hope that it wouldn't be a big deal.

Image credit www.brokenvehicles.com

About a half-hour later, the service representative found me chasing the kids down a ramp with a paper in her hand. The tone in her voice as she said my name and the look on her face put a pit right in the bottom of my stomach and my heart fell through it to the floor.

"I can't let you take the car," she said. "It's leaking a lot of coolant." She showed me the paper, I read the description and saw another almost $300 worth of repairs needed to my car.

As I waited for my husband to arrive (he's awesome when I'm overwhelmed, plus his car had carseats and the offered rental didn't) my anxiety built. It wasn't just these repairs on my car that were weighing on me; it was the $500 we'd already spent on this vehicle in the last month in maintenance. It was the $1500 we'd just dumped into Steve's car for maintenance along with another $300 on its way here in the form of a bumper cover he'll replace himself. It was the upcoming $1000-1500 after-insurance expenses we're expecting to pay for me to get a root canal next week and a follow-up crown later in the year.

For those keeping a running tally - that's $2600 (roughly) in car repair and $1000-1500 in dental work for a grand total of $3600-4100 in unexpected financial expenses.

It was what those expenses could possibly translate to that was really killing me. It was the faces of our kids getting excited about our Disney trip in just 3 short weeks. It was wondering if we'd have to cancel character meals, cut back on planned souvenirs, or forego a day at one of the parks. It was thinking of how to break that news to them if they did. It was the holidays coming up and the few gifts we still hadn't bought. It was the hope we've had of planning a vacation for our 10th anniversary in 2017 (paying for it in 2016)... and now wondering if we'd be paying for newer cars instead.

A long, long time ago a Pharaoh had two disturbing dreams that woke him from his sleep. A young man named Joseph told Pharaoh that a time of prosperity was coming, followed immediately by a time of famine. Joseph advised Pharaoh that he should take a portion of the crops during the time of prosperity, store them away and guard them. "That way there," Joseph said, "there will be enough to eat when the seven years of famine come to the land of Egypt. Otherwise this famine will destroy the land." (Genesis 41:17-36)

Save during the prosperous times so that when the famines happen - you are prepared and will not be destroyed.

By nature, I am not a saver. I'm just not. I've often joked that if I were left in charge of our finances that I would put us into bankruptcy. I have gotten better over the years - but that is because my husband has been blessed with the ability to innately understand finances, to save, and is fantastic at budgeting and explaining concepts. Every year he has coached me through what to do, what we need to do, and I have watched in wonder as he stewards the resources that God has provided for us. With Steve's leadership, we have saved for rainy days/retirement/kids' college while still following opportunities for generosity, enjoying times with family at Disney or other family entertainment spots, supporting our church, and maintaining a reasonable lifestyle in our home.

So there I sat in the dealership service waiting area with an anxious lump in my throat, waiting for my husband to come back out from the repair bays with news of the car and the final cost. My kids were flopped in chairs on either side of me, wanting to get out and be anywhere else doing anything else. When Steve came out from the back and gave me a thumbs-up, it was more than the $120-ish dollars he'd managed to negotiate off of the price of the repair that gave me relief. 

In that moment, with that thumbs up, I felt a pressing on my heart to remember Joseph. Remember his warning to Pharaoh to save during the times of prosperity. Trust that your husband is following God's lead in your finances, and follow his lead. He will guide you, just as Joseph guided Pharaoh. This is your time of famine and it's going to be OK. Trust God, trust your husband. I heard Steve's words that he's said so many times to me - "This is why I do what I do" - and knew I needed to trust in these things.

When Steve met the kids and I in the waiting area to update me, I fell into his arms and cried (for about 5 seconds, ain't nobody got time for more than that). I thanked him, I apologized (knowing the current situations aren't my fault), and I silently thanked God for His provision. His financial provision, the provision of His wisdom, and the provision of His trust in us to be good stewards of His resources. 

Guys... I'm not writing this to be like "See! We have plenty in our storehouses! We're all good for the famine!" That's not my intent at all. 

