A Modern Day Tale of Famine

The dictionary defines a famine as a widespread scarcity of food, usually accompanied  or followed by  malnutrition, starvation, epidemic and mortality. And this, my friends, is a tale of famine from the days of our modern world...

In the book of Ruth, Naomi, her mother-in-law, was married to Elimelech and they lived in Bethlehem, Judah.  Famine in their land drove his family from their home into Moab, a foreign land to them.

Famine drove our family of 7, established on January 4, 1992 A.D. far, far from the home into a foreign land.  We weren't starving in the literal sense.  We had plenty of food, our cupboards were not bare.  I shopped at Publix and even bought more expensive organic meats, veggies and fruits.  We were starving, however.  We were malnourished, and it eventually led to an epidemic that spread to every family member and ultimately resulted in it's mortality.

RIP: December 2, 2010.

It's hard to even know where to begin.

I guess, it started on a crooked foundation.  Living together before marriage, pre-marital sex, buying a house rather than a ring, by-passing God's counsel and His ways.

We were filling ourselves with worldly possessions and satisfying our needs with lust.  High caloric intake loaded with little to no nutritional value.  Expensive food, easy to get, hard to lose, with costly consequences.

Starting a family with no budget, lots of debt, poor communication, lack of discipline, constant struggle, deception, violence and fantasy land living.  It could be compared to planting a garden on the beach.  Looks really pretty, fun to be there, exotic location with very little chance for any real growth.  A set up for famine.

Blessings came and chances were available to live life differently.  Life got busy and immediate gratification and fast and easy became the staple.  It was easier in the short term; who had time to prepare the soil, lay a foundation, plot out boundaries, obtain good seed to plant, water, fertilize and wait for a harvest in due time?

Can you see famine down the path?

There was ALWAYS something better around the corner.  "Seize every opportunity" became the family motto.  Moving 20 times from 1992 to 2008 in 16 years was the result of living out that dysfunctional way of thinking.  Plant, establish, uproot... plant, establish, uproot... plant, establish, uproot... plant, establish, uproot...

What plant can survive that many transplants?  None, and neither can a family of 7.  We needed stability and a place to be planted and established and rooted.  We needed irrigation and fertilizer.  Our root system needed time to grow where the roots could absorb the nutrients we were so desperately lacking.

It was obvious what was happening.  A gentle wind, an evening shower, a touch of cold or the midday heat...  blew us over, flooded our emotions, gave us a chilling to the bone and wilted us to the point of exhaustion.

Gardens can not grow and produce without key ingredients.
A family can not grow and produce without key ingredients.

 No gardens, no food.  No food, no nutrition.  No nutrition, no growth.  No growth, no life.

 That's how famine happens.  It's a lack of, no...
you fill in the blank.


No thinking of others, no love.  No contentment, no joy.  No loving and honest communication, no peace.  No understanding and empathy, no patience.  No sharing, no kindness.  No Mediator, no goodness. No trust, no faithfulness.  No affection or care, no gentleness.  No discipline and conscience, no self-control.

Galatians 5:22 tell us that love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control is the fruit we should bare to nourish ourselves and one another to prevent famine in the land.

If you refer further to verses 24 and 25, you will read that those who belong to Christ have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires, and if we live in the Spirit, we will walk in the Spirit.

Flesh is stinky.  Flesh is the rotting decay that we must slough off daily to fertilize the good soil we have prepared through the study of His Word.  Talking to Him in prayer and walking hand in hand with our Savior as we serve and have healthy relationship. Using the 10 commandments as our chalk line to mark the boundaries for the fence is essential.  Periods of drought will come and to keep hydrated you must have an irrigation system for fresh, clean water.

          John 4:13-14 " Jesus answered and said to her, 'Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst..  But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life..'  "

So, go to the Master of irrigation, the Head of hydration, the Father of fountains, the Expert at installing elaborate sprinkler systems, and the Driller of never run dry wells.   
 
Our Christian gardens will bare the fruit of the Spirit to keep us well nourished and out of famine.  We must tend to our gardens.  We must tend to our families.  Famine in the land does not happen randomly.  Famine in our families does not happen randomly.

Famine contributed to the cause of death.  We were all starving and slowly wasting away on the inside.  Our eyes were sinking in, our bellies protruding, our vital organs shutting down from toxins that our already dirty filters could not get rid of, our heart was overworked with a blockage in the lines that provided the necessary oxygen and blood.

It's a slow and painful death.  It's a sad death.  It's an unnecessary death.  Compassion International is a great organization, but we have no need for them. We have a Father to adopt us and a never ending place at His banqueting table.

2 Samuel 9:10 "You, therefore, and your sons and your servants, shall work the land for him, and you shall bring in the harvest, that your master's son may have food to eat..  But Mephibosheth your master's son shall eat bread at my table always.."



We may not live in the ancient world of dragons and knights, kings and queens, royal banquets and dining within the royal chambers, or scepters and crowns all happening in a fairytale worthy of a princess storybook... 

What we do have in the modern world, though, is famine and war, pestilence and plagues.  Our enemy is more fierce than a dragon, he is the prince of darkness and we still need and have a Knight to slay him.  We have a King that lets us dine in His chamber at His royal table.  We have a permanent invitation to every banquet held at His castle.  He extends His scepter to us continually, giving us free access to the King.  We humbly take off our crowns and lay them at His feet and there is ALWAYS a happy ending...in His Kingdom, as told in The Royal Storybook, The Bible.

That's My Daddy, Part One

Even at 41, I have had several occassions lately where I say, "I am Mike Driver's daughter." When I hear myself proclaiming this, it is a positive thing. My dad has an untarnished reputation. He has a good name. He keeps his promises and his word is as binding as a signed contract. I am proud to claim my relationship to him and with confidence and privelage I say, "Mike Driver? That's my Daddy."

We have a history together.

I have lived a life watching a human man, that has imperfections, model hard work, helping others no matter the cost, generosity, enjoying life, playing hard, learning new things, being consistent and doing what he says he will do.

There are many memories I have of my dad. Some of those memories are not exactly fun memories, either. Getting a spanking with his belt in Sears at the washer and dryer section is the reason I hate the color burgundy. That was the color of his polyester nineteen seventy something pair of pants. I remember. It's probably why I dislike Sears, too. And I just knew I would never recover in popularity my Junior year after he told me what time I had to be home after the prom.

