And Then I Ran Into the Babysitter's Car

I’m learning to be more humble. The hard way.

Crunch! What in the world…? I craned my neck and peered out the rear window of our minivan. What did I just hit? The curb? A stray tricycle?

Gasp! Oh noooo! The babysitter’s car! I backed into the babysitter’s car! This is NOT GOOD.

It was just that kind of day.

I’d been up all night with the stomach flu. Our sitter came in the morning to watch my two-year-old while I recovered in the basement quarantine, and by noon I felt peppy enough to escape to the store for some chicken noodle soup. Apparently foggy flu-brain and driving don’t mix, because somehow I backed out of my driveway without registering the gray Toyota parked directly across the street.

Darn! I scurried back inside with my hand clapped over my mouth and broke the news. The sitter was gracious, but I was horrified—to tell my husband.

Arrrgh! I’m such an idiot! How dumb can I be?! He doesn’t work hard to pay for my stupid mistakes. He’s going to be so mad. I really let him down this time. Surely he’ll hold this against me.

Do you ever think that way about God?

The Bible calls the church the bride of Christ, for good reason. Marriage is a mini-picture of our relationship with the Lord. It’s our training ground for learning to love—and accept love—the way God loves us. Fearing my husband’s reaction to a fender bender, deep down, parallels the way I view God.

Can he handle my mess-ups? Will be love me less? Does his mercy really apply to me? And will I grab hold of it? Or will I beat myself up for being imperfect, as if God didn’t already know?

Truth is, my capacity for dumb moves doesn’t shock me. I’m faulty and I know it. But that’s not what makes me humble. On the contrary, dwelling on my mistakes is another form of self-centered pride, is it not?

True humility goes a step further. It requires believing my flaws don’t define me.

Think about it. If God’s love for us cannot change according to our good, bad, or airheaded behavior, then we have to admit—it’s not really about us at all. It’s about Him.

“Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God,” (Romans 15:7, emphasis mine).

Whacking the babysitter’s car was not my shiniest moment. Granting that was the easy part. Accepting forgiveness is much harder. So before my husband came home that day, I prayed God would have a little chat with him about unconditional love—and that I’d be humble enough to receive it.

“I’m sorry.” I stood in the bedroom doorway while my husband pulled off his loafers and tossed his wallet onto the nightstand. I imagined hundreds of dollars flying out of it, thanks to my driving skills. “I know you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

My husband turned to face me. “It’s okay.”

I love this man.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I did that!” I cast my eyes to my feet, thought for a moment, and looked up. “Well, yes I can.”

Grace is freely given. It’s up to us to grasp it. Not because we deserve it, but because the cycle of forgiveness honors God. And when I’m at my lowest, it helps to focus on the One who is highest. Compared to Him, everything about me looks much smaller—including my flaws.

I did eventually get that soup, by the way. Our sitter brought me a box the next day. Talk about forgiveness, eh? I cracked her car, and she worried that my soup run had been thwarted. I thought I ought to give her something in return—like my keys, maybe.

Park at your own risk, people. Crazy minivan mom is on the loose.


If this post encouraged you, please pass it on. You might also like How a Wiggles Movie Changed My Life, The Beauty of a Naked Lion Chase, and Cut Me Some Slack, Little People.

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Linking up with: The Better Mom, Playdates With God, Mommy Moments, Marital Oneness Monday, Titus 2sdays, Domestically Divine Tuesday, Living Well Wednesdays, Wifey Wednesday, Grace at Home, Things I Can't Say, and Faithfully Parenting Fridays.

When God Doesn't Give You What You Ask For

I often wonder how my toddler’s mind works. And then I realize—it’s a lot like mine.

“Mommy, I have a good idea!” My daughter’s eyes sparkle, lit from a mysterious place deep inside her brain. Typically what follows is some sweet desire of her two-year-old heart, like, “I can wear my purple socks!”

Or. . .

“Mommy, I have a good idea! We can go to the park!”

Or. . .

“Mommy, I have a good idea! You can rock in my chair and I will go to sleep! I promise!”

When her idea seems reasonable, I acquiesce. Why not, eh? Initiative and creativity are traits worth encouraging. The little lady knows what she wants, and that’ll take her far in life.

But sometimes my daughter’s requests aren’t so healthy, and Mommy has to decline.

“Mommy, I have a good idea! I can eat pudding for supper!”

