Please take a minute and peak at this incredible movie about forgiveness, love and life, 

every life.  

Please take a minute to share with someone you know.  

Please take a minute.  

You will be glad you did.

Opening Nationwide March 23, 2012

For more about the movie click the link:

         http://www.octoberbabymovie.net/_newsletters/021612/

    For more about the filming of the movie read my blog post "Her Name is Rachel".  You will learn about the personal blessing I received by being on the set during filming.

Thank you Ann Voskamp for giving me an excuse to post this again.


Few Words, Much Love
Hatred stirs up dissension, but love covers over all wrongs.
Proverbs 10:12

I have blown it again. It is Valentines day tomorrow and I spent the better part of last evening discussing the short comings of my husband, with my husband. The “but you know I love you honey” seemed a bit diminished on the heels of a two hour criticism session.

Yesterday was a wonderful day. Snow fell on Alabama, yes snow, not stars as the popular song suggests. We had cold, wet beautiful snow that filled the air and covered the ground with a soft white blanket. Not a common sight in this part of the country. We didn’t have much accumulation but we had enough to build a snowman or have a snowball fight if you didn’t mind the brown patches of grass peeking through like holes in the blanket. Most of us opted for the brown patches and became children with our children as we played. We had a great time and took some great photos and made some even greater memories.

Now fast forward to evening and a lovely dinner out with family at a new restaurant in town where the dinner was their treat. We were invited to come and eat while they trained their employees. We didn’t have to pay for the meal so that made it taste even better and sharing it with family was like icing on the cake. Then we went home and it happened. Out of nowhere I turned from a loving wife and mother to something I have not yet been able to identify, something scary, angry and very unattractive.

My anger erupted over the stupidest thing. So stupid it is embarrassing to write about. You see, instead of ordering the tan toy box we had painstakingly picked out on the internet my loving husband ordered the ugly brown one with the faux furish, microfiber fabric stretched all across the exterior of the toy box. It was brown, and faux furish microfiber…are you catching on to the problem here? He made a decision that the brown one would be less noticeable if we decided to display it anywhere but in the closet. Would we really do that?

Danny, my husband, is a gentle, loving man. I should have been able to overlook the silly toy chest because there are so many expressions of love all around me. The way my teacup and spoon are lovingly placed in just the right spot by the teapot every morning should have allowed me to overlook the toy chest. The way the covers are turned down on my bed every night so that I can sleepily fall in without having to deal with all the pillows, comforter and fluff should have been enough. The way he perfectly makes the bed each morning before I emerge from the bath and all the voluntary trips back to the grocery store because I forgot something, and on and on and on, should have been enough.

I am married to a Godly man. He is a man of few words and much love. God’s word that “love covers all wrongs” is lived through him on a daily basis. I want so much to make those words a reality in my love for him as well and I am committing right now to make it a matter of prayer. I want to be more like him and not take for granted his expressions of love for me. You see, in spite of the angry, critical words I spoke last night...... my teacup will be waiting for me...... sitting in just the right place on the counter .....when I walk in the kitchen this morning.




Stop by Ann's blog for some great words about love.

Choose What?

I originally posted this several months ago. I felt this way again today so I decided to bring it back and share it again.


Rushing around at 7:00 each morning making a last minute choice about what to wear to work (yes, I know I should make this decision the night before but obviously I choose not to) and what shoes will adorn my feet as I walk out the door is not an easy task. Often times it overwhelms me and sends me spinning back to square one hurriedly pulling innocent clothes from hangers and drawers dragging them into my rant pile as if they are to blame for my poor decision making process.  I have been known to leave my closet floor covered in numerous rejected outfits as a result of the shoes I hurriedly choose to step into at the very last minute.  Why is this so hard you might ask?

It is simple.

My choice of shoes has the power to make or break my day.

