About Joy

I am a writer, photog, mother of 3, wife to the love of my life and a seeker of Christ. I talk about this journey as a recovering narcissistic, self loathing, hypocrite. The goal is to start a conversation through either words or moments captured through the lens. Most importantly, it has to be authentic. Otherwise, what's the point?

A Not so Silent Night

Posted on December 18, 2011 by Joy

As I think about Christmas, the gifts, the fellowship, the stress….the birth of Christ, I am overwhelmed by the incredible truth that Jesus came as a human being, knowing that he would have to experience the pain of this world and one day take it all on himself so that we could live…

Being a mother of 3, I can’t help but think of Mary. I thought of her more last year than I ever have…until this year.

With a beautiful friend spending the next 24 hours (give or take a few) with her baby girl in her womb, knowing that once she is born, her life will be short, I am flooded with all kinds of emotions. Most I am unable to articulate.

My heart is heavy. Knowing from firsthand experience that a mother’s heart is never prepared to let her child go.

So my mind races with thoughts of what Monday will look like for Katie.

I think of her husband and her two daughters, how they will be affected, what they will be feeling. However, it isn’t the same. A mother spends more than 9 months feeling this little life move inside her womb. She talks to her, sings to her, names her (Hallie), pats her belly as if to say, “I’m here and I love you already”. There is nothing to prepare her to let her go…

Mary knows what it is like to lose a child.

The perspective of a mother watching her beautiful baby boy smile and coo knowing in her heart that one day she would also watch him die. I can’t fathom it.

I think of her, watching her precious little one (the Savior of the world) run around outside, playing and laughing, the sun reflecting off of his hair as she thinks, “When Lord? When will it be? How much time do I have?”

Over the weekend, Chris and I took our boys and a friend’s daughter (who we love to pieces) to the Nature Center. They love it there. I had to be all but dragged as Friday is my pajama pants day. I threatened Christopher with wearing pj pants in public, but he didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

Once we got there and realized that we pretty much had the whole place to ourselves, I was able to exhale.

The beautiful flowers and plants that we had seen blooming only weeks ago were now brown and leaves covered the ground. The signs of fall were all but gone and winter was announcing its arrival.

It’s amazing how different the exact same tree looked, stretching to the sky with its now naked branches.

It was an overcast day, but the sky still looked amazing and the breeze was just enough. It was as if God was acknowledging sadness.

I loved hearing the kiddos squeal with delight as they ran through the crunchy leaves, stopping only to climb on a rock or pick up a stick to throw into the river.

I watched them look in amazement at all the different creatures along our path. The dirt was even fascinating to their young minds. Their imaginations were taking them to far off places with invisible swords and maidens in distress. Where the good guy always wins and rides off with the girl.

As I watched their interactions…their complete lack of concern for time…the looks on their faces as they ran around corners, stopping at each clearing to see if there were fish surfacing the water…my mind went back to Mary.

Did she watch Jesus play this way? Laughing and jumping? Throwing rocks and sticks into the water as he called to his siblings?

Did he know from the beginning the enormity of his glory? Or was he able to maintain that child like wonder? His father is God after all! The Creator of the Universe.

When looking at my own sons, it’s rather difficult to take in.

Did Jesus scrape his knees and have common childhood illness’? Did he run to his mother for comfort?

What if he had come as he deserved? There would have been no Bethlehem. There would have been no animals or Shepherds at his birth. There would have been no Mary.

But he didn’t come as he deserved. He came as a helpless infant.

I’m guessing that Mary experienced the pain that childbirth brings that is like no other pain in the world. And that when Jesus was born, it was not a silent night. I’m guessing that she screamed out under the labor of giving birth and that Jesus cried, as every healthy baby does, after being delivered.

I would also guess that his father, Joseph, was the doctor and the nurse. There probably weren’t many midwives on the streets of Bethlehem that night.

So why? Why did he enter the world this way? Or at all for that matter? You have to admit, it’s a strange way to save the world.

I think he did it so that when I look at my son, I realize what an incredible sacrifice was made. I can relate to the pain of giving birth. I can relate to watching my babies grow and thanking God for the time with them and the incredible gift that they are.

There really wasn’t any other way.