Sometimes the stories in the Bible can seem so remote, so far away, so intangible. The concepts might make sense, but in modern-day Western culture we don't have storehouses of grain in our times of prosperity. Times of prosperity look completely different - they are times of normalcy, times when things aren't so bumpy. In those times of prosperity, we might forget to save up or we might decide to take on debt because we can "afford" the payments (which... that's a post for another day - remember, "The rich rule over the poor, and the borrower is slave to the lender" [Proverbs 22:7]). We might go out to extravagant dinners or take vacations when bank accounts get larger and forget that someday famine may appear or storms may wipe us out. We put our guards down... but we can't. Ever. 

How are your storehouses? Are you prepared if a famine comes?

If your hot water heater breaks - can you afford it?

If your insurance doesn't cover an entire emergency procedure - how far back will you be set?

If your car gets totaled and you're in a position where you need one - can you replace it without going into debt?

Joseph's warning to Pharaoh is real, it's here, it's constant. If we did not prepare ourselves for this famine, this could have been an incredible disaster.

Will we have to sacrifice to replenish what we've lost? Absolutely. Will it be difficult if we have to pass on things so that we can be secure in an emergency again? Sure it will. 

But if we want to be good stewards of the resources God has given us - then we need to follow His lead, His wisdom, and prepare our storehouses.

My prayer is that others can start today in doing the same thing. Follow Joseph's warning and let God lead you in your preparations for any upcoming famines.

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Looking for a good place to get financial advice and learn about budgeting, investing, saving, or paying off your debts? Check our Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University. Many churches offer classes on a regular basis - so find one near you! 

Leave My Dreams, It's Not Your Heart

"Why are you here? Why won't you leave me alone?"

"I just want to make things better between us. Can't we be friends..."

He leaned in closer to my face and I could feel every hair on my body stand on end with fear. The last thing I wanted in that moment was for him to kiss me. Why can't he ever just disappear forever? Why does he keep coming back? I took several steps backwards and could feel my stomach wretch with anxiety...

"Please..."

"I am married. Why can't you understand that? Just leave me alone. Please!!!"

"I just..."

I reached out and shoved him away, feeling the anger and fear and anxiety dripping along with the tears that ran down my face.

"We can be friends... it's OK..."

He walked closer to me again... Why won't he get the danged picture??? "JUST GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME AL..."

My eyes jerked themselves open as I heard a sweet voice say "Hi, Mommy!" through an inserted pacifier. I was back in my bedroom, my bubbly daughter awake next to me. I looked at the clock - 6:18 AM. Steve must have already gone to... wait. Steve wasn't there, he was away at his annual conference.

Me and my mini-me, having some morning snuggles...

The dream. That's why. I rubbed my eyes and breathed slowly to reset my quickly beating heart, snuggling my giggling daughter and remembering all that God has surrounded me with. I reminded myself with each inhale that it was just a dream and with each exhale that it wasn't real. The recurring dream that I have each time that Steve is away on business - the one where my ex-boyfriend from 20 years ago shows up and tries to be a part of my life again. Sometimes he's trying to woo me, sometimes he's trying to just be friend, but always the sentiment is the same.

That he loved me. Never meant to hurt me. That he wants to reconcile. That he wants that part of my heart back. That I was his only love.

In every dream he is the 19-year-old that cheated on me not once, but twice. In every dream he is every bit the sweet-talker that my 14-year-old self couldn't resist and that my 17-year-old self took back and that my 19-year-old self believed his words that he would leave his then wife for me.

In every dream I want nothing more than for him to disappear. In every dream I want to know where my Steve is, because he is never there in these dreams but always missing. In every dream I can feel walls closing in around us, in every dream I am desperately fighting to get back to my present-day reality and begging through tears for my past to go as far away as possible.

After every dream I wake up uneasy. I wake up questioning things I never should be questioning. I wake up with faster heartbeats and quicker breaths, wanting to run back to where I wake up. The place that God has surrounded me with love and reassurance and His grace.