At 5'3 some people might consider me a "shorter" person, or "vertically challenged" as I prefer to say.  This means that shoes that go with my shorter pants and casual clothes are a different height than shoes that go with my taller, leg lengthening, hip reducing, height increasing, sure to make you a star dress pants. Thus the challenging part of "vertically challenged".  If my feet are feeling a little arthritic when I step into the tall shoes at the last minute....well, off they must come, along with the entire outfit that was hemmed for the high-rise heels.  In addition to that, if the flat shoes make my calves look squishy then by all means I will suffer the arthritic twinges to wear the shoes that better define the muscle in my squishy looking legs. This cycle is exhausting and will go on and on and on until time is whittled away and I am forced to make a choice quickly, leaving the aftermath of my struggle on the closet floor to deal with later.

Cinderella has nothing on me.

One shoe can change both our lives.   Seems pretty lame doesn't it?

Obviously each and every day and how that day goes is a result of the choices we make for that day. At least it is for me. My daily range of choices encompasses everything from what I eat (carbs or no carbs) where I sit (easy exit on the last row, or more sociable option of the next-to-last row) what to do immediately after work (Pilates or sofa, knowing full well the sofa option will lead to an evening of fading in and out of a self induced coma....only until I wake up enough to go to bed).  Over time, all of these choices have the potential to make or break me in my own mind and what I think of myself of as a person.  Thank goodness God doesn't care what shoes I have on. 

Or does he?  

Does it matter to him that because of my choices my feet hurt some days which makes me a not so nice person, someone other people don't want to approach?  Does it matter to him that when I eat badly my physical health suffers and my moods change drastically due to the fact that I am so disappointed in myself?  Does it matter to him that when I sit at the back of the church I have the ability to keep one foot in the isle for a quick escape, the distance to the door very small, which is also a measure of my commitment there?  I think it does matter.  All these little, perceived as insignificant choices matter.  They slant our day,
            our week,
                   our life.  

I made a choice to spend some time with the Lord this morning and my devotion led me here.

Good choice.

      Wise choices will watch over you.  Understanding will keep you safe.  Proverbs 2:11

Choose What?

I originally posted this several months ago. I felt this way again today so I decided to bring it back and share it again.


Rushing around at 7:00 each morning making a last minute choice about what to wear to work (yes, I know I should make this decision the night before but obviously I choose not to) and what shoes will adorn my feet as I walk out the door is not an easy task. Often times it overwhelms me and sends me spinning back to square one hurriedly pulling innocent clothes from hangers and drawers dragging them into my rant pile as if they are to blame for my poor decision making process.  I have been known to leave my closet floor covered in numerous rejected outfits as a result of the shoes I hurriedly choose to step into at the very last minute.  Why is this so hard you might ask?

It is simple.

My choice of shoes has the power to make or break my day.

At 5'3 some people might consider me a "shorter" person, or "vertically challenged" as I prefer to say.  This means that shoes that go with my shorter pants and casual clothes are a different height than shoes that go with my taller, leg lengthening, hip reducing, height increasing, sure to make you a star dress pants. Thus the challenging part of "vertically challenged".  If my feet are feeling a little arthritic when I step into the tall shoes at the last minute....well, off they must come, along with the entire outfit that was hemmed for the high-rise heels.  In addition to that, if the flat shoes make my calves look squishy then by all means I will suffer the arthritic twinges to wear the shoes that better define the muscle in my squishy looking legs. This cycle is exhausting and will go on and on and on until time is whittled away and I am forced to make a choice quickly, leaving the aftermath of my struggle on the closet floor to deal with later.

Cinderella has nothing on me. 

One shoe can change both our lives.   Seems pretty lame doesn't it?

Obviously each and every day and how that day goes is a result of the choices we make for that day. At least it is for me. My daily range of choices encompasses everything from what I eat (carbs or no carbs) where I sit (easy exit on the last row, or more sociable option of the next-to-last row) what to do immediately after work (Pilates or sofa, knowing full well the sofa option will lead to an evening of fading in and out of a self induced coma....only until I wake up enough to go to bed).  Over time, all of these choices have the potential to make or break me in my own mind and what I think of myself of as a person.  Thank goodness God doesn't care what shoes I have on. 