There are many, many things that I do not and will not understand in this life.
That’s okay. I’m not called to understand, I’m called to believe.

So in the case of sweet Katie and baby Hallie, I have to believe what a friend said in prayer the other day… that little Hallie’s life has already had more of an impact than many of us will make in a lifetime. Another said that the only reality she will ever know is Heaven. (Now that is a beautiful visual)

The difficult part is not for those who go meet the Savior. It is for those of us who are left behind with the unanswered questions and a sadness that aches as if it will never heal.

How do those without God do it?! How does one who does not believe in a Savior (other than themselves) survive pain that is so unjustifiable? I cannot wrap my mind around it.

In the Father I have a promise of something more than this world. That is what keeps me hanging on during the rough moments.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

In this world there will be sorrow. For those of us who know that this world is not our home, we cling to the truth, that a man, Jesus, came as a baby in a wooden manager filled with hay and then died on a cross made from a tree (one that his father had created), taking all of our guilt, shame and defects, upon himself so that we may not perish, but have everlasting life.

I look forward to meeting Mary and talking with her as one mom to another.

What was your name again?!

Posted on December 6, 2011 by Joy

(This post is dedicated to my beautiful friend who is drowning in a sea of self-pity, completely blind to her incredible worth while attempting to numb the pain of reality through addiction. May God save you from yourself, friend. I love you!)

Has this ever happened to you?

Not just to those of you who woke up this morning beside someone who’s name you didn’t know or couldn’t remember, so you slid out from under the covers relieved to find that you were still wearing the clothes from last night. Luckily you were able to slip out undetected and make the walk of shame home or back to your last stop to pick up your car. (For those of you who are reading this thinking, it’s Tuesday morning! Who does that on a Monday night?! Congratulations! You are not a hopeless alcoholic or drug addict.)

I’m also talking to those who forget introductions right after they happen (I know this happens because I do it). Trying with all your might to remember someone you just met who holds the future of your career in their hands. Or someone you were supposed to connect with about a job interview in this bad economy where one cannot take any referrals for granted.

I have heard that when being introduced to someone, if you will repeat their name 3 times in your head, you are sure to remember it. Tried it. Didn’t work. Maybe I’ve killed to many braincells?

How about this one…have you ever forgotten your own name? Sounds crazy, right?

Well, call me crazy, there was a time when I forgot my own name.

Not in the literal sense, mind you, in a far more devastating way.

It may be better said that I denied my name, ignoring who I was and falling prey to what I had become, which I thought at the time, defined me.

Joy by definition means;

a : the emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or by the prospect of possessing what one desires : delight b : the expression or exhibition of such emotion : gaiety

2 : a state of happiness or felicity : bliss

3 : a source or cause of delight

Just look how many different fun and happy ways the word can be written. Google it! You will not find it written in any other way than that which is uplifting and…happy.

There was a time in my life when I was anything but one of these definitions. It’s a lot of pressure to walk around with a name that means happiness, delight, well-being. I mean seriously. How could my mother have been so mean when deciding what to call me?! Knowing that every time I introduced myself to someone they would expect me to be happy ALL the time. Right? I mean, how can you walk around angry, sad or expressing any negative emotion whatsoever when your name is something that means happiness?! (This is assuming of course that she thought through all of the scenario’s that I would be in for the rest of my life)

My mom has said that she almost named me Ginger with a J (Jinger). My dad didn’t like the name, thank the Lord! He said that no one would spell it right and I would forever be known as Ginger with a J. So when I look at it that way, I am incredibly grateful. (No offense to any of you Gingers with a J!)

I had a roommate at the peak of my self destructive behavior who called me out on my bs. When she had finally had enough of my lying, stealing, destructive behavior, she told me that I had until the end of the month to move out. I was so angry with her.

She didn’t ask that I pay her back the money she had given me to pay the utility, phone or water bill, after I spent it on drugs (more than once) or the cash that I freely claimed as my own if it was laying out anywhere. She simply asked me to leave.

She later told me (when I was capable of listening) that she hoped she was saving my life, because instead of a Joy, I had become a Pain. Instead of being a source of light and hope, I evoked hopelessness. (Ouch!)