I also remember completely severing communication with my dad for many months too long shortly after turning 30. I felt justified and wronged and wounded. I wanted an explanation and understanding and information that my dad could not give. I held it against him. That is a very bad memory. A memory I wish I could hit a rewind or undo button.

A few simple and profound memories are precious to me and will be seared in my mind forever. They touch me for a variety of reasons, but never the less, they touched me, and left an indelible imprint on my life.

The gift he gave me for graduation was so special. Gucci was quite popular in 1987 and all my friends had a purse with those famous 5 letters...except me. I guess my dad figured that out. He drove to the mall, out of town, and purchased his only daughter this much important teenager status symbol. It seemed rather a small thing, but it was quite large in my opinion.

In high school, both my parent's worked and we were not poor by any stretch of the imagination. However, because of another selfless, giving action of my dad, we were in a tight financial pattern. So, paying a ridiculous amount for a purse that would get stolen 6 months later, was just that, ridiculous, yet extravagant and endearing to me.

It was but a few years earlier that we had no financial woes. My mom stayed at home and my dad had an excellent job making very good money. The cost to his family wasn't even time away from him, he ate dinner with me and mom almost every single night of my growing up years. The cost was moving from place to place, sometimes every few months, sometimes every few years. As I was actively becoming a brace faced, pimple prone, typical teen...moving that often was wreaking havoc in my life.

When we moved to Texas...it reached a crisis that would have to be dealt with. I was no longer coping and I was outwardly rebelling against constant change in my life and I wanted some control and familiar.

Against logical and rational thinking, my dad quit his job of over 20 years and moved us back to the only "hometown" I really knew...Okeechobee. We had lived there the longest. I started 1st grade there and I stayed at the same school until 6th, when we started moving again. My grandparents lived there, and we had visited them almost every weekend for years when I was 4 and 5. Okeechobee felt like home to me.

When I got back to Okeechobee and started the local High School, I felt like Dorothy after she clicked her ruby red slippers and her feet touched the glorious Kansas soil. The humidity, palmetto bushes and smell of, yes, cow poop, felt like home to me.

The only job my dad could find initially was at a hardware store named Scotty's, drawing minimum wage. My mom had to go back to work and we bought a 2 bedroom house for the first time in my life. The financial picture was a lot different. It was a sacrifice and way of life our family had not lived for a very long time.

I don't think my dad realizes how desperately I needed him to make that decision, but he did, and I am ever grateful. It is one of the ways I KNOW he loves me.

As I explained, with a different income level, college was not something my parent's could finance. So, I had to get a job after high school and save, if I wanted to go. And this is where another memory will be permantly etched on my heart.

For those of you that don't know me...I am not a morning person, especially was not at 18! I also would rather drive on 70 heading to the beach than to an Orange grove. The summer following my Senior year was supposed to be for sleeping late, going to the beach and spending time with my friends before our lives changed forever in the fall.

Instead...

I spent the summer with my dad.

He would wake me up at 5 a.m.

I had to be in the truck before 6 a.m.

And even though we were headed to Ft. Pierce, via 70, we stopped before my eyes could catch a glimpse of the sand and water, only to see orange trees and drainage canals.

Not exactly my dream summer.

But a secretary was needed, the pay was awesome and I could go to college in the fall with the savings from this job.

Turned out, that those early mornings would somehow form a bond in us that would be priceless.

We didn't talk that much. I don't really talk in the mornings...it's the only time I don't really talk, but I don't. We listened to music. Sometimes it was 95.5, sometimes Country, sometimes Rock, sometimes Gospel, sometimes Bluegrass, sometimes Oldies...I love music and so does my dad. The sun rising, among the fog so many times, was breathtaking. Dodging deer, spotting armadilloes, racoons, alligators and roadkill was a type of "Florida Wildlife I Spy". The rugged ride on that dangerous road with pot holes and "Deadman's Curve" felt like I was on a safari when I opened the door, and climbed into my dad's truck with my diet coke each morning.

There was not much to do once I entered the grove. I wrote letters to friends, kept updated on my journal, made life plans and lists, read 3 books a week and occassionally watched a soap opera when the rabbit ears could grab a signal.

I saved every penny I earned that summer. It was enough to get me out of Okeechobee and into Orlando where I opened a checking account, rented an apartment and enrolled at Valencia Community College. It was the beginning of my new independent life. I was no longer living with my parents. My reality had shifted and the lessons I learned from a job in the middle of an orange grove, carpooling with my dad, would be lessons well learned, lessons that would serve me some 23 years later. Lessons that taught me that I could attach myself to my dad's good name.

Being Mike Driver's daughter landed me that job. Being Mike Driver's daughter gives me an automatic credibility with people that know my dad. It's good to have a dad with a good reputation and a good name. They know me at the gym as Mike's daughter. They know me at the place I get my oil changed as Mike's daughter. My neighbor's know me as Mike's daughter. So, when someone says to me, you're Mike's daughter? I say with a smile, and a nod "That's my Daddy."

No Christmas Tree

It's December 20th, five days until Christmas and I have no Christmas tree.  

For me, this is huge.

I never knew a Christmas, growing up, that there was not a Christmas tree.  My mom would tell my dad to go up in the attic and get the Christmas "stuff".  It was always the Saturday following Thanksgiving and it's just what we did.  We lived in Florida and real trees were expensive and impractical.  I always wanted one, though.  I always begged for one and I was always told no.

So, when I did Christmas on my own...

You guessed it.  I got a real tree.  No matter the cost.  If it was money, time, effort, mess; it did not matter,  I brought home a real Christmas tree.

Some years my real Christmas tree looked like a perfectly trimmed accessory straight from Better Homes and Gardens.  The lights were hung with percision, the ornaments were color coordinated, the garland was sophisticated and I would marvel at the beauty.

One year, I went with an old fashioned theme.  I hung ceramic apples, cookie cutters with yarn hangers, hand made popcorn and cranberry garland and even made the gift wrap myself.  I took brown wrapping paper and stamped it with gold stencils and painted green and red accents.

Other years, when pregnancy was my condition, I hung lights, placed a gold star on top and said, "I am doing simple this year and at least the tree is up."

In 2007, when we moved 5 kids and a the contents of a five bedroom house three states in November...we had no tree that year.  The first year ever.  I gave myself grace with words but felt guilty and how could I possibly do this to my kids.

2008 was a year that I got back to business and a tree was erected and decorated and it felt like Christmas was back.

