As we prepare to celebrate Good Friday, I’m marveling at these paradoxes bound up in Jesus’ death: all we gained through his loss. Hope it increases your overwhelming adoration like it does mine. (PRINT IT HERE, and feel free to share if you like it.)
Who believes what we’ve heard and seen? Who would have thought God’s saving power would look like this?
My husband and I were riding home in the dark last night, drinking in that laundry-on-the-line feeling of spring, even though I know in Colorado it won’t last long. (I’m scheduling this post for a day when they’re predicting more snow.) We talked about some happy successes with my new business. I mean, it’s not Africa, but I’m excited about it, I shrugged as we pulled to a stop sign. It’s okay.This doesn’t need to be Africa. It’s a new box; new expectations.
In keeping with my recent infatuation with infographics, today’s post is an attempt to visually portray the thoughts in this popular post, 11 Ideas for More Emotionally-whole and HealthyParenting (which in turn can give you more complete ideas).
Print it FREE here!And if you like it, I’d love it if you shared it so more people can have access to these ideas.
Here’s to a more “wholehearted ” week at your house.read more
Okay, it’s weird to admit this. But there’s an element of living in Africa, being a missionary and all that (or “working in development,” depending on your angle), which if dropped casually in the right circles, instantly hands one to a crumb of celebrity status. And it was really a cool job, y’know? And it made me really…happy. But I did a lot of exceedingly normal things over there. I shopped for a lot of groceries. Disciplined/schooled a lot of kids (well. Mine, anyway). I slept for about one-third of the time.
My most popular post for this blog hands-down has been Shame on You? On Shame-parenting vs. guilt exposure. It seems like all of us can resonate with the gripping force of shame in our lives–and the longing to give our kids something more.
Squirreled away in my attic somewhere you’ll find a handful of my spiral notebooks from college. I covered them with brown paper back then; pasted colorful collages of magazine photos on the outside, sometimes with handwriting in black ink edging the photos. I was an assiduous note-taker during all those college chapels. Didn’t want to miss a thing. (Which has its advantages, though I could have stood to be a bit more discerning.) I still vaguely remember one of the lines my mind latched on to: something about letting our lives be an example for others.
And we see that all over in Scripture, right? The city on a hill. Paul’s words to be wise in the way you behave toward outsiders.
But the other day on a blog, I read a question parents were to pose to their kids in times of discipline: Are you being a good example? I gotta admit. I cringed at that one a little bit. Honestly, it’s probably a fine question. But my mind flew back to that line in my notebook. I remember reading it years later and thinking, I got that one wrong.
I’ve gleaned a ton of great practical thoughts on this from Jeremy Taylor, a guy born over 400 years ago. This guy (1613-1667) was a chaplain to Charles I and a prolific, vivid author with keen insight into human behavior.
It’s a classic moment in our family lore, though I rightfully roll my eyes when it’s retold. (Again.)
Before my husband was even my boyfriend, there was this potentially lovely moment when he disclosed his intentions. That’s right. He was actually doing what we want young men to do: Speaking plainly (there is no other way for my husband). Not playing games.
So imagine a spring night in the South, us just having returned from coffee on campus. We’ve come to a stop at the door to my dorm.read more
It was a handful of years ago now. Our family was hauling around the States on a trip back from Uganda. I stood at a gas station in Arkansas, an eye on the climbing digital numbers of my gas purchase. I was deliberately attempting not to look at the car parked two lanes over, whose car alarm was freaking out at what looked to be its owner.
I didn’t want to embarrass the woman. Poor thing. It didn’t help that her lapdogs were going bananas behind the glass.
I looked up at my oldest son climbing out of the car. Blonde, blue-eyed, and nearly eleven, he spoke in a low voice so that I inclined my head.read more