Or does he?  

Does it matter to him that because of my choices my feet hurt some days which makes me a not so nice person, someone other people don't want to approach?  Does it matter to him that when I eat badly my physical health suffers and my moods change drastically due to the fact that I am so disappointed in myself?  Does it matter to him that when I sit at the back of the church I have the ability to keep one foot in the isle for a quick escape, the distance to the door very small, which is also a measure of my commitment there?  I think it does matter.  All these little, perceived as insignificant choices matter.  They slant our day,
            our week,
                   our life.  

I made a choice to spend some time with the Lord this morning and my devotion led me here.

Good choice.

      Wise choices will watch over you.  Understanding will keep you safe.  Proverbs 2:11

Most Tender Moment

It's 5 minute Friday. We get a topic from Gypsy Momma's blog and for only five short, bold, beautiful minutes. Unscripted and unedited. We just write without worrying if it’s just right or not.

Won’t you join us? Today's word is "Tender".

Give us your best 5 minutes.

START

Kneeling on his knees in front of his father, hands holding hands, tears streaming down his face as he whispered the words, "It's time Daddy, It's time to let her go".

Beeping noises stopped. The machines went quiet. The bag that expanded with each labored breathe collapsed and lay still, unmoving. She was finally at peace, and I had witnessed a most tender moment between father and son.

Their roles reversed that day. Son became father and father became child, a child in a grown up worn out body now totally dependent on someone else to care for. That day was the beginning of a new chapter in our lives, a chapter that requires much love, much patience, tenderness...... and much God.

STOP

The Table

The year was 1999.  The time was 6:25 P.M. The place was the dining room of our home where we sat around the large oak table in our usual seats, my toes tapping on the cool brick floor. A small blemish in the finish of the surface in front of me held the focus of my eyes as my thumbnail scraped back and forth across the scratch.

Back and forth, back and forth, toes tapping almost in rhythm.

I cannot recall the food we had for dinner or if we had desert that night but my children can probably describe it all in vivid detail. You see, this was the night their father and I took our seats at the table, he at one end and I beside him to the left. My oldest son at my side, his sister at the far end and her younger brother directly across the table from me. There we were, all in our places as we broke their hearts and shattered their world, snatching away their security as we told those innocent faces that we could no longer live together as a family.  Things had happened and the damage was too great to repair. Sin had entered our world and as a result I would be packing my things and moving somewhere else to stay for a while.  I couldn't tell them where I was going....I didn't know.

Pain is my memory when I think of that night.

Her face, his tears, their cries.

Sometimes the memory sneaks up on me out of nowhere and shatters my heart all over again. Their sad eyes are looking at me and I hear my little girl sobbing the words, "But I am the only one at school whose parents aren't divorced, all my friends wish they had parents like you".  I almost can't bear it.  I feel the pressure of my thumb scraping across the scratch while my toes tap the cool brick floor. Once again something has trigged this painful memory. It has crept back in and surrounded me for a moment, a brief moment, and then it is gone.

The table has become my "charcoal fire". You know the one.  It is the fire that Peter saw across the beach as he denied Christ the first time.  It is the fire he warmed himself by as he denied Christ the second time.  And it is the fire that Peter stood in front of when he denied Christ the third time, just before the rooster crowed.  It is the fire, the table, the reminder that nauseates me, sucks the air from my lungs and makes my heart ache with regret.  We all have them.  They hide in the recesses of our minds sneaking out when we least expect them and reminding us of some other time when we did something, or something was done to us, that left a deep scar.