Pain by definition means;

1: punishment

2 a : usu. localized physical suffering associated with bodily disorder (as a disease or an injury); also : a basic bodily sensation induced by a noxious stimulus, received by naked nerve endings, characterized by physical discomfort (as pricking, throbbing, or aching), and typically leading to evasive action b : acute mental or emotional distress or suffering : grief

3 plural : the throes of childbirth

4 plural : trouble, care, or effort taken to accomplish something <was at pains to reassure us>

5 : one that irks or annoys or is otherwise troublesome —often used in such phrases as pain in the neck

She was right! I am beyond grateful that she had the courage to stand up to me and say she wasn’t going to stand by and watch me self destruct. I am so thankful that she did not, instead, enable me to continue down the path I was on. That, my friends, is real love. It’s difficult, honest and unconditional.

It has taken over a decade, but I am coming back into my name. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly (that would be me…the sometimes slowly part!).

Instead of my path of destruction that looked similar to this…

I now do a lot more of this…

Today, I love my name. Don’t get me wrong, I can fall into that same old pattern of thinking. The difference being that I now have the tools to snap out of it before I am on a full blown trip of my big ugly ego.

It’s a daily, sometimes hourly, surrender. Turning it over to the One who knows me best. Giving up control and admitting that when it comes to managing my own life, I suck at it. Asking for Divine help. Forget this earthly garble. I want something with an eternal guarantee!

So today, I am owning my name. FINALLY, at 35 years old. Well, someone congratulate me!

If you are like I was, broken and without hope, but there is no one there to speak truth into your heart, I beg you to reach out to someone at one of the resources I am listing below. Click on the name and it will take you directly to the website. As long as you are breathing, there is still hope.

To Write Love on Her Arms

People of the Second Chance

Central Christian Church: Las Vegas

Bless ‘er heart

Posted on November 21, 2011 by Joy

Ah, the South… there is no other place like it.

We have beautiful skies, changing seasons that turn the trees into shedding masterpieces and roots that go as deep as their branches grow high.

There’s a church on every corner and if you go far enough South, a porch on every house.

For those of us from the South (at times affectionately referred to as the ‘Bible Belt’) or who have been here for any length of time, the phrase “Bless ‘er heart” is all too familiar.

Southern women have been saying it since the beginning of time.

There is no discriminating against genders. It’s just that “Bless ‘er heart” is used more often than “Bless ‘is heart” or “their heart” for that matter. Young ladies get called out far more than boys because it is assumed that boys will act out for the simple fact that they are, well, boys.

Girls, however, are held to a far higher standard. They must always give the appearance of a sweet, innocent young lady. This means never drinking directly from a bottle, always having a fresh coat of lipstick and never being caught in public with nail polish that’s chipping or messy hair.

I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself while counting how many times my mom said this phrase while in a conversation about a gal in Alabama who had lost her way. Meaning, she was sleeping around, drinking too much, cussing like a sailor and seemingly enjoying it.

Conversations like these with judgmental Southern “Ladies” used to evoke anger. I would feel it rise up from the pit of my gut to the top of my throat.

Now, well, now, it’s nostalgic.

Immediately I am taken back to a time when I would spend Summers at my grandmother’s house in the deep South. We would sit on the front porch shellin’ peas. Well, I would be shellin’ peas while she sat fanning her face and saying, “This is the hottest Summer I can remember.” She said that every year and now my dad says it.

I called my grandmother “Mamaw”. She was not a “bless ‘er heart” kind of woman. She was a hard ass. She worked most of her life as a school teacher when segregation was the norm. Boy did she have some stories. If you knew what was good for you, you would not cross her. Everyone in town knew this. They called her Annie. Which was appropriate since her name was Annabel.

I loved to listen to her. I also had a healthy fear of her. Being the youngest of three girls I had seen what happened when my sisters disobeyed or talked back. It had to do with a paddle my dad had made when he was in a fraternity in college.

There is only one time I can remember her picking up that paddle with the intention of “wearing out my backside”. I ran and hid in a closet. I could hear her saying, “Joy Beth! You better get out here!” I don’t know how long I was in that closet, but by the time I emerged, she had cooled off and the paddle had been put away. She laughed and said, “You got away with it this time, but next time…”

I did not give her a next time. As Sally Mae would say, “That learnt me!” Sally Mae made the best cornbread and dressin’. If I close my eyes, my mouth waters as I can still smell and taste it.