“No, sweetheart,” I crooned. “You need to eat your broccoli first.”

“No, Mommy,” she batted her eyelashes. “I really want pudding. It’s such a good idea!”

“Sorry, sweetie. Broccoli is better for you.”

“Hmmpf! No! I want pudding!” She stuck her thumbs in her armpits and scrunched her lips. I raised my eyebrows and opened wide for another forkful of my own broccoli.

Too bad, kid. Sometimes I just know better than you.

God says that to me on a regular basis.

• “Hey, Lord, I have a good idea! You should bring us sunshine for our picnic on Saturday. No rain, okay?”

• “Lord, I have such a good idea! You can give my husband a big fat raise, and I can stop clipping coupons!”

• “I know, Lord, how about this. You take away my child’s fear of the dark, and the whole family can sleep again! Isn’t that a great idea?”

As if God is my short-order cook. I rattle off prayers according to my appetite du jour, and the Lord of the universe is supposed to whip up blessings like they’re a plateful of fluffy pancakes.

But sometimes, he gives me broccoli.

“Uh, Lord? What’s the deal? Didn’t I ask for pancakes?”

Eat up, kid, he tells me. Sometimes I just know better than you.

How do you respond when God doesn’t give you what you ask for? If you’re like me, you pout. Worry. Cry. Argue. Get mad at God. Cross your arms and scowl in true toddler fashion.

Maybe you even start to doubt God’s goodness.

“Lord, if you love me, why won’t you just give me the pancakes?! It’s such a good idea!”

Yes, my child. I do love you. And that’s exactly why I’m giving you the broccoli.

Trust me.

“You parents—if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead? Or if they ask for a fish, do you give them a snake? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him,” (Matthew 7:9–11, NLT).

“Mommy, why can’t I have pudding?” Still holding her arms tight to her chest, my daughter lifted her feet and kicked her booster seat in protest.

“Because,” I explained, “it’s not time for pudding yet. I know broccoli seems yucky, but it makes you stronger on the inside. Pudding is a reward for eating your broccoli.”

Ahhhh.

Out of the mouths of moms.

I get it, Lord.

{… Sigh …}

Thanks for the broccoli. Now maybe you could help me convince my toddler—sometimes there’s a better idea.


If this post encouraged you, please pass it on. You might also like Life Is a Highway, It Hurts Because I Love You, and When You Want What They Have.

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Linking up with: The Better Mom, Playdates With God, Mommy Moments, Titus 2sdays, Domestically Divine Tuesday, Living Well Wednesdays, Grace at Home, Things I Can't Say and Faithfully Parenting Fridays.

I'm (Not Really) Leaving Without You

I have a terrible habit of bluffing. Whenever little people refuse to move on my schedule, statements like these tumble out of my mouth.

“Put your shoes on now, or I’m leaving without you.”

“Did you brush your teeth yet? Your sister and I are going to the library, and if you’re not ready, then you can stay here by yourself.”

“Oh, so you don’t want to come down from that slide? Okay then, I’m going home for lunch. I’ll see you later. I hope you can find your way home.”

Cruel mom. Of course I would never actually abandon my children. Why do I say such things?

Because it works, that’s why. The moment I suggest leaving the scene without them, my girls shriek “Nooooooo!” and sprint toward cooperation. Shoes on. Teeth brushed. Tushies in the minivan and off we go. 

I know, I know. Even though my bluffing proves effective, it’s still not right. Abandonment is Parenting 101: don’t do it. Don’t threaten it. Kids need to know they are secure. Mom will never leave you.

Unless you’re whining or pokey. Then all bets are off. Ah, just add this to my list of mommy flaws. There is only one Perfect Parent, and I am not it. Thankfully, God is.

“If we are unfaithful, he remains faithful, for he cannot deny who he is,” (2 Timothy 2:13, NLT).

Every time I mess up, say something I shouldn’t, step on feelings I should’ve nurtured, or display childish behavior that rivals my toddler’s tantrums, I am reminded of why my kids need God.

I am merely their mom.
He is their Creator.

I teach them what I know.
God knows everything.

I fight my hardest not to fail them.
God cannot possibly fail them.

I love them so much, my heart aches.
God is love.

The Heavenly Father hands us his beloved babes and says, “You’re in charge of her for a while.” So we pour our souls into our children’s upbringing. We protect them, hug them, make sure they wear clean underwear and eat their peas. Yet human beings are inherently faulty liaisons for heaven. We’re bound to make mistakes.