But I can rarely shake that feeling. That feeling that no one can be trusted. It takes days, sometimes weeks. Always Steve is reassuring, because he knows that this part of me causes deep insecurities and he wants me to be whole, to let this part of me die, to be released from it.

Last year after having this dream, I woke up and turned on Steve's iPad to watch some Netflix and try to get back to sleep. It was only 10:00 PM where Steve was, and iMessage sent across a text from a colleague that they should meet up for fries.

The bells went off. Who meets for fries at 10:00 PM? What the heck?

I called Steve and through tears told him about my dream, that I saw the text, and I just needed to hear his voice and know we were OK. Know that my fears were unfounded. Because God has blessed me with a husband who is willing to understand this part of me and help me through it - he stayed on the phone with me until I calmed down.

Then - and those who know my husband's love of condiments will understand this - he went and met some colleagues for fries with blueberry ketchup. Because that's what a condiment lover does when he and his colleagues don't want to get drunk at the after party during a conference.

My awesome, caring husband at his annual nerd conference.

So I lay there with my daughter listening to the hum of the fan and her adorable sweet voice through her pacifier and reminded myself that my husband is faithful. That he promised he would always be faithful from the first time I confessed this part of my soul to him and he has never done anything to demonstrate anything other than fulfilling this promise.

I said a prayer, asking God to help release me from these dreams. To help me finally remove 20 years of scarring and tell that 16-year-old in a heap on the floor of her kitchen, holding a phone in her hand and pouring tears out that it all turns out okay - better than okay, actually.

God, I begged, please... please... please kill this.

A couple of hours later I pulled out my phone and opened my devotional app while the kids finished up their breakfast on the porch. The topic of the day? "The Enemy's Tactic Against You." As I read through the devotional that focused on Genesis 3:1: "Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, 'Did God really say, 'You must not eat from any tree in the garden''?"

I read on and could feel my pulse quickening as the images from the previous night's dream flittered across my memory. I devoured every word of the devotional, and inhaled through my teeth as I read these: "He uses four words: 'Did God really say...?' Maybe you haven't had the enemy slither up next to you in the form of a serpent and speak these words out loud. But I bet he's whispered them into your ear. After all, the enemy's greatest desire is to separate you from God."

I looked out across my yard to the breeze flitting through the trees and up at the outline of morning moon my son was excitedly pointing out. I could feel God's sentiment on my heart: "Danielle... I delivered you through that old life and gave you this life, these kids, your husband. The enemy has taken over this part of your heart - take it back. Do not listen to the whisper of the enemy anymore."

I closed my eyes... "In the name of Jesus... give me my danged heart back. In the name of Jesus, that belongs to my husband, that belongs to my family, that belongs to me, and most importantly that belongs to God. Give it back."

I opened my eyes and my daughter said "Pee-it-boo!" through her wide mouthed grin, and my son laughed.

I felt... relieved. I felt... at home again. I felt... empowered. I felt... full.

That morning when my husband had his video chat good morning with us, it was like fresh air filled my lungs. When he returned home that Friday, it was the first time I didn't feel relieved that he was home but rather felt fully and richly blessed that he had the opportunity to take advantage of this part of his career. I didn't feel on edge and looking for reasons to suspect, and instead have felt nothing but love and happiness and grace and the fullness of God's blessing on my marriage.

Watching for Daddy's car to come up the hill when he got home from the trip.

A few days after Steve got home, this was the key verse in my morning devotional: "Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you." (James 4:7)

For at least the time being - and for the first time in a very long time - I have felt the Enemy release his grip from the part of my heart that was still crying on the kitchen floor of my parents' house hoping her sobs wouldn't wake up her sisters. I have been able to breathe easier for the first time in almost 20 years, having resisted the Devil and watching him flee.

"Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand." (Ephesians 6:13)

There will come a time when the Enemy will come back, when he will try to take that part of my heart back again, when he will push down that insecure teenager to the floor and laugh as her tears flow. When he will remind her that she's not good enough for a guy to stick around, and that will always be the case.

It will be when that time comes that it will be up to me to put on the armor that God has given to me. It will be up to me to call to Him, to reach up in prayer and use the power that I have been given in the name of Jesus to resist those whispers.

Because the self-destruction of doing anything else just isn't worth it when compared to the beauty that lies in the life that God has gifted to me.

The Question

The questions are endless with a 3-year-old.

"Why did those people hit our mailbox? Can we say sorry to them? Did they hit their own mailbox?"

"Where does God have His penis?"

"Why does my boo-boo go away?"

"Why do we poop?" 

"Do you have a 'calm space', Mommy?"

"When we go to Florida, will Mary Poppins play 'guys' with me?"

I try to come up with simple answers, ones that make sense and are accurate but also that my little 3-year-old inquisitor will understand. 

My favorite question (that he asks that has also become the greatest challenge to give a simple answer to) is this short, beautiful, wonderful question:

"Can God pick me up, Mommy?"

My answer to this has varied every time because there are so many answers to this question. The question that my affectionate, cuddly, sweet little boy wants an answer to because he loves to be picked up and snuggled.

"Can God pick me up, Mommy?"

Oh Sweet Boy...

God always picks you up. 

Today when you were on the porch and that little ant you've been desperately trying to pick up for the last week finally crawled up your arm and even got the gumption to work its way up to your face, tickling you and making you squirm - God was picking you up. He was showing you that He's present in all of His creatures. 

When we were on the porch watching the storm the other day and the wind blew down the hill, picking up the rain and spraying us in the face - God was picking you up. He knew exactly what would make you laugh with glee in the midst of a torrential thunderstorm. 

The times that you flop down on the driveway and look up to the sky, looking at the blue and the clouds and you take a deep breath - God is picking you up. He is warming you with the sun and embracing you with the breeze, filling you with good feelings as you sigh and declare that it's "a nice day". 

If you have a bad dream in the middle of the night and you don't wake up all the way to come into Mommy and Daddy's room - God picks you up. We ask Him every night to protect us from bad dreams and help us to rest easily, and He does. 

When you are sad and crying and life is crazy and Mommy can't physically get to you and your crying sister and your dinner that's cooking on the stove all at the same time and I bounce between all of the things so everyone gets some part of attention - God picks you up. He tells you where your Monkey is and helps you find a place to snuggle with him while He holds you. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if you look at your Monkey long enough, you'll see God's loving face in that embroidered smile. 

There are so many ways that God picks you up, sweet child. 

God has asked Mommy and Daddy to be your parents. He has filled us with love for both you and your sister. When God brought us together and created you, He opened a door in our hearts to be a direct line of communication from Him to You. When we need Him to help us help you - He is there. Every time you are sad, mad, lonely, or just need to know that you are loved your heart draws you to Mommy or Daddy and you ask us, "Can you please pick me up?"

You ask us with your big blue eyes, and your soft quiet voice, and your little hand reaching up to us (usually your other hand has Monkey in it). 

Please know that every time Mommy or Daddy picks you up and squeezes you tightly that God is behind us squeezing tightly too. When we pick you up, God is right there with us picking you up too. 

"Can God pick me up, Mommy?"

I kiss his forehead, say a silent prayer that someday he will understand what I mean by all of the things that I want to say and tell him and instead answer him as simply as I can.

"Sweetie, close your eyes and take a deep breath. Then look at me - Buddy, God ALWAYS picks you up. Every time you ask. I love you sooooo much, and God loves you more than that. God ALWAYS picks you up." 

The Wednesday, The Mom Guilt, The Husband, and God

We call the day my daughter was born "The Thursday".

Every so often, I think about the day that will always be stamped in my heart as "The Wednesday". That is the last day that I had with just Will and I before I was blessed with his baby sister.