Any who, back to the front porch on that hot Summer day…

My mom and aunt would be in the sitting room and the screen door was open. (It was always open in the front and the back of the house so that the non-existent breeze could move through the house giving us a false sense that it was cooler).

During that conversation there were “Bless ‘er heart’s” flying everywhere.

It usually sounded something like this, “We need to pray for Betty, bless ‘er heart, I heard her husband is sleeping around.” Or, “Keep Charlene in your prayers, she just can’t seem to lose weight, bless ‘er heart. She is bigger every time I see her.”

You get the gist. Now if you ever heard a double “Bless ‘er heart”, look out! There is no juicier gossip being said under the guise of a prayer request than that worthy of a double “Bless ‘er heart”.

An example of this would be something that resembled, “Poor Katherine! She drove to the city to have her hair done and they cut too much off. Bless ‘er heart, her face was not made for short hair. I’m not tryin’ to be ugly, but the color, oh, well, it will take weeks to look like anything close to a believable shade. She paid a lot of money too, bless ‘er heart. I hear her husband is not happy.”

Yes, watch out for the double whammy!

Mamaw would smile and look at me. We always had the kind of relationship where we didn’t have to speak to know what the other was thinking.

She would then say, “Joy Beth, why don’t you go pick up some pecans and bring them back here to shell, while I run in and refill my tea?”

I knew that she was going to tell the ladies to move to another room or talk about something else. Otherwise she would have asked me to refill her tea, stating, “Well your legs are younger than mine!”.
(I would have gladly done it. No one I have ever known worked as hard as my grandmother.)

When I came back with my bucket full of pecans there was no more talk from the other room. I could write an entire book just about my grandmother. She was an amazing woman. When she said something, that made it so. There were no questions asked.

I don’t know if she was guarding me from the gossip or if she herself got sick of listening to it? Either way, she put an end to the “Prayer requests circle”.

For those of you who haven’t grown up hearing this phrase, hopefully you will walk away with the not so secret knowledge that when a Southern lady is using the phrase, “Bless ‘er heart”, she might as well be saying a four letter word.

He forgives me…He forgives me not…He forgives me…

Posted on November 14, 2011 by Joy

“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus,” Romans 8:1

Do you believe that scripture? Do you care? Do you even think about sin? Do you justify and rationalize behavior that you know separates you from the One who knows you better than anyone else?

I do.

Do you ever play this game with your sin? “God, I know you forgive me for that one, but maybe not this one? I mean, how could you? This one is hideous. I cringe whenever it comes to mind.”

I do. More than I like to admit.

So I continue to ask forgiveness over and over and over again…for something God doesn’t even remember after the first repentance.

There are verses scattered throughout God’s word about forgiveness. How the Father remembers our sin no more after we come to Him. So why can’t we “remember no more.” ?

I think I know the answer. At least for why I won’t let myself forget.

I think that I deserve punishment. I should suffer for the things I have done whether 5 minutes or 5 years ago.

I call it my pity prison and though not my intention, it deems me absolutely useless to the work of the Father.

That’s not how God works. Nor is it what He wants for my life. Not because I am destined to be a programmed robot who spits out bible verses every time I’m in a situation that calls for a response. But because He wants me to live life and live it more abundantly.

He tells me right there in John 10:10 “A thief is only there to steal and kill and destroy (that thief is my shame). I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of.”

Do I really believe this?

Do I truly believe, with all of the terrible things happening around me that He wants what’s best? That He wants to exceed all expectations? That His plan is without flaw, unlike my intentions?

“Because of the sacrifice of the Messiah, his blood poured out on the altar of the Cross, we’re a free people—free of penalties and punishments chalked up by all our misdeeds. And not just barely free, either. Abundantly free! He thought of everything, provided for everything we could possibly need, letting us in on the plans he took such delight in making. He set it all out before us in Christ, a long-range plan in which everything would be brought together and summed up in him, everything in deepest heaven, everything on planet earth.” Ephesians 1:7-10 (MSG)

So, in other words, when my being a repeat offender leads to becoming a repeat confessor, I am saying that the cross is not enough. That the blood of my Savior, poured out for me, is not enough. That the hours of pain so intense I cannot even wrap my mind around it, was not enough. That the nail scarred hands where He was pierced, was not enough.

