“Learn to light a candle in the darkest moments of someone’s life. Be the light that helps others see; it is what gives life its deepest significance.” – Roy T. Bennet


What parent doesn’t want to tell their child, “you’re the best,” or “you can do anything”?

Giving out trophies en mass teaches children that they don’t need to strive for anything to be rewarded.

And when we tell our kids that they deserve the world and the world doesn’t give them anything – they shout in frustration and wallow in loneliness and lash out.

We tell them to ignore the “haters” because they are better than them. We put one above and one below and lose equal standing.

Here we create their superiority complexes.

So then a child believes themselves to be a god and can control who stays and who goes and doesn’t understand the consequences.

(In hindsight – they understand. They always do. And then they end themselves to keep from facing reality.)

But we have created this. Us, the domineering parents. The ones whose children can do no wrong, can be the best, can ignore all else.

We cannot ignore the warning signs. We cannot give our children the world because it is not ours to give. We can teach them to treat others as equals, and to love the bullies and the loners and the popular kids. There doesn’t need to be a hierarchy in our schools or in their minds.

(There can be winners and losers in games because that is healthy competition and they can strive to be the best of their own selves.)

But if our children are handed ribbons for participation, when they are dropped into the real world they will have nothing.

And their minds cannot coincide with reality because they still believe they are the best. And so it continues…and they suffer…and others suffer.

Because we didn’t get a trophy when we were their age.



Because the birth of Jesus was not

A quiet thing, but rather




To be fully man means to come into the world as men do.


He wasn’t clean and bright and shiny but instead wet and misshapen and hungry.

The world was foreign and terrifying to him; his mother was only just beginning to understand the implications of his birth.

The manger was not fresh straw and clean blanket.

The manger was dirt and animal saliva and cold.

To the relief of the mother, everything went as it should (or so we think).

And when she held him in that first moment

All she could think of

Was how grateful she was for that ordeal to be over

And how beautiful her son was.


Being a mother brings out the best and the worst in me.

Sometimes all I want is to cuddle with my son.

Sometimes I just want to hide in the bathroom and lock the door just to be alone and untouched for once.

Sometime I am hyper-vigilant in watching him, to the point that I can catch him before he starts to fall.

Sometimes I look away too long and he falls hard.

Sometimes he is so clean and shiny and he smells wonderful.

Sometimes I can’t remember his last bath.

Sometimes I will read him books over and over again for hours on end.

Sometimes I just hand him books to play with so I can do something else.

Time spent being a mother is time spent tearing yourself in half between selfishness and selflessness. You feel like your identity is in your child and feel lost when you don’t have them near to hold. You want to do everything “right” and never fail. You don’t want others to see your mistakes for fear that they view you as bad at mothering. You will never please everyone, least of all your own self.

Sometimes you pour all your love into one defenseless, little person.

Sometimes you cry.

But that’s motherhood.

Sending Thoughts

Send those thoughts

And send those prayers

If you want to see a change

Then be the one you want to see

I’ve been just like you

So terrified

Hiding behind friendly walls

That make you feel good inside

They raised me “right”

And they kept me close

They didn’t mean to torment me

But I knew there had to be more

Now they send their thoughts

And they say their prayers

But I’ve been called to action

And I won’t be scared away from it

I don’t care

And I don’t mind

To see you looking down your nose

Maybe you’re

The one who’s blind

Maybe you’re the canine in sheep’s clothes

Marriage Is…

This is a list of the petty, silly, random things I do in my marriage. Yes, so many of these need to change and I am always changing. Both of us are.

Marriage is…

…not what you think it is when you are unmarried.

…nagging someone to the point of frustration, and then realizing you’re more annoying than whatever it was you were nagging them about.

…irrational jealousy and then when you receive attention from others you pretend it bothers you when you actually enjoy it.

…hypocritically doing everything you verbally tell your spouse to stop doing.

…crying uncontrollably in your spouse’s arms when you’re mad at them.

…waiting for them to come home and ignoring them when they arrive.

….cleaning and cooking while declaring your rejection of the 50’s housewife stereotype. 

…demanding them to do multiple things for you and then expecting a back rub when they’re done.

…assuming you will always be watching your movie and calling it the ultimate sacrifice when you watch theirs.

…having breakthrough moments when both of you cling to each other and don’t let go.

…eating breakfast with them in silence and not minding it.

…going to work and wishing they worked with you.

…arguing over who makes the most accurate animal sounds.

…watching your son and taking turns saying, “He’s so cute.”

…graciously brushing your teeth in the morning to give them a fresh kiss.

…realizing every day that you love them and cannot live without them.

The rock was the largest I’d ever seen.

You may wonder why I hold such an interest in a rock, when, after all, it is only a rock. But, this rock, this particular heaven-made solid formation of minerals has a story to tell. One, it has borne the feet of several hundred teen-aged hooligans as they jump from its heights into the water below. This was not some sick daredevil trick, more like a rite of passage for the extremely brave. Those that leapt would be known as the ones meant to do great things with their lives. And truth be told, they would. I can recall seven names of those that made themselves into something special. They all took the leap of faith. It goes to show that if you are brave enough to do something so stupid, you are brave enough to do nearly anything you put your mind to.

Two, it nearly killed me. That is the bigger story. It may take an entire book to write, but write it, I will.



There are so many things that our parents have taught us. Many of these things are subconscious. Here are a few quirks and mannerisms that my husband has learned from his parents:

Instead of orange juice, they have “ornch” juice. Despite my efforts, he has and always will say it that way.

His dad has never been one for rushing. even though his mother hustles and bustles about like a bee. One of them is generally ten minutes late while the other is sometimes close to twenty minutes early.  My husband has taken on the former habit, having rejected the need to be early to every event. To make up for that, he stays until the end of every get-together. That is actually how we came to start dating. He would come over to the college group that met at my parents’ house and stay until nearly midnight in order to talk to me.

There is no such thing as height. It is “heighth”. Although it is technically not in the dictionary, it is simply a colloquialism from Old English. It also makes sense to say “heighth'” when we have “width” and “length” and “depth”. I have noticed that even his grandparents say it this way. I do not.

A glass of water always accompanies your meal. It has helped me to drink more water, although I’ve had to remind his family multiple times that I don’t drink it with ice (as I am clumsy and tend to spill when big ice cubes get in the way).

He cannot stand being woken up in the mornings. I guess that back when he went to school his mother would have to wake him every morning. Now, it seems to give him a sort of traumatic reminder of his childhood (because getting woken up in the morning is incredibly traumatic).

As he so often reminds me, money should be spent on good shoes. A good pair of shoes is worth every dollar to him and his dad. If the fit is even slightly off, the shoes will be returned and anyone that thinks of buying them should think twice. Both of these men have extremely picky feet, so there are many shoes that do not pass their tests.

Now, let me set you straight. I’m not making fun of my husband’s (or in-laws’) ways. I like to observe and make note of my observations. Next up, things that I do and say that I get from my parents.



Tag Cloud

%d bloggers like this: