Hi, friend! I am so glad you have stopped by my little corner of the internet. I hope you’ll take some time to look around and join our wonderful community of moms here as we learn to be better moms together!
I mentioned the other day on social media that I'd just taken a pan of peanut butter apple crisp out of the oven. My pages blew up with requests for the recipe.
So, I'm sharing it here today. It really does receive rave reviews every time.
Praying with your children is an important activity that families should prioritize but when many of us struggle to pray consistently on our own, teaching our children to pray may sometimes seem a bit of a daunting task.
But it doesn’t have to be!
We just finished raising our kids. We dropped off our baby at college this week, and he went with his own car keys, bank account, and student loans.
A few weeks ago, that boy of mine was re-stringing his electric guitar all over the kitchen counter (which he promised me he would clean up when he was done.) I was scrubbing dishes and loading the dishwasher, but I turned off the water and looked at him.
“Son, I’m not sure I’ve ever told you this, but I am so pleased with you,” I said. “You are the kind of man I always hoped you would be.”
I have spent a large portion of my life worried about ridiculous things. I hover in the coat closet during thunderstorms (you know, for tornado protection). I'm first in line at Urgent Care when I detect a suspicious-looking mole. Things like that.
Well, somehow, in His omniscience and wisdom, God saw fit to give me, the already-frantic worrier, my little son Sam, who has life-threatening allergies to foods we are around every day.
For the first time, a real reason to worry.
It was a blinding, radiant white the day we got married, me floating down the aisle bathed in gold and candlelight. I was draped in lace, the flowers woven into my hair as fresh as my love as I gave everything to that “I do.”
He wore a pinstriped tux that we got for free by coercing his unsuspecting groomsmen into also renting overly expensive suits for a fancy dinner.
We stood at the altar in black and white and we loved each other and there were no shades of grey.
When it broke it broke hard, slipped right through our fingers and shattered as we stood next to an incubator and watched our only child struggle to live.
In her amazing reflection on the horror playing out across news and social media streams this summer as Planned Parenthood is exposed, Sarah Clarkson has called what’s happening a “Failure of Imagination.”
Ann Voskamp adds that it is both a failure of community and “a failure of humanity: failing a human being in crisis and a human being in utero.”
The images rolling across my stream turn my stomach, turn my head, turn my heart pale, compel me to turn off the screens.