That even though He would have endured Calvary for my life alone, I need a little more proof that not only the little thing was forgiven, but the really big thing that I have been carrying around for years.

No matter the size of the sin, that is what held Him there.

“God rescued us from dead-end alleys and dark dungeons. He’s set us up in the kingdom of the Son he loves so much, the Son who got us out of the pit we were in, got rid of the sins we were doomed to keep repeating.” Colossians 1:13-14

I love the word rescued. Say it out loud… Rescued. Just the sound of it stirs feelings of hope.

Many times I have found that the hardest person to forgive is myself. My mind sits on repeat and torments me with feelings of guilt and shame. These are the times when I ask the Father to lead me to the cross.

If there is one thing I am sure of my friend, it’s that the cross… is… more than enough.

When ya gotta go, ya gotta go…Officer

Posted on November 4, 2011 by Joy

I was trying to explain this as he stopped behind my car, where I had pulled over to let my 3 year old…how shall I say…relieve himself.

(Go ahead, judge me. I deserve it.)

I was sure it would help my case that the police officer was a male, as he could empathize with my little boy’s full bladder and the fact that it’s actually faster to pull over and let him drop trou on the side of the road. As he walked over, I quickly began justifying my actions in the most ~~manipulative~~…I mean, logical and honest of ways.

“Well Officer, he hasn’t been potty trained for that long and when he says he has to go, you can guarantee, in less than 5 min., he’s gonna go. And, well, I told him to go before we left the house just down the road and he said he didn’t have to. I won’t make that mistake again! Next time I will MAKE him go before we leave! AND he doesn’t have his pants around his ankles…they are just below his cute little 3-year-old buns. I am blocking him as best I can! I’m sorry! I know I should have gone into the store and used the facilities, but you see, I am somewhat of a germaphobe and public restrooms make my skin crawl. And port-o-pots, well, I feel like sanitizing my hands after just looking at one!”

I paused long enough to breathe and then apologized profusely. Some call it groveling. I call it, not going to jail for indecent exposure and urinating on public property/grass (even if it was done by a 3-year-old)!

“I won’t do it again (knowing that I would, I would just pick a less traveled patch of grass next time), Sir! I’m so, so sorry! I have always been one to ask forgiveness rather than permission. I’ve learned my lesson!”

I noticed a grin start to spread across his face.

Cue inner monologue: “Oh no! He’s going to make an example out of me, I just know it! When the police station or DFCS calls Chris to come and pick up our child, while I’m sitting in a jail cell with a prostitute and teenager who was arrested the night before for public intoxication, well, I just don’t know how I will explain this to him?! There’s always a positive side. I’m wearing my “Be Bold” bracelet from church, maybe I can share with the gals in my cell! Yeah! It all makes sense now!”

About 5.3 seconds had passed without a word.

I looked down to see my son with his jeans now around his ankles. Thankfully his lightning McQueen underpants were pulled up! He was grinning from ear to ear up at the policeman.

Just then, my sweet boy exclaimed with utter delight, “YOU’RE A COMMUNITY HELPER!!!”

“That’s right, son. I sure am.” said the officer proudly.

He then looks at me and says, “Ma’am, that was quite an explanation you gave. You an attorney?”

“No, Sir.,” I replied.
“I’m a writer who loves photography and my day job is, Preschool Director… at my church.” (Ughhhhh, please don’t ask which church!)

By this time I was sure that my entire face was red and my chest was splotchy (this is what happens when I am humiliated).

He chuckled, making me feel even more inadequate as a mother and someone who cares for others children.

I couldn’t see his expression through the dark lenses of his glasses. “I have a grandson about your boy’s age. He loves to pee in the yard. I hated to stop your speech, seein’ as you were on such a role. Though it wasn’t necessary.”, he said.

“Really?! You have no idea…”

He interrupted, “I admire you for allowing your son to be a boy. Maybe next time you could avoid the grass right off a major road. Some people tend to frown on things like this.”

“Um, yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir! Thank you! I’m sure your grandson is a fine boy!” (Did I really just call his grandson a fine boy?! Shut up, Joy!!!)

“Have a nice day, young lady.”

