The Blue Table

Failure to control my kids’ exposure scares me, and lending it’s parameters up to the One who’s wise to the legit limit is the only way I manage to keep the wall up. The waxing and waning of what I’m supposed to hold to and let go of perplexes my parental instincts. Many voices weigh in, but only One cuts through the noise. “Control-…

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The Weeds.

“DROP IT.” But she didn’t. Just as my daughters did when they were toddlers picking petunias, Cherry sprinted out one last burst of freedom, plant in tow. Between my kids, my dog, and my husband’s impatience for unsightly landscaping, my flowers can’t seem to catch a break. Every year, some of my flowers fall folly to my husband’s impatience to distinguish which shoots are a nuisance. It’s cost me…

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The Last Day

The product of my rushed suburban childhood is arm-in-arm in that sandy crop of kids, traditionally appreciating the last day of school in their little lake town …where the busiest road has a 35 mph speed limit, and we can count the number of stop lights on one hand. “Rush” is absent from their vocabulary. Traditions can bloom dreams if we allow them to…

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The Zipper

How can I be certain genuine sensitivity is zipped into the teeth of my self-conscious mind’s motives? I don’t want my insecurities to jam my kids’ jackets. But that’s exactly what happens when I fail to spin inward. Selfish instincts fuel trauma.  Before I speak my mind in witness to my children, I SIFT, hoping to model the selfless love Christ extends to me….

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The Lashes

Up before the sun, and on went the glue. “Hold still,” I chuckled nervously to my daughter, “I don’t want them to stick on crooked.” My seven-year-old squinted to catch my expression as the first false eye-lash cemented itself onto her eyelid. We both laughed as I covered up what I’d messed up with black eyeliner. It may seem over-the-top, unless you’ve ever applied…

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