Aren’t you glad God never does?

If I leave any legacy at all, let it be that my kids know their Savior because I invited him into our home, even on the messy days. Especially on the messy days. If they grow to know God, then they will be forever secure—in his flawless, unfailing, never abandoning love.

“Girls!” I called to my dawdlers from the kitchen doorway. “Let’s go for a bike ride! Last one in the garage has to eat a bowl of onions for dinner!”

“Eeeeewww! Onions!”

“Coming, Mommy, I’m coming!”

Well, would you look at that—two children with shoes on, ready to move.

I think I’ve found my new bluff.


If this post encouraged you, please pass it on. You might also like How a Wiggles Movie Changed My Life, Good Moms Keep Their Promises, and When You Don’t Feel Like Doing Your Job.

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Linking up with: The Better Mom, Playdates With God, Mommy Moments, Titus 2sdays, Domestically Divine Tuesday, Living Well Wednesdays, Grace at Home, Things I Can't Say and Faithfully Parenting Fridays.

Sheriff Mom and The No-Nap Kid (Why Love Matters More Than Rules)

Howdy. Can you toss me a cowboy hat? Or maybe a holster, or one of those shiny plastic badges? Surely you boy mommas have some Woody-ish garb lying around. I could use it over here on the wild frontier.

‘Cause there’s a showdown going on in my house—between Sheriff Mom and The Kid.

The two-year-old Kid.

The stubborn, willful, no-I-don’t-want-to-and-you-can’t-make-me Kid.

That’s my girl.

It all started a few nights ago. The Kid discovered she could pitter-patter out of her toddler bed, trip the threshold from bedroom to hallway, and roam free. So now she thinks bedtime is only a suggestion.

“Go back to your room. It’s time to sleep.” I stood at the baby gate with fists on my hips and my mouth screwed tight. The Kid clasped the gate with both hands and batted her lashes.

“No!” A half-smile teetered on her lips. I stepped over the gate, wrapped her fingers in mine and led her back to bed.

“Sweet dreams.” I tucked her in and left the room. Immediately, she yanked her covers and followed me down the hall.

“Go back to bed.” We resumed our standoff at the gate. “I am not joking.”

“No!” she hissed.

“Okay, that’s your choice. You’re on your own now.” I spun on my heels and stomped out of sight toward the family room.

A whimper rang from the hallway. Then a rattling sound. Crash! Boom! I ran through the kitchen to find The Kid scampering toward me. The little stinker busted down the baby gate!

“That’s it, young lady!” Sheriff Mom pulled out the big guns. “I’m throwing away your stuffed animals!”

I huffed from room to room, swiping every fuzzy dog and bunny in my path. When my arms were stacked with plush toys, I sped toward the garbage can. The Kid wailed at my heels, and I gave myself a fuming pep talk.

She wants a fight? I’ll show her a fight. Pure defiance, that’s all this is. Stay strong. She needs to learn to obey. It’s my job to teach her! To discipline! To establish authority! If I fail to squash bedtime arguments, what’s next? Breaking curfew? Robbing banks? Heaven help me, I will not let my child grow up to be an outlaw!

“Mommy, I want you!”

What did she say?

“Muh-muh-mommy! I-I-I! Want! You!” Gulping for air between sobs, The Kid sputtered her desperate plea.

Not “stop.” Not “no, don’t throw away doggie.” Again she hiccupped, “Mommy, I want you.”

What kind of outlaw says that?

I froze, turned around, and released the stuffed animals into a heap on the floor. My baby girl’s cheeks were streaked pink with tears. She lifted her open palms to my waist.

“Mommy,” she whispered now. “I want you to hold me.”

Exasperation fled my limbs and I slumped down to grab her. She nestled her head in my shoulder and closed her eyes. I clutched her warm body to mine, kissed her spongy cheek, and rocked. Within two minutes, she fell asleep in my arms.

The Kid wasn’t looking for a fight after all. Quite the opposite—she wanted love.

Darn. What did I give her instead? Rules. Rants. Scolding. Sheriff Mom was so bent on training and discipline, I lost sight of that fundamental need to let love lead my actions.

Loving parents set limits, yes. I get that. But sometimes I act very unlovely when I lay down the law. Have I forgotten? Biblically speaking, the law was always meant to point us to Jesus (Galatians 3:23–25). And Jesus embodies love.