It was a gorgeous April day, the kind of day that I wasn't wearing any jacket at all and I was comfortable just throwing a little vest on Will to go outside and play. I wasn't feeling too terrible even though I was a week or so away from my scheduled c-section date to welcome Evie into the world. I felt puffy, large, and pregnant - but I still felt fairly mobile.

We went outside that afternoon after his nap and took advantage of the gorgeous weather. Winters in New England are always hard, so when those first few 50-60 degree days start to appear you learn to take advantage of them. Will had asked me in his cute little almost-two-year-old way to go outside when he woke up from his nap that afternoon, so we did.

He climbed on rocks in our garden. He wandered around the driveway and drove his little truck. We walked together up and down the sidewalk as he looked at ants and picked up sticks and examined the grass. We enjoyed the weather, we enjoyed each other.

Will's last day flying solo with Mommy - April 2014.

Then I went to bed. I got up. We did our hectic day. We had Evie by dinner.

The arrival of Evie grew our family in size, in heart, and exploded our capacity for love even further. She's sweet, she's energetic, she's bold, she's hilarious. I don't think that Steve, Will, or I can imagine her NOT being a part of our lives. She's seriously an amazing kid.

Sometimes Steve and I will split duty with the kids, either because he's got a day off from work or he's home for the weekend. Usually either he will sit with both of the kids while I do errands without needing to juggle extra people or we will split the kids up and take them for some one-on-one time with Mommy or Daddy. For their own reasons, both of these arrangements are wonderful and I've come to appreciate them. We have found that the significance of these times is not lost on any one of us, and we love when we all come back together.

I've never really thought twice about our little upgrade from 3 to 4. Having Evie and Will together all day was just a life change that I accepted and welcomed with open arms. I had never pined for the days of only one child, maybe because I grew up in a family with 4 (sometimes 5) children and never thought about the bond my parents had with each of us individually. I never asked my mom about her feelings as we continued to expand, just knew that she loved each one of us together and separately.

Me and the kiddos - May 2015

Last week, Steve got Friday off to "observe" the Fourth of July holiday. We decided to do our split-duty and I took Will to his speech therapy appointment. We chatted on the car ride up, he excitedly gave me the tour of the therapy center's new digs after the session, then he took my hand as we walked up the sidewalk back to my car to leave. He had his little hand in mine as we paused to check for moving cars in the parking lot before proceeding. Our shadows extended in front of us, and as I looked down at them I caught my breath.

I suddenly longed for that last day before Evie was born. Those days when it was just Will and I and there wasn't as much chaos and I could just watch in wonder as he discovered the world. The days when I could just snuggle with him without worrying about his sister trying to shove him off my lap for her turn or he could pick out a book without anyone quibbling about whose book was going to be read first. My heart had a brief moment of ache and want for those days of only having one child.

Then the dreaded Mom Guilt came over me like a tsunami crashing on the shore.

Image via SeizingHopeDotCom

Later as I was emptying the dishwasher, Steve could tell something was bothering me. So I confessed my horridness as a parent to him, defending myself that I don't want to NOT have Evie, I just miss those days of just Will. That I love Evie with all of my Evie love, but sometimes I just wish I could cuddle Will without them pummeling each other and whining about Mommy's lap.

I cried. I told him I felt horrible, and guilty, because Evie is amazing and I felt like I was betraying the love I have for her in a way.

Steve just laughed at me.

Not in that way, guys.

He gently took the dishes from my hand as he laughed and told me to stop feeling guilty. "Dee, just stop it. Seriously. You should not feel guilty right now."

He took me by the shoulders and just spoke the words that I needed to hear, that he needed me to hear, that God needed me to hear.

I don't remember the exact words, but the sentiment was this: I love Evie. I love Will. I love them with all of the heart that God gave me for each of them. God loves us individually and wants a relationship with each of us individually. And just as He loves us and wants a relationship with us individually, so has he designed parenting for us to love our children and have relationships with them individually.