“You too!” I said with enthusiasm while waving vigorously as he drove away. My child still standing in his underwear with his pants around his ankles said, “Mom, can we go now?!”

“Yes, Darling. Thank the Lord, we can!”

There are three takeaways from this story…

#1 ~ Talk less.

#2 ~ Never judge a mother letting her child go number one on the side of the road. Find out the circumstances. Then you can judge.

#3 ~ Don’t talk about others in a negative light, one day you may find yourself doing the exact same thing that made you think them absurd.

photo credit

When Cancer is no longer a Stranger

Posted on October 28, 2011 by Joy

I tried to think of a great title for this and well, that is the one I came up with. All of the others had profanity. I am mad as hell right now, as I write this. I figured when I calmed down a little I would regret saying the f word in a blog title or post for that matter. So, that’s that.

I want to share a story with you. It’s a story about the difference between what I think is fair and what I have to believe (through faith only, not logic or feelings or emotion or justice) to be God’s plan.

It’s a story about how sometimes, in the midst of it all, I am too sad to cry, too angry to scream, too numb to pray and too lackadaisical to ask God for any input.

There is this girl. Her name is Elliot. She is beautiful and smart, kind and generous. Her entire life has been based on faith, the love of Christ and her family. She is married to the love of her life and with him, she has, two beautiful young children.

Elliot is a loyal friend. She is a follower of Christ…a daughter…a sister…a wife…a mother.

Then there is me. It is I who have spent the majority of my life living for myself. I ran from God and thought I could hide, but He always found me. Though it would be years of heartache and wreckage before I finally surrendered, God had a plan and still does. I emerged from my prodigal journey with many scars, but overall rather unscathed. I am married to the love of my life and with him, I have, two beautiful young children.

I am doing my best to make up for time that was frivolously spent. I am a follower of Christ…a daughter…a sister…a wife…a mother.

Elliot has a deadly form of cancer.

It is showing itself to be relentless in it’s attempts to ravage her body.

As of today it has spread to her lungs and liver.

Three weeks ago, her scans were clear.

She needs a miracle…

Elliot and I have been friends for more than two decades.
We went to school together, grew up in church together, played tennis together, had slumber parties, talked about boys and God and our parents together. She still talked to me when others wouldn’t because they did not agree with the way I was behaving. And though I’m certain she didn’t agree, she didn’t shun me.

I cannot help but ask, “WHY HER?!”

She’s done it right. She was a good girl who lived right. Why her?!

Lord, what are you up to??? It is through clenched teeth that I say, “I know God has a plan… He is still in control… He loves us more than any human ever could… In all situations give thanks… He uses everything for His good… His will, not mine…” and on and on my mind races through all of the scripture, quotes, biblical truths, that I have been hearing my whole life.

I don’t feel better.

This isn’t about me!

As I read Elliot’s latest update on her Caring Bridge site I began to feel sick to my stomach. I didn’t know whether to scream, cry, pound the steering wheel (I was parked) or tell God how angry I was? So I did all of the above.

For those of you who just gasped at the thought of me actually telling God how angry I am, you are not familiar with the same God whom I, fall on my face before pleading for a different answer than the one He seems to be speaking, or at times clinch my teeth in defiance while reciting His word, yet truth does not (at times) ease the pain of reality. Other times I lift my face and hands to the sky in reverence and utter disbelief that a God like this could love a wretch like me.

Whether I am praising, weeping, laughing, quoting, sharing with the God of my understanding, He remains my only constant.

Here is an excerpt from Elliot’s journal entry titled “God is still in control”

“…Obviously this is not what any of us had in mind. But God is still in control. We are not supposed to have a spirit of fear, but truthfully, the speed at which this is moving terrifies me. I had a clear scan 3 weeks ago. My hope is still in the Lord, my healer. I am begging each of you to pound the throne of heaven and ask for a miracle.

When I was first diagnosed, one of my dear friends told me to claim Psalm 91. So I did. Last night as I lay in the hospital getting an EKG, I struck up a conversation with the nurse. I don’t remember exactly how we even started talking, but our conversation quickly centered around God. I looked at her with tears in my eyes and asked Where is God? She said, oh baby, He’s here. He will never leave you. And don’t you ever give up on him. Ever.”