2009 would be the year that took a bit more effort.  A newly divorced single mom on December 2nd, kids switching houses and emotions running wild; I didn't want a tree, feel like getting a tree, no money for a tree or putting up and decorating a tree.  Plus, we were going out of town to celebrate with my parents before Christmas.  This was definately reason to ditch the tree that year.

But I didn't.

We went to get a tree.  A real Christmas tree.  The cheapest one we could find.  It wasn't about how it looked, just that it was green with a trunk.

We got it. 

It was wrapped in the orange netting and smelled lovely.  I was tired and hungry and it took all the effort I had to get it off the top of the van and into the garage.  The decorating ceremonies would have to wait until the morning.  The neatly bound tree would have to slumber in the garage tonight.

Well, the tree remained in the garage, never to receive a proper erection with all the trimmings.  That poor little tree never realized its destiny.  That tree slumbered in the orange netting making the garage fragrant for more than 2 weeks until I drug it to the dumpster.  : (

Well, it's December 20th, 2010,  and we have no tree.  The real Christmas tree is still yet to be purchased and the artificial tree is in the attic yet to be assembled.  Not wanting the real Christmas tree to suffer the ill fated demise of last year's tree, I will not even purchase one; and as for the artificial tree...

I will just let it rest another year.

The point to all my Christmas tree woes?

I just got back from a Mission Trip to Mexico and words can not describe my experience.  To go on a mission trip has been a dream of mine for over 12 years, and it happened!  I was there for 9 days and will go back every year that the Lord lets me.

I have been officially divorced for over a year and hate divorce and what it does to people, especially my precious children...but know that sometimes, a lot of times, the worst tragedy in your life can be the biggest blessing.  I am not who I was last year.  I am not who I was 2 weeks ago.  I am a strong and courageous woman of God who loves out loud and is not afraid to live that way.  I am not perfection but I am living.

  I am living the life God chose to give me with all the "trimmings".

The life of consequence from bad choices, good choices, and indecision.

The life of choosing, most of the time, reality over fantasy and denial.

The life of overwhelming joy, pieces of debilitating sorrow and never too much laughter.

The life that expresses tear drops like a heavy down pour or a light sprinkle.

The life that sees the good, praying for my enemies while biting my tongue.

The life that has little control and has let go of organizing dollhouses in the middle of the night.

The life of living in the moment and doing it now, except for my paperwork procrastination.

The life of telling myself, family and friends the truth in love even when it's hard and it hurts.

The life of learning who I am.

The life of who I am not.

The life of loving Jesus through unanswered prayers.

The life of loving myself through unpleasant circumstances.

The life of loving my children and family through unmet expectations.

The life of loving my friends through unanswered questions.

There is no guilt this year.

There is no "have to" this year.

There is no "I have to do it for the children" this year.

There is no "it won't be the same without a tree" this year.

There is no "judgment regarding others not putting up a tree" this year.

There is no dilemma over "real or artificial" this year.

There is no "white lights or colored lights" this year.

There is no "tradition" this year.

There is no Christmas tree.

And it is more than okay!

Llama, llama, Matching Red Pajamas

I bought my youngest daughter a book for her birthday called, "Llama, llama, Red Pajamas."  It's a sweet book and I read it to her almost every night this summer.  I wrote a personal message to her on the inside cover and I had to read that each night, too.  She laughed every time I would say, "...and your momma, even though I am not a llama...loves you very much."

This summer I only had my 2 little girls, Lily and Sarah.  Lily turned 6 in June and Sarah Grace is 8.  My other girls, 11 and 14 were at their dad's.  We had a great summer, me and the little ones, but I wanted to connect with my older girls. I don't think any of us were meant to be apart, not now.  They are too young and I am too much of a mommy.  Yet, it was what it was, and Reagan and Meghan were pretty much unavailable. 

One night, this momma, even though I am not a llama, found a way to reach my teenager.  

I was waiting on Lily to brush her teeth, and I was already in the bed, with the Llama book, waiting...So, I typed a quick text to Meghan.  She wrote back and then Lily was ready for me to read.  I was able to stall her a few minutes but she wasn't into "stalling"...

Here's where I found a way to connect.

I called Meghan, she answered, I put her on speaker and I read the book to Sarah, Lily and Meghan.  Meghan stayed on the phone, too and listened to the whole story.  In fact, she was spending the night at a friend's house and her friend listened, also. 

When we said our goodnights, I sent her several picture text messages of the book.  The last one I sent her was a picture of the llama screaming and wanting the momma!  

I tucked Lily and Sarah in with a sense of accomplishment.  It is extremely difficult to reach any teen, much less a teen with great pain and loss in her heart.  I found a way to reach my teen daughter that night.  This momma, even though I am not a llama, found a way.

I went to Target the very next day and bought Meghan a "Llama, llama, Red Pajama" book.  I inscribed a message on the inside cover for her and then decided that I would make this book a part of a family tradition come Christmas time.

It is just a few days from December and I have wrapped the matching red pajamas. Matching pj's every year is our little thing we do.  Sarah, Reagan and Jeb will get a "Llama, llama, Red Pajama" book to go with their jammies.  This momma, even though I am not a llama, wants to stay connected.

Raising kids is hard. 

 Raising teenagers is hard.  

 Love is hard.  

Divorce is hard.  

Life is hard.

We can come up with a hundred and one ways why we can't connect to our teens, or kids, or even each other.  There will always be a reason why we can't connect; a meeting, a phone call, a headache, a house to clean, laundry to do and bills to pay.  Love, affection or attention rejected.  Connecting is hard.

But do you want to know what is harder than connecting?

Not connecting.

Living my life the last three years has been extremely difficult with my kids going in different and separate directions and not having them with me twenty four seven.  The one thing I know that I know, however, is we have had connections.  I was a momma, even though I am not a llama, that connected with her kids.  I may have made some poor decisions and I have definitely made some messes, but I have always connected with my kids. 

I will not sit here and tell you connecting is easy, either.  It is hard.  As babies, breastfeeding is connecting.  Connecting at midnight, 3am, 5am, getting a babysitter for 1 hour at a time because you are the only one that can provide that particular connection.  Baby #4, Miss Sarah Grace never took a bottle...ever.


As toddlers, connecting is accepting that your whole day is cleaning up messes, wiping faces, tying shoes, picking up toys, scraping Play-Dough off the floor, wiping up spills, giving baths, reading the SAME book 20 times per day, tucking in and getting up to do it all over again the next day.

As they start school accepting is hurry up and wait.  Time has added a new dimension to connecting and the tardy bell is something to avoid at all costs.  Lunches to pack, breakfast to fix, homework to do...everything has a deadline that never seems long enough.  You then go to the opposite end of the time issue and wait.  Wait in the carpool line, wait at the dentist office, wait for baseball practice to get over, wait in the lobby while they are in Ballet class. 


I would give almost anything to peek in the window at the dance studio again.  Yes, it's waiting for 45 minutes while you have such a tight schedule and 2 loads of laundry and a bathroom can get cleaned in time like that...but she'll never be 2 again with a blond bobbed haircut with a giant pink bow to match her tights and tutu...and she'll never hesitate the way she does now, running in and out of dance class wanting 5 kisses and 3 hugs just to make it through warm-ups.  That's connecting.


I haven't cornered the market on connecting in middle and high school.  I'm still on the learning curve.  I learned to make a Facebook page, I learned what IMingBeiber's songs and I work-out to my 14 year old's music on her I-pod.  I found a rock band I actually like while my 16 year old and his friends are in the van...we all know the words.  My new favorite song is by Marco Bruno, and it's my 11 year old's favorite, too.
I think that's connecting.


Not connecting is regret.

Regret that you had clean dishes and an organized room worthy of a Pottery barn catalog but you don't remember their favorite book or song, or who had blanket rather than a "paci" because you connected with Mr. Clean instead of your kids. 


Regret is skipping the football game on Friday night and just dropping them off because you had a hard day at work and you are simply too tired.  They won't hang out with you anyway, they will just be running around with their friends, asking you for money to get something at the concession stand every 5 minutes and they will definitely embarrass you in front of your old high school buddies.


It takes me much effort and cost each year to find matching pajamas.  This year was just as difficult.  How do you find matching red pajamas in size 5, 7, 11, 14 and high school boys small, that they will actually wear more than on Christmas morning?  Well, I did.  I have had to be creative over the years and "matching" has been same colors, different patterns, boxers and nightgowns,  t-shirts and tank tops, etc...  

It's what they expect.  It's what they know.  Ask them.  In the midst of loss and pain and heartache and tears.  What do we do on Christmas Eve?  From each of my kids you will hear a very sarcastic, don't you know, silly voice, like they really think it's stupid..."Open our matching pajamas."


Jeb and Meghan had the first pair of matching pajamas in this family.  They were red.  This year, Jeb, Meghan, Reagan, Sarah and Lily will all have matching pajamas again.  They will be red.  So, you see, connecting is 

matching red pajamas.

A Bucket of Wildflowers

The sand, the wind, the noise that the ocean makes,

Even when my life is a mess

And life just takes and takes…

Just being here,

knowing my feet are buried in the cool of the sand,

And the wind,

Blowing, sweeping my hair and cooling the land,

Is enough.

Watching my kids run, jump, dig, bury, swim, laugh and

Even scream,

Makes my tummy feel like butterflies are there and this must

Be a dream.

I guess I’ve always felt alone,

Always wanting

A friend,

A date,

A mate;

Just a loving someone.

I believe I see so many things that are awesome and neat,

Happy and sweet.

It quickly becomes quite bitter, however…

Because it should be shared,

All that,

With a someone to last forever.

Two little girls running to and fro,

Throwing rocks in the ocean, standing knee deep;

Pink and brown with a tiny strap resting across her back,

And a variety of pinks and 2 pretty greens, with a sloppy bow, hanging just so.

A freckled face, wet ponytails and brown coconut skin;

Why wouldn’t someone want this for him?

The girls brought me a rose, sand covered and looking a bit worn. Wishing “my” man had given it to me…

As we strolled hand and hand…

Then a loud shriek

and a sand covered little girl

brings me back to reality…

And I remember,

I don’t even like roses, so, no need to be torn.

There’s a fresh cut bucket of wild flowers;

Gerber daisies, lilies, snap dragons and sunflowers

just waiting,

To be picked for me by someone,

“my” someone,

“my” forever someone.

I just need to trust and pray,

Have faith and wait.

One day he is coming…

We have to leave this ocean side paradise,

But we will return again soon,

Maybe even tomorrow.

As I leave,

The rose lays in the sand,

It’s petals flickering from the ocean breeze

and

the sun dancing off it’s deep red color;

The particles of sand make it shimmer and glow.

One red long stemmed rose;

Waiting for someone to pick it up and hold it tight;

Appreciating its beauty and flaws,

And take it home and love it anyway.

One bucket of wildflowers;

Waiting for someone to pick it up and hold it right;

Appreciating how pretty and the sprawling ways,

And take it home and love it always.

The Carnival Ride

  I grew up in Okeechobee, a small rural town in Florida. A little cowtown about 40 miles from the beach. Someone new to the area relayed her observation about how unusual it was to see a palm tree in the middle of a cow pasture. One thing that is not unusual about Okeechobee...is when the fair comes to town. Every year right before Valentine's Day, the same fair travels to, sets up in and entertains the small town nestled by the lake.

I have lots of memories of that fair.

I think I was about 9 when my dad entered the macramé contest and won a blue ribbon for his work on a macramé hanging table. We got to view the microwave demonstration in the expo building. How to pop corn in a brown paper bag in the new, high tech, microwave. It was a very popular booth and one I bragged about at school the next day. It was nineteen seventy something.

I remember being at this same fair as a teen, without a boyfriend, the weekend before heart day and having no-one to ride the rides with. I was so sad. :( I did find a friend to ride with, eat funnel cake with, be silly with and daydream of Jon Bon Jovi. :) It was nineteen eighty something.

I remember visiting my parents, home from college, when the fair came to town. I recall walking around as a "grown up" thinking it seemed dirtier than I remembered. It also seemed louder and brighter and not as much fun. A bit smaller than I recall. The prices were outrageous, too. When did it get so expensive to go to the fair? We left in a small red compact car, squished like sardines, reminiscing of what rides made which ones sick. I was 19 or 20, I could ride anything. It was nineteen ninety something.

Fast forward to the year two thousand and ten. I am back in Okeechobee, not exactly my plan, working in the schools in exceptional education. It was free fair day for the special needs population in the town and most of my Occupational Therapy students would be there. I went last year and it was so much fun. I decided to make another go of it.