My table had great significance to me both before and after it became a point of pain.  It was the first thing I bought with money I had saved from a small business I started part time around my family's schedule.  I worked hard, saved my pennies and finally had enough to make a purchase for our home. Since I was a stay-at-home mom I didn't really have a chance to add anything to our family budget for several years. It was my desire to purchase a large table that would see years of use and then hopefully be passed on to the kids one day along with all the great memories it held.   My table was a great accomplishment for me, a star in my crown so to speak. The star, however, lost its shine when a not so pretty divorce put the table in the middle of a negotiating nightmare. We both wanted the table. I lost this battle, or rather I gave it up, and the table stayed in the home with the kids and their father.  Anger and bitterness were not the memories I intended but they were the memories I began to live with for several years,  until one day I found myself face to face with the table again. My daughter was having a small bridal shower in her Dad's home and I had offered to help by preparing some food. I took the food to the house that day and when I entered I was instructed to place the food on the table.

The table.

It was a "Peter" moment.  It was like smelling the smoke and feeling the warmth of the charcoal fire as I set the food down. I felt myself getting neasuous. I saw the look on my children's faces that night as if it were happening in that moment... and I could taste the salt of their tears. It all came back. I averted my eyes so I couldn't see the scratch where my thumb brushed back and forth, back and forth.  I could almost feel the cool brick floor under my toes.

Years have passed since that table played such an important role in my life.  Much forgiveness and tons of healing have taken place in all of us. A new table has replaced the old one and it is a table full of love,  warm smiles, a few scratches, but most of all lots of laughter and wonderful memories of family and friends. We pile our plates high, feed the babies, scoot over and squish in so we all can fit, and we go on. It is a symbol of everything good God has done for us.  Yes, the old table will always be a reminder, just like the fire was to Peter, but it no longer has the power to hold me in a place of sadness. Instead it serves as a reminder of God's grace and faithfulness and how he heals us so completely when he heals us.  The table shows me that when something good in our lives turns bad as a result of sin, it doesn't have to stay that way. I believe it is God's desire to restore everything and make it better than we could have imagined.  He cares about everything that is important to us and wants to heal us and help us put things in perspective.  Even things as simple as a table.

He cares about my table and he cares about your table, or charcoal fire, or whatever it is that has a hold on you. He wants to make it new.

Ending Christmas Well

It's the Sunday after New Year's day.

My house is quiet but for the ticking of the Grandfather clock in the foyer.  No lights are twinkling or reflecting themselves in the random mirrors around the house. All remnants of wrapping paper and ribbon have been swept away leaving the wood floors clean and slippery once again. Except for a random glint of glitter on the couch cushion there are no signs of the joy and festivities that took place here only a few days ago. Echos of laughter and the lingering scent of cinnamon, nutmeg and clove infused oranges creep in and surround me like a fog.  A tiny sock tucked in the cushion of the chair along with a foil gift tag that reads, "To Nina", tug at my heart. As I moved the high chair back to its place in the garage a few crumbs of toast fell from the fabric liner to the floor and for a moment I saw Samuel's squishy smiling face wide eyed with excitement. I'm tempted to nibble the leftover chocolates in the pantry with a small glass of eggnog to try to recapture the feelings of complete and utter satisfaction that were mine for several days.

Christmas.

It was Christmas. And it was wonderful.

Now as I sit quietly at my kitchen counter armed with my Bible and 3 devotional books I try to replace my sadness at the end of Christmas with joy for the new year that lies ahead. I try, yet at this moment I am not successful. What must I do differently to avoid this let down every year? Someone needs to write a "how to" book on ending Christmas without the sadness.

I thumbed through the January entries in all my devotionals and suddenly there it was, flashing before me like lights on a tree, not in a daily entry but in the preface to the book.

"Let heaven fill your thoughts. Do not think only about things down here on earth" Col. 3:2 NLT


Heaven is after all the ultimate end to Christmas.

With that thought in mind why not look upward throughout the Christmas season instead of looking across the table or across the yard or under the tree. If we look up the view will never change. The "end of Christmas" sadness will be put into perspective. It will be but a moment in an eternal timeline. A small bleep on the horizon. Heavenly lights will always shine and twinkle and the promise of the new year will bring hope and joy, and before we know it....... another Christmas season.