I wish I could say that were I lying in a hospital bed, as she was, that I would soon after write a post title that resembled anything close to “God is still in control”. Maybe I would? Or maybe not?

So what do we do when God doesn’t answer our prayer? Or when He doesn’t give us the answer we want? What do we do when there is more than one path and we are not certain which one to take?

The Senior Pastor at our church just finished teaching a series called “When God?” The timing could not have been more perfect. I would encourage you, if you have ever experienced God in any way other than you think He is “supposed” to be (your very own genie in a bottle, who only comes out when summoned), to listen to Andy’s message. It can change your life… if you let it.

He talked about when we feel like God is one of these three things and what to do about it;

Inattentive
Uncooperative
Late

Here is the take away from each message.

Moving Forward

When God is…

INATTENTIVE
Your personal circumstances do not necessarily coincide with God’s feelings about you. God’s apparent inactivity in your life is not a reflection of his activity in the world. If it currently feels like God is inattentive, look back at what he has done for you and out at his activity in the world around you.

UNCOOPERATIVE
While we have permission to ask God to remove our thorns, God has the right to say no to our requests. What do you do when God chooses to showcase his power on the stage of your weakness? Take no for an answer. When you do, God gives you something in return—sustaining grace. 2 Corinthians 12:9

LATE
When God is late in addressing your problems or answering your prayers, it can be difficult to know how to continue on in faith. But the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead offers a picture of hope in the midst of a hopeless situation. If you continue to trust God through your pain, he will eventually show you his glory.

My heart is heavy… my eyes are red and stinging from hours of tears…my head is pounding and yet my mind is numb.

I am not the one with cancer.

Feelings change with circumstances.

God does not change.

He is consistent, faithful, trustworthy, loving, gracious, all knowing and most importantly, never caught by surprise.

Now, in this moment, is when faith is tested.

It is when I must ask myself, “Do I believe God as well as believe in God?” Or does my belief only go as far as the expectation for a happily ever after?

*** If you would like to follow Elliot’s journey, please visit her Caring Bridge site to keep up with the latest information. In the meantime, we covet your prayers.

Why I lie to my kids

Posted on October 23, 2011 by Joy

I can just hear the inner monologue now…WHAT?! She lies to her kids?! What kind of parent does that?!

Um, just about every parent I know or have known.

Just the other morning, I dropped my son off in his class at church and he turned and said, “When will you be back?” “In just a few minutes” I said. (LIE!)

As his big brown eyes looked up at me, his little voice said, “What time is it now?”

“Almost 9 o’clock.” I responded.

“And what time will you be back?” he asked.

(By this time the line to check in was growing and our conversation had intrigued several who were waiting.)

“A little after 10:00 Darling. It won’t be long.” I said.

“That’s more than a few minutes!” he exclaimed.

Not knowing what else to say, or how to escape the trap in which I had just been caught, I pulled him to the side and knelt down so that we were eye level.

As my 5 yr. old pulled on my arm saying, “Let’s GO mommy! I wanna go to my class!” I knew I couldn’t miss this opportunity to keep it real with my youngest.

“You’re right, son.” I said.
“It’s actually going to be about 75 minutes.”

“Oh. Okay.” he said. And went running back into his classroom.

I was still kneeling on the floor when I looked up to see pity in the parental gazes coming from my onlookers. “It’s not as if YOU are always honest with YOUR children?!” I thought to myself in a very loud thinking voice. You know the one.

So, I head upstairs with my 5 yr old to drop him off at his class, still a little bewildered by the fact that my 3 yr old just called me out.

As I was waiting in line, a first time visitor was being escorted to the front so that she was able to drop off her child and tell them good-bye.

He runs into the classroom and I hear her say, “BY HONEY! Mommy will be back in just one minute!” (LIE!) I was thinking to myself, that kid will be lying on a shrink’s sofa one day explaining how it all started when his mother said she would be back in one minute and did not return for over an hour.

Photo Credit Freelance Folder

A little dramatic, I know! But I wanted to make her just as bad as I was. I wanted her to be a liar too!

Here’s the deal…this may seem like such a small thing to you. And for those of you still reading, hopefully this will make some sense.

It is a meaningless comment/exaggeration of the truth. UNTIL your 3 yr old calls you out on it!