Bumper cars, the giant slide with the burlap sack, the small rides; I was happy to take my students on these rides. It was fun and enjoyable to watch the kids laugh and play. They were all so excited. I just wanted to share in the experience with them. It was all good, too, until the older kids begged me to go on the "Ring of Fire." I must have experienced a type of amnesia regarding my age and the fact that spinning rides make me sick. This was a ride that was just a circle. That's it. You are strapped into a metal cart and you just ride around in a circle with occasional periods of dangling upside down.

I was a bit queasy after getting off the ride, but I didn't throw up and I could still walk in a straight line. I thought I was invincible, however, and begged the operator of the next metal torture machine to let us ride. I was being conned but didn't know it. One of the oldest tricks in the book. He said the ride was closed, but he had just let 20 people off after having it "open". So, I begged, pleaded, cajoled and then asked "pretty please with a cherry on top." Of, course; it was never really closed, which is why he let us ride. It was just the psychology of it all that hooked me.

Once seated in the ride, with the shiny metal bars locked, my euphoria faded fast. Even with my brave facade diminishing, it became non-existent when the ride operator said "I'm going to make you puke." He succeeded, too. Approximately, 15 minutes following the extreme carnival ride with the mean fair ride operator, I threw up.

As I lay in my warm car, head spinning and my stomach swirling, I thought about how self induced my queasiness had been. I walked onto the ride, and even begged to ride, even after I had been told no. I signed up for this one, quite voluntarily, too. I couldn't help but think of the similarity to real life. How many times do we willingly walk into a self imposed situation, we have been told no, just to ignore and keep pursuing it? On the other end we are reeling from the negative effects and we act dazed and confused, like, what happened? How did I end up here?

When I was on that carnival ride from you know where, all I could think about was how to make it stop. I felt trapped, helpless, out of control and sick. I wanted to get off, but I was not the one running this show. I couldn't get off. I was strapped in, spinning in circles, being controlled and manipulated like a puppet. No amount of begging, screaming or closing my eyes worked. I did all three.

I did lots of things.

It's like sin, that carnival ride.

It is shiny and exciting. The music is playing, you are with your friends, you want to be part of the fun. It looks like so much fun. The bright lights, the laughter, the smell, it entices all the senses. Everyone wants to go to the fair.

It's not what it looks like, however.

Sin does that.

It looks shiny and exciting. The music is playing, you are with your friends, you want to be part of fun. Drinking looks like so much fun. It looks cool to hold a Corona in your hand. You get an adrenaline rush when you score an alcoholic beverage when you are underage. It's cool to pop the top with your key chain with that bottle opener on it. It entices the senses. Everyone wants to loosen up with a little alcohol and be the life of the party.

It looks shiny and exciting. The music is playing on your I-pod, you want to be with a girl, you want to be part of the fun. Pre-marital sex looks like so much fun. It looks cool on the internet, very pleasing to the eye. You get an adrenaline rush when you score that real gal or when you see it live on the net. It feels so good. It entices the senses. Everyone wants to say they have tasted "love"...

It looks shiny and exciting. The music is playing, you are with your friends, you want to calm down and feel a little buzz, everyone says it works. It's a plant, natural and all. Pot looks like the answer to your problems. It looks cool to have a joint. Doesn't everyone laugh at Spikoli on "Fast Times at Ridgmont High?" What about Cheech and Chong, they are hilarious?! It feels good. It entices the senses. Everyone wants to just be happy man.

It's like that carnival ride.

Until...

You are up in the air, strapped in, going around and around, high in the air, unable to escape. This ride is making you feel things you didn't want to feel. This ride is making you do things you didn't want to do. This ride is making you say things you didn't want to say. This ride is making you sick; you didn't want to get sick.

When I was on that ride going in circles and it would rotate around so fast I could barely hang on and my stomach felt like it was coming up my throat...it wasn't exciting.

When I was on that ride and it would just stop at the very top and you could see the whole fair, what everyone was doing. I wanted to be down there on the ground with them but I couldn't get down...it wasn't shiny.

When I was on that ride and it would slow down like it was over and you could get off, it would speed up and change the direction it was spinning. I didn't want to change the direction I was spinning, I wanted to get off...it wasn't exciting.

When I was on that ride and it wouldn't stop I tried everything. I screamed so loud and so much my voice became hoarse. I held onto the metal bars so tight that my entire body ached. I closed my eyes, I covered my eyes with my hands, I tried to breathe but couldn't. Nothing was working. The ride would not stop so I could get off. In fact, the more I screamed and cried out, the faster it seemed to go...it wasn't shiny.

Okay, I think you must get the analogy by now. Sin and the carnival ride are similar in the way they seem shiny and exciting initially, but the look is deceiving and the trap is real and you are powerless and out of control.

There is help. There is an answer. It worked for me on the carnival ride and it can work for you on the ride sin takes you on.

The answer is Jesus. Just cry out to Him. He will answer.

That's what I did that cold, blustery day in February. High up in the air, spinning faster, trapped and miserable. I, literally, started praying out loud and said, "Lord, please, please, help me off this ride. Please make it stop. I want to get off. Please help me, Lord. Please, God, please Lord, make this ride stop." I just cried out to the Lord to make it stop.

It did. It stopped. The ride slowed down and instead of changing direction, it came to a complete halt and the metal bars raised and I was free to stand up and walk off. I could get off!

One might think I leaped out of that seat like Tigger. Nope. I was exhausted from my futile efforts and nauseous from the spinning. I just laid my head to the side and took a deep breath. The way of escape had materialized, but now I had to stand up and walk off. The door was open; it was up to me to take action.

It took me about 30 seconds, but I did stand, with help, and then walked off the ride. Never to look back!

The walk from the carnival ride to my car was not straight or easy. The drive from the fair back to work was not easy. When I parked my car at work, the motion of the car had intensified my queasiness and it was all I could do to open the car door fast enough where I could hurl!

I missed the rest of my work day. I had to lie in my car for an hour. Any movement made me dizzy. It took a full 4 hours for my stomach and head to feel normal. Driving through the carpool line was very uncomfortable and difficult that day. Moving, period was difficult until the motion sickness went away.

The Lord provides the answer to all our problems. Any sin we get involved in has a way of escape.

"No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to man; but God [is] faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear [it]."

I Corinthians 10:13

We do, and then have a responsibility to stand up and walk off.