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins,” (1 Peter 4:8).

I don’t have this sleep battle figured out yet. At some point, my daughter does need to cooperate or crash. But I’m raising a family, not a posse. So before I lash out the discipline, I’ll try hugs first. I’ll tame my words so they don’t hurt more than help. I’ll spare the stuffed animals, for the love of God.

On second thought, you can keep that cowboy hat. But if you have any advice on how to get a strong-willed toddler to sleep without losing your mind, I’ll take that instead.

Thank you kindly, partner.


If this post encouraged you, please pass it on. You might also like On Discipline and Raising Sunflowers, and How a Wiggles Movie Changed My Life.

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Linking up with: The Better Mom, Playdates With God, Mommy Moments, Titus 2sdays, Domestically Divine Tuesday, Living Well Wednesdays, Grace at Home, Things I Can't Say, and Faithfully Parenting Fridays.

How My Walk of Faith Is Like a Stroller Ride

I love family walks after dinner. Until a lovey goes missing somewhere on the trail.

“Where is bear?” We reached our driveway after a healthy jaunt to the park when I realized my toddler’s favorite stuffed animal was no longer along for the ride.

“It’s not in the stroller?” My husband’s eyebrows shot up. I lifted our daughter’s fluffy princess dress-up skirt and searched beneath layers of tulle. No bear.

“Are you sure she had him when we left?”

“She did, Mom.” Our five-year-old unclipped her bike helmet and nodded. “She must’ve dropped him.”

“Bear! Oh no!” Our toddler gasped as the gravity of the situation sunk in. Bear is special. Bear is gone. Who will I clutch at bedtime tonight? This is not good.

Nope, not good—for any of us.

“Sweetheart, did you drop bear?” I crouched over the stroller seat and looked my two-year-old straight in the eyes. She stared back at me and blinked, silent yet guilty.

“I’ll go for a drive.” My husband heaved a sigh and grabbed the keys. I ushered the girls inside for a bath while their dad retraced our route in the minivan, scanning sidewalks for a castoff green teddy bear. Some things are just too precious to lose.

I know this painfully well.

I’ve lost things. Valuable things.

My patience. My temper. My sense of humor.

Perspective. Hope. Self-control.

Sometimes, I flat-out lose my mind.

And God the Father shakes his head, unruffled by my childish antics. Sweetie, did you drop this? Please try to be more careful next time. You know you can’t sleep without it. Come now, let’s revisit our walk together. Remember? Everything you lost is waiting for you there.

Often my walk of faith is more like a stroller ride. I buckle in and God steers, sidestepping potholes and infusing my senses with fresh air. I’m safe in the stroller. It’s a happy place. But eventually I get tired or hungry or bored, so I whine and try climbing out. On a careless whim, I toss my virtues overboard. And everyone in the family suffers for it—especially me.

That’s when God bops me on the backside with this verse. “Direct my footsteps according to your word; let no sin rule over me,” (Psalm 119:133).

Seriously, Lord—why can’t I just keep my hands inside the stroller and enjoy the ride?

Later that evening, I leaned against the tub and giggled. The girls were covering their chins with bath bubble beards when suddenly a stuffed bear peeked around the bathroom doorframe.

“Look what I found.” My husband stepped in.

“Bear!” Both girls cheered. “Where was he, Dad?”

“On the sidewalk, at the corner two blocks away. He was just sitting there, waiting for me.”

Nice work, Daddy-o. Add it to the list of reasons I love the guy. My husband scours the streets for lost teddy bears. And, like the good Father, he finds them. Praise God.

Just a closer walk with Thee,

Grant it, Jesus, is my plea,

Daily walking close to Thee,

Let it be, dear Lord, let it be.

I am weak, but Thou art strong,

Jesus, keep me from all wrong,

I’ll be satisfied as long

As I walk, let me walk close to Thee.

-- “A Closer Walk”

Traditional gospel song, author unknown

If this post encouraged you, please pass it on. You might also like Learning Is Messy, On Discipline and Planting Sunflowers, No Eat Play-Doh, and On Dreams, Contentment and Spaghetti.

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Linking up with: The Better Mom, Playdates With God, Mommy Moments, Titus 2sdays, Domestically Divine Tuesday, Living Well Wednesdays, Wifey Wednesday, Grace at Home, Things I Can't Say, and Faithfully Parenting Fridays.