As his words sunk into my heart, Steve continued to encourage me. "Honey, it is totally normal and OK for you to want to spend time with JUST WILL, and it's OK for you to want to spend time with JUST EVIE, and it's OK for me to want the same things. In fact, we probably should do a better job at making sure we spend time with JUST WILL and JUST EVIE individually."

We have an awesome family, and we need to work on our bonds together and apart. We need to love each other as a whole and as our parts.

Image credit to RLPhoto

I have often said that God created us in His image, and the closest thing that we will ever experience to what it's like to be Him as Our Father is to be a parent. To know what it's like to be willing to do anything for your children, to long for them to have the best, to want to protect them yet know that you have to let the go and let them grow. To be willing to lay your life on the line for them.

To want a relationship with them as individuals. To want them to look at you and say "I Love You" and mean it from their hearts, not because they feel an obligation to say so.

What my husband did as he spoke to me that day is remind me of this; he reminded me of this dynamic we have as parents to want to love and encourage and be with our kids individually. In The 5 Love Languages of Children, the authors write "If you have several children, you need to look for times when you can be alone with each one... The key to quality time is found in its values and priorities you as parents determine to cherish and implement in your home."

I should not feel guilty - that was the reminder my husband continued to give me for the remainder of the day. I love my children. I want my children to love God and have a relationship with Him.

They matter to me individually. The best way for me to know how to serve them and raise them and know what is best is to spend time with them one-on-one as well as together. The best way to know how they need me to love them is to spend time with them one-on-one as well as together.

I no longer feel guilty on this one.

I'll save my Mommy Guilt for the next time I lose my patience and temper.

More Important

When I was in high school, I spent the better part of my senior year bussing tables at a small Italian restaurant. It was the kind of place that had a fancy menu and a pricey wine list. It had two dining rooms; one was a bit more on the elegant side with trellises and carpeting and a "faux al-fresco" platform while the other had red tablecloths and a black & white checkered linoleum floor. My uniform was a dressy white shirt and black dressy bottoms - either a skirt or pants - and dressy but comfortable black shoes.

For those that don't know what a busperson does - I was the person who brought you bread & water at the beginning of the meal, made sure you always had water, helped the server bring plates to the table if needed, and cleared away your empty (or mostly empty) plates. I pulled trash and carried tubs of disgusting dishes to the back to be washed. Because I did a lot of work to keep the service going, the servers "had" to give me a percentage of their tips at the end of the night.

Being a nicer restaurant, we would get a lot of couples out on dates or families having celebrations or business people bringing a client out for a nice dinner. But once in a while a reservation would happen that would put the restaurant staff on high alert.

The Antons were coming. (Yes, of Anton's Cleaners for those that live in the Merrimack Valley, Massachusetts area - those Antons.)

Every martini glass had to be washed and the buspeople would be advised to make sure to stay on top of seeing they got washed as they got used. Extra bread would be baked and extra calamari brought in for that night. The "who can work late" question would be asked and those people would be assigned to that table. And by "table" I mean 4 tables put together to accommodate a party of at LEAST 10 people who would eat, drink, and be merry from about 7:00 PM until close to midnight. Mr. Anton would usually sit somewhere in the middle of the table where he could interact with everyone, and whenever he would bring his people in it was always a good night to be working.

This picture was taken by us at a fundraiser at a local restaurant.
Funds went towards relief efforts for the Haiti earthquake.

"Who is more important: the one who sits at the table or the one who serves?" This is the question that Jesus asks His disciples at the Last Supper (Luke 22:27).

"Who is more important...?" That night as far as the proprietors of that small Italian restaurant were concerned - the Antons were the most important people, and Mr. Anton was the most important of the important people.

And when Jesus asks the questions, He immediate answers: "The one who sits at the table, of course."

"Of course."

When the Antons came, we were to find the utmost of our abilities and perform there. Be as attentive, as kind, as anticipatory of needs as we had ever been in our lives. We worked like our paychecks - at least for that evening - depended on it. Because Mr. Anton and his party were the most important people, we made sure to treat them as such.