We also have to suffer the consequences of the sin.

There may be a loss of driving privileges with drinking. There may be loss of reputation because of your actions with drinking. There may be an addiction to break with drinking. There may be a death with drinking.

There may be an unwanted pregnancy with pre-marital sex. There may be a loss of reputation or relationship with pre-marital sex. There may be an STD that causes infertility (Chlamydia), chronic disease (herpes) or death (HIV) with pre-marital sex. There may be a lifetime addiction harder to kick than a cocaine habit (pornography) that leads to sex addiction, prostitution, debt, domestic violence and the death of body, mind and spirit. 100% of the people on death row, 100%, have a full blown addiction to pornography. There may be death with pre-marital sex.

There may be jail time with pot. There may be loss of intelligence due to the holes left in your brain with pot. There may be loss of reputation and relationship with pot. There may be loss of employment with pot. There may be death (cancer) with pot.

My carnival ride was pretty harmless. Scary, queasy, uncomfortable, embarrassing and a half day of lost wages. I walked away with a funny story and good material for my blog. Are you going to be able to say that about the sin you are dabbling in? Jesus made a way of escape (I Corinthians 10:13), but will you be able to walk away and stand, how devastating will the consequences be? Will you walk down the aisle with your best friend in June, or will you be running to the ER and laying flowers on a casket? Will you be wearing white at your wedding or putting on something black to attend a funeral?

A carnival ride is funny.

A ride that sin takes you on is not funny.

A Poem for My Boy

I sat in carpool today
telling you "I had a crappy day."

You turned down the music to listen,
I was quiet and wanted to hear your music so I could listen.

The lyrics were clear
the song was about pain and how much is there.

A line about a poem the guy would read everyday
that would make it all go away.

"Wish I could write a poem to do that."
How sweet would it be, to have the words for that.

Read a poem everyday to make things better?
Maybe a song, a sonnet or it might just take a letter.

What poem could I write or find that would do it?
Nostalgia set in and I wanted to do it!

So here goes my poem, it's for you, my boy.
It's not a gun, a bike, an electronic device or just any silly toy.

It's from a Mommy's heart,
I wanted to share my part.

My part is...
I tried my best.
I did my best.
I wanted to stay.
I wanted to go.
I wanted to cry, and I did.
I wanted to scream and I did.
I wanted to just be quiet, I hardly ever did.
I wanted the best.
I needed to rest.
I felt so ugly.
I acted so ugly.
I hardly ever felt beautiful.
My actions were beautiful.
You were so beautiful.
My love for you was so beautiful.
The smartest boy, so handsome and coy.
I'm so sorry.
I didn't always know what to do or say.
I always loved you and was there to play.
I'm a good Mommy.
You're a good son.
No magic words.
Just actions and memories to have and to hold.
This poem will not numb the pain
or display the family in a pretty picture frame.
It's just a gesture to say I love you.
Thinking of your pain and how He is so crazy for you.
I did my part.
I am doing my part.
I will keep doing my part.
When you read this,
know this...

The Lord wants to give you a life abundant, apart from evil, guide you to His calling and make you all that you were meant to be.  You are an incredible young man that I am honored to be refered to as

"Jeb's Mom."

A Real Christmas Letter

Once upon a time...

I had a best friend that I shared Christmas traditions with...

One of those Christmas traditions was waiting for a particular Christmas letter from a particular family that we were particularly "catty" about. I am not saying it was particularly Christian like, and we did become quite convicted several years ago and vow not to share the Christmas letter, discuss it line by line and laugh so hard we were in danger of peeing our pants.

But come on, you know you, you've all done it!

I always joked with my former pal that I was going to write a real Christmas letter one year and just send it out to everyone. Shock the pants off them! Just be totally real.

Things like:

"My 4 year old got kicked out of her 2nd pre-school for cussing out the principal."

"We were unable put up the Christmas tree early this year because my checking account was negative again."

"In the photo, we look happy and my children look beautiful, they are dressed perfectly, all with matching bows and coordinating outfits, but we almost didn't have the picture made. My husband didn't want to take a family picture because he refused to get out of bed. Appointment times are not relevant to him and he knew it meant everything to me and if it means so much, well, every reason not to do it. It took me begging, crying and fighting before he would get out of bed and we were late, of course. It's a beautiful family portrait, though."

"In 10 short years, I've gone from infertility to 'Fertile Myrtle'. I took a pregnancy in Target and found out indeed it was pink. My marriage, kids and life are in such turmoil, though, I was afraid to tell my parents for months and my best friend refused to talk to me for 2 days because she was so upset."

"Our summer vacation was fun this year. We had the lice shampoo shipped to the hotel. I got to see my friend for the first time in a year while she picked lice eggs out of my hair and the kids played nearby. If it wasn't for the Florida sunshine, the internet homeopathic lice special, and the Gulf of Mexico, we might be driving back home with itchy heads!"

"Bible Study was fun this year, too. I was a bit embarrassed when my small group leader who runs the nursery came and asked me to get my children. No-one was sick or hurt, thank goodness, it was just a small louse she had captured in a zip lock bag to show me that my 3 year old had lice. It was good talking to the preacher's wife, although I really would have rathered it not be about having to treat the nursery for lice infestation."

All these stories are actual real life events that have occurred randomly through out the years. Some are funny and do make you laugh out loud. Others speak of the pain and suffering that life on planet earth unfortunately brings.

I'm not saying Christmas letters aren't good and that I don't enjoy getting them. I do! It's just that we seem to so busy impressing all our family and friends and even ourselves we end up "decorating" all the months of the year, not just December.

We decorate our marriage with lights and tinsel because the real thing is dark and needs a little something to spice it up. Have we tried using Jesus, the Light of the World to shed His light on the very union He created? Maybe if we followed His illuminations, we wouldn't need tinsel.

We wrap our children's sporting and academic accomplishments in pretty paper and fancy bows. We want our family and friends to see how all the patterns on the paper line up, the tape doesn't show and the bows are worthy of being store bought not homemade. This matching tissue paper, coordinated wrapping paper, bright and beautiful bows with ornamental tags reflect our own insecurities and fulfilling life long dreams and self worth through the precious ones God gave to us as a gift.