It started a process of personal inventory. Which if you have ever done this, it is no small feat.

Instead of pointing at the lady in front of me and taking her inventory, which I knew nothing about, mind you, I was forced to look at myself.

What other things do I lie about?

Some of you will not have to be so introspective. For me, my sanity not only relies on this kind of honesty, it requires it.

Photograph : http://www.risesmart.com

I was a liar for a long time, so when I catch myself telling anything that even appears to be a lie, it scares me a little. If it looks like a lie, smells like a lie and sounds like a lie, well, it’s a lie.

Does this mean I’m going to tell my children all of the ridiculous things I did and poor decisions made while growing up. No. Does it mean that I will be one of those parents who says, “I never actually inhaled.” No. I don’t want to be that either.

SO, there is a fine line between truth and TMI.

What is it though?

No…really…I’m asking you…WHAT IS IT?!

I don’t know! I believe it depends on the person, the extent of the information and the age of the child.

Am I justifying my actions? Probably. I tend to do that when I want to feel okay about doing something that I’m not sure is okay to do.

Many studies have been done on how children develop and the way their minds work. It is said that a child 6 yrs or younger does not have the ability to reason. Hence the phrase, “7 is the Age of Reason.”

There is a great article titled “The Truth About Lying” and in it, the author says,
“From about age 4 on, children lie for many of the same reasons adults do: to avoid punishment, to gain an advantage, to protect against an unwanted consequence, and even to boost self-esteem. Youngsters, like adults, sometimes lie to demonstrate power, to maintain privacy, or to protect a friend. When a child lies, she is essentially trying to change a situation, to reconstruct things the way she wants them to be. (Hmmm, at times I still do this.) There is a developmental progression to lying.

Helping your child develop morality and responsibility for his actions over the long haul is the goal…
Model the behavior you expect to see in your child. (I thought I was doing that?!) This sounds obvious (YES, it does!), but it involves monitoring when and how you lie — not an easy task (NO, it isn’t!). If we want to foster a trusting, self-regulating child who cares about his own welfare and that of others, we have to do it the hard way: by being trusting, self-regulating, and respectful adults.” (Ouch!)

Why then, you ask, did I take the time to reason with my 3 yr old? Well, because I think he deserves to know the difference between a few minutes and 75.

All children are different. Mine was content hearing an explanation.
Do I recommend this when he is in mid tantrum. Nooooooooooooooooooooo. But when he is calmly asking for an explanation, I’m going to give him one, whether an “expert” tells me he understands or not.

So, I leave you with no answers today. Only questions.

What are the lies you’re telling your kids and where’s the line?

Just to make you feel better and not leave you with a bitter taste in your mouth and that befuddled look on your face. To get us started, here are a few of the lies that I can remember telling my kids in the last week (give or take a few days).

What I said:
Play land is closed today (at McDonald’s)
What I meant:
There is no way you are going to play in there! Ew. I’m sure they don’t crawl through all of those tunnels and clean it once a week. I wouldn’t.

What I said:
Mommy is going to take a break and have some quiet time for a few minutes.
What I meant:
Mommy is going to go upstairs, close the door, take some deep breaths while listening to songs on Pandora, none of which will have rhymes about counting or the alphabet.

What I said:
We will go outside in 10 minutes.
What I meant:
When I finish what I am doing, then we will go outside. I’m not sure how long it will take.

What I said:
Mommy is going to run an errand. It will only take a minute.
What I meant:
You’re going to stay here with daddy while I get in daddy’s car (instead of the minivan), roll down the windows, open the sunroof, turn up the music and sing at the top of my lungs while driving around the neighborhood.

What I said:
No honey, this is special mommy chocolate. Boys don’t eat this kind of chocolate. It’s only for girls.
What I meant:
I don’t want to share this chocolate with you. I made a special trip to Whole Foods to buy the good stuff (translation: 70% cacao and imported) and you don’t know the difference between this and a Hershey bar. Besides, I have given up alcohol, so I should not have to share my chocolate.

What I said:
It’s bedtime!
What I meant:
It’s been a really long day and you didn’t take a nap. I know it’s an hour early, but since it’s getting dark earlier, you don’t know whether it’s bedtime or not and I want some “me time”.