But...

There's always a "but" with Jesus, isn't there?

Jesus sat there at the table at The Last Supper, certainly by all measures the most important person in the room. Son of God, the Messiah who would go on to die for our sins, worshiped over the ages by millions. After asking the question of his disciples as to who was more important, saying that "of course" it is the one who sits at the table - Jesus sticks his "but" into the conversation.

"But not here! For I am among you as the one who serves." 

Jesus was, by every measure, the most important person at that table. He is the Son of God. He would go on to sacrifice His earthly life and take the punishment for all of our sins.

I've really got to get a copy of "The Brick Testament" for the kids...

He sat at the table, yet He placed himself in the status of one who served.

Something to ponder: If Jesus is saying that at the table of His last earthly meal that He is NOT the most important person, that He is the one who serves - what does that say about us each time we take communion? Before discussing who is the most or least important, Jesus tells his disciples to take the bread and drink the wine in remembrance of Him. We continue to take the bread and drink of the cup over 2000 years later in His honor.

He went on to serve us in the biggest of ways. He gave His life for us. He went to the tomb and rose on the third day and walked among us before ascending to Heaven to sit beside the Father.

He restored the most broken of relationships - that between Man & God.

The most gracious, most sizable, most beautiful act of service in history.

There was one night that I was able to get a later ride home when Mr. Anton brought his crew in and was therefore able to be part of the service staff that worked his table. I spent the better part of 4 hours running empty martini glasses back and forth from the kitchen, pouring pitchers of water into glasses, clearing plates, bringing clean silverware, helping the waitstaff get meals to the table in a timely fashion so they could all eat together, and just generally making sure this very important party was well taken care of. It was a whirlwind night.

As the meal was coming to a close, I felt someone gently grab my arm. I turned and saw Mr. Anton's hand as the culprit and asked how I could help him.

"Young lady," he said, "you have been working hard all night. I know you tip share, but here - I want to make sure I give you something too." With those words, this older gentleman quietly slipped a $20 bill into my hand, closed it, and patted the top. "Thank you for a great night, young lady."

I smiled, I thanked him, and I topped off his water glass. Buspeople didn't get $20 direct-from-the-customer tips. $20 is what I would get in tipsharing from one server on a busy Friday night.

Arthur Anton at an event recognizing his service to the community - 2013.
Photo credit: Meghan Moore, Megpix

I have never forgotten that act of kindness. That small, quiet act of kindness by a successful businessman is one that I have kept in my heart for almost 20 years now. I have always viewed it as
an example of staying humble, of remembering to serve each other, of recognizing the hard work that people do.

A reminder that no matter how important we become, that we should still serve. We should still love, We should still be humble.

Jesus sat at His last meal and reminded us that He walked the earth to serve.

We need to remember His example. We need to do the same.

The Beauty in the Weeds

A few weeks ago I was having a rough day. The kids were going crazy,  I was overtired, and it was all I could do not to drown myself in a pile of chocolate and/or lock my kids in their playroom while borrowing my husband's noise cancelling headphones for an hour. Or even five minutes.

After dinner, my husband brought Will outside while I cleaned up the kitchen and gave Evie a bath. While I was doing the former, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a certain blond haired, blue eyed little boy standing there with a giant grin and a fistful of dead dandelions.

"Here, Mommy! I picked you some flowers!"

I looked down at that little face and its giant smile and bright eyes and all my frustrations of the day melted away. I then looked down at the fistful of dead dandelions and had an inner sigh - especially as I glimpsed the semi-apologetic look on Steve's face as he handed me a branch from our blossomed cherry tree and a length of phlox. The look that said "I tried to teach our son how to pick flowers for Mommy, and he decided that dead weeds were the way to go."

But I mean... that face on that little boy holding those browned stems with the seeds holding on waiting for a strong breeze... talk about a heart melt...