Gluttony becomes an annual tradition carried throughout the year. We start the holidays with dressing our children up and sending them door to door to collect candy no-one really needs and they will only end up getting in trouble for eating too much of it. We stuff ourselves at Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas breakfasts, and all the parties and parades between the two. We charge our cards to buy electronic devices to give our kids more things they already don't need. We overbook our time and pack more into the season than one person could possibly manage. We vow to cut back, spend and eat less with every New Year resolution that is quickly discarded and justified before Valentine's Day. That way we can spend five times the value of a flower and over indulge on candy we don't need.

I am not trying to imitate a popular green character in a Dr. Seuss book, nor the mean guy in Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." The Grinch did not steal Christmas, Satan has, and we have let him. We have let him steal so much of our calendar year. Christmas, New Year's, Easter, September 4th, May 10th and February 1st. Dates of significance about a timed honored tradition or dates of seemingly no importance except to get up, go to school and work, make dinner, read a book and go to bed.

He steals are 365 days of the year with overindulgence seen in the media, watching others have success and thinking we must compete, experiencing a culture with instant messaging, instant gratification and instant potatoes. Have you ever stopped to think there might have been some value to growing potatoes in the garden, peeling potatoes and preparing them for the family dinner? Homemade mashed potatoes; it's a lost art today. Why go home and fix something so time consuming. We can just drive through McDonalds and order a Happy Meal and we get french fried potatoes within about 2 and a half minutes.

When we sit down to create the family Christmas letter this year I wonder if we were really honest we might write something different.

What if we wrote about being a stay at home mom with several little ones at home and how we miss adult conversation and we have made 1000 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches this year and at least, changed that many diapers and you are exhausted. That you feel an extra 10 pounds from each baby is taking its toll, and how you are worried that your little angel doesn't act like such and angel and you wonder if any other mom out there is having trouble with managing their little ones?

What if we wrote that we are having trouble with our school aged children talking back, our teenager skipping school and you think you found a beer cap in his car? Just the other night, you overheard your middle schooler say there were drugs at school and you are not sure who to assign the inappropriate website found on the computer's history to, your teen or husband.

What if we quit being fake and got real, and I'm not talking about the kind of Christmas tree you pick. What if we use this instant technology to hold each other accountable? What if we used the family computer to stay in touch with family and friends and bring unity as opposed to letting your child sequester in their room and discover the dark and private dot com underworld? What if we used our social networks to promote peace and harmony as opposed to mean, cutting comments or a "one up" mentality. Post a prayer request instead of a friend request...no one has that many "friends" anyway!

Let's not "throw out the baby with the bath water", but maybe put the BABY back in our lives, and in our Christmas letters.

The Beach Where I Grew Up

Palm trees mixed with palmetto bushes and pine trees,

skirting through hot sand dotted with those hard, brown sticker things that really hurt bare feet.

Lots of shells and an oily coconut smell.

An ocean breeze that cools the burn from the hot Florida sun.

A rocky jetty,

a brown pelican bobbing,

kids swimming

and

waves crashing.

A bottle of Coke and a candy bar next to the North Jetty Surf Shop.

Surf wax,

cold terazzo floors

and

that bell sound when you open the door to the convenience store.

Blueberry hill where "Lizzie" (my car) got air,

reckless driving and brown summer skin.

An impatient teenager that lost a precious jewel in the sand.

Pure pleasure,

a world to escape to.

Windows rolled down,

very loud music and my hair blowing all over.

I lived for the weekends.

Days to be spent under the blazing heat.

Never enough water, sand or sun for me.

Give me a shack on the beach,

a tikki hut by the river,

or a boat docked in the marina.

I'll never live those years again.

Some days were crazy.

Some days were lazy.

Some days were even hazy.

 Those days were lessons in life I will never forget.

Hard lessons I've learned in the sand,

but I am who I am

because of the boardwalk over the sand.

*I know it's Thanksgiving and we are actually getting into the 40's tonight, not exactly the post you might expect.  However, "The Beach Where I Grew Up" is about a place I am very thankful for!  :) Summer represents celebration and I know that fall is indicitive of the harvest season.  But see I am in the winter season right now and even with Christmas songs playing in the background I long for the summer season.  A season to celebrate.  You must have that particular season to get to the harvest, you know.  Another season I long for.  Really, I just want winter to end...and when I glance at the calendar...it's just starting...

Random Thoughts From A 13 Year Old

I took 3 of my children and our babysitter to church the other night and my oldest daughter requested something to write on and with during the service. All too happy to oblige, I provided paper and pen. Quite possibly she was going to take notes, study and apply it to her life.

I read her notes following church and with her permission I would like to share what she wrote using her own sentence structure, spelling and unique note taking style...

Caverley Capel is big ^^^

Pastor Bob is the pastor ^^^

Thier symbol is a bird ^^^

Close friends will tell you if you have bad breath ^^^

The cross is purple tonight ^^^

Is raining hard ^^^

(She drew a flower) Thats a flower ^^^

me and Terra are wearing similar jeans :) ^^^

Pastor Bob is flippin verses ^^

Joshep’s Brothes are being mean ^^^

Baby are you down, down, down, down, down ^^^

School is stupid ^^^

BAM It just thundered ^^^

Pastor Bob makes wierd voices ^^^

The lights are bright in here ^^^

My tooth hurts ^^^

This is boring ^^^

I have three bracelets on ^^^

Mommy’s texting but doesn’t want me to ^^^

And Bob laughs ^^^

lets not kill him...lets sell him!

Well that not nice ^^^ LOL

Why is Joshep silent in the pit? werdo

I’d be screaming ^^^

im a tell you one time & me & U ^

Well why is that?

Shut off your cell phone dummy

My cursive sucks

hahaha. you can hear pages turning

Mommy has a page ripped out ^^^

Halabaloo ^^^ Idk???

Samatha ^ I miss her :(

Um ya soooo, Pastor Bob is being funny.

Pastor Bob looks like that skeleton character on Mario Cart ^^^LOL

The lady in front of me has a Boston Red sox hat on ^^^

Just Sayin...

Mommy faurted ^^^

Now is prayer time and exception time...

Everyone cept me is standing ^^^ 00000

I feel baaaad

“Yes. Jesus,” Mother says AMEN

Not exactly the sermon notes I might expect, yet on the other hand, in the midst of my daughter’s random thought life, funny comments, and actual events that were taking place, I think some Biblical insight was obtained. It’s probably too early to tell, and it’s probably too early to see routine action based on Pastor Bob’s sermon. Somehow in those random notes, as a mom, I see her personality, her heart and her desire to please God. I see some of her reality, I see things she has been exposed to in her life, I see her struggling, I see her memories and I see her future.

You may or may not understand such subtleties I noted. Random comments that are not so random. Like the simple comment regarding the lady wearing the Boston Red Sox hat...

It means so much more than a baseball team for our family. The Boston Red Sox represent the period in our life when we Floridians took up residency in the quaint New England town of Barrington, Rhode Island for 2 years. We experienced the culture and climate change of our lives. We also have some very fond memories of a time in the midst of an extremely difficult experience for me as an adult, mom and wife.

The Boston hat reminds us of having to drive 40 minutes away to a Cracker Barrel. A restaurant that became so much more than just a restaurant. It was a place to reconnect to our southern roots. A place to call “home.” The only place we could get sweet tea, grits, biscuits and gravy in the northeast. We treasured our trips to Cracker Barrel. They became an eager anticipation that took on a life of its own. A way to ail our homesickness, yet share together as a family.

That Boston hat represents our family trips to Boston. Sweet family trips in the blistering heat and the bitter cold. Watching a street performer named Stitch that made us laugh out loud. Stitch was no longer the cartoon partner on “Lilo and Stitch.” Stitch was now a Boston tradition embedded in our family memory bank.

That Boston hat gives us all warm fuzzy’s when we think of our trips into the city for visits to Dr. Joy. Joy she gave us, too. A pediatric dentist that made fluoride, Novocain and that awful odor seem like a trip to Disney. She had a treasure box, a fish tank, tooth fairy pillows and video games. When you walked into her office it was as if you were stepping into a make believe world. A world where it was just happy, fun and even the sound of a drill made you smile.

Seeing that Boston logo on a hat could be the visual that takes us back to another trip into the city when we visited Fenway Park. Walking up and down the stadium steps with “Tigger,” I mean Jeb, the resident tour guide Meghan, when are we going to sit down Reagan, get back here Sarah Grace, I wish we had left the stroller in the car Lily, a little slower Grandma Cookie, awestruck Caleb, a little directionally challenged Tabby. And who could forget the culmination of the day at the restaurant across from the ballpark? Sarah gave quite the almost 3 year old performance as she sang the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” doing the motions with her left hand, as she colored on the placemat with her right. Just let me say, it was worthy of “America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

If I know my daughter like I think I do, that Boston Red Sox hat speaks of a time in our family when we felt like foreigners in an unfamiliar world. A world where snow plows, snow piles, and snow days replaced our familiar sand castles, sandy floorboards and sandy beaches. The word negative was not a math term but a weather forecast. “Oprah” was viewed as the sun was setting at 4 o’clock in the afternoon and real life fairy tale swans replaced the ugly black and white Muskogee Florida ducks.

Living in New England was way out of this mom’s comfort zone. I went from an outdoorsy, social, always on the go, fashion conscious, never enough time to do it all mom; to an always at home, cooked dinner every night, got all the laundry done, sitting for hours in the sun while rocking babies, hot tea drinking, flannel pajama and wool sock wearing mom.

As my hair grew long, the winter grew long; and while enjoying the effect the cold had on my locks, I also was enjoying the effect the cold had on our family. The long, cold winter was very difficult for me personally, but with less sunlight, an almost non-existent social life, and unavoidable limitations due to the weather, gave us ample opportunity to just be together.

Reality still existed at 35 South Street, Barrington, Rhode Island. We still had drama. We still had arguments. We even had some horrible incidents. Life still carried on. I still threw up with baby number 5, just like I did with baby’s 1, 2, 3 and 4. We still had bills to pay, poopy diapers to change, and even changing addresses thousands of miles, some things remained the same.

We have always been a family that enjoyed the game of baseball. Baseball has played a part in a great majority of our memories. When I think of Fenway in Boston, or see a clip on tv, I think of the kids posing for a picture with the scoreboard as a backdrop. I think of holding Sarah and trying to keep Lily quiet as we sat in the wooden seats trying to hear the tour guide provide historical facts and sports trivia. I recall holding my breath, desperately hoping that Jeb would not jump over one of the seats and break something so famous.

I just remember smiling a lot in Boston.

I bet my daughter remembers smiling a lot in Boston.

I can not pretend to know everything my daughter thought about that night at church for 2 hours. All I get is a glimpse. As well as I know my girl, and I do know her well. I only get a glimpse that I see. In Jeremiah 17, verse 9, it reads like this: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it?” Verse 10 tells us: “I, the LORD, search the heart...”

I may read her “sermon” notes and see a glimpse of her heart but the Lord, alone, is the only One who truly knows her heart. I can read those random phrases and even be pretty close at relating why she notices the Boston Red Sox hat because I have spent time in relationship with my daughter. Jeremiah tells us, though, that we do not even know our own heart. That it is deceitful. The Message Bible declares it “is a puzzle no one can figure out. But I, GOD, search the heart and examine the mind. I get to the heart of the human. I get to the root of things. I treat them as they really are, not as they pretend to be.”

Playing dress up and pretend is fun. As children pretend play it is a necessary tool to proper development. As an adult, pretending is known as having a false reality or being in denial. Denial is a sometimes needed coping mechanism to protect oneself in a dysfunctional or crisis situation in life. But just as children outgrow Barbie’s and GI Joe’s, one must outgrow the pretend games.

Some of us are living in “Candy Land,” by sugar coating our reality.

We place so little value on our finances we spend and borrow like we are in a game of “Monopoly.”

We pick and choose our values and twist the truth as if we are on a polka-dotted mat playing “Twister.”

We act out our lives, going through the motions, denying reality, only showing others what we want them to know which reminds me of “Charades.”

The Lord can read between the lines on your “sermon” notes. He knows whether you are playing with a full deck, taking out the Joker or if your time is always spent on that polka-dot mat twisting the truth. Your life is the ultimate reality show. God is the producer, writer, director and film crew. It’s both a prime time show and a syndicated re-run on TV Land.

Submit your heart to Him. He is the only One who can know it. He is the only One who knows your child’s heart. Trust Him with your heart. Trust Him with your child’s heart. This is not a game of “Life.” There is not a spinner on a board game left to chance. Your kids are not little pink or blue pegs you insert into the plastic game piece. You don’t get to roll the dice for college or pick a card to get your salary amount. Save the board games for family night.  Play the real game of life by living in reality and following God’s rules.