When this face hands you a fistful of dandelions, you love them.
Because you love this face, and the giving heart behind it.

My paternal grandfather died when I was just shy of 8 years old, but I have very clear memories with him in the few years before that. My parents divorced when I was 5, but my brother and I would still head to visit with my grandparents and father about once a month. My grandfather had a vegetable garden and several flower beds, and I would follow him around asking what things were and being a general 6 or 7 year old nuisance. I would sit beside him on his bed as he watched "The Victory Garden", hoping he would notice me and take the headphones out so I could hear too.

One day while I was out in the yard with him, I very clearly remember picking some dandelions and buttercups and little purple flowers and bringing them over to him. I wanted to share - very proudly - these beautiful yellow flowers that I even left enough stem to put in a cup of water.

He looked at me confused as I reached to hand him the flowers. "What are you giving me weeds for? Those aren't flowers!" 

This was the day that I learned the difference between weeds and wanted, purposeful plants. I also learned from my Papa that day that my Nana loved to get flowers from her grandkids, so I brought them to her from then on while Papa shook his head with a smile.

"Bena and Kenny" - Circa 1980-something in my grandparents' back yard.
Yep, that's a scan of a Polaroid.

Confession: To this day when our lawn gets cluttered with the yellow heads of dandelions every spring, even though I know that they can choke out the grass and deteriorate the health of our lawn - a part of me still sees the beauty of the yellow against the backdrop of green. When I see the weeds that sprout purple flowers start to take over the cracks coming out of our rock wall, I wait until the flowers have withered before I pull the weeds out.

I have fond memories of dandelions and purple flowers and the yellow buttercups of clover plants sitting in Dixie Cups on windowsills in my parents' kitchen that we picked. They were the first flowers I picked as a gift and the first flowers I taught my siblings to pick.

Image from RuthKassinger.com.
Check out this write-up about dandelions being used in tires.

Then there is the story of Jesus being anointed by the sinful woman while dining with the Pharisee.

"When one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, he went to the Pharisee's house and reclined at the table. A woman in that town who lived a sinful life learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee's house, so she came there with an alabaster jar of perfume. As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them. When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself , 'If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is - that she is a sinner.'" (Luke 7:36-39)

A sinner. A societal weed. A broken, unwanted person among those who are perceived to be beautiful and desired. Someone who is viewed as disposable, who will choke out the beauty.

But Jesus.

Jesus doesn't see the ugly that the Pharisee sees. He sees this woman's beauty, he sees her heart, sees more than her sin.

"Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, 'Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven - as her great love has shown.'" (Luke 7:44-47)

Wild violets - my favorite weeds. Yes, I have favorite weeds.

There is much beauty to be found in the weeds and it's more than the beauty of the yellow, purple, white, or whatever colored flowers that poke their heads out in the spring.

Last night while we were out playing with the kids, a baby bird just kicked out of the nest was trying to figure out how to fly and had flown itself right into the middle of our street. Steve ran into the basement, grabbed a box and some gloves, and rescued the baby bird from becoming road kill. "Mommy," Will asked me, "what's Daddy doing?"

"I am going to bring this baby bird back into the woods so it doesn't get run over by a car. Do you want to see it before I bring it back?"

My 13-month old daughter bounced excitedly and reached up for me to bring her to see the bird. My 3-year-old son said "Oh! Yes!" and ran up the sidewalk to see the tiny bird. On his way up, he passed a grouping of dandelions on the edge of the lawn. "Oh! I will bring it some flowers!" he said as he grabbed a fistful and ripped them away from their base.

Notice the dead dandelions on the right side of the box. 

The heart of a 3-year-old says to bring the scared little baby bird some flowers because that will make it feel better.

The beauty in the weeds isn't in the flowers. It's in the heart of those that pick the flowers to give to their Papa, their Nana, their Mommy, or the scared baby bird. Yes, weeds have undesirable qualities - but so do I. So do you.

The beauty lies in the heart.

Let your heart flowers bloom.