I Don’t Think You REALLY Want to Change

I hate the process of change…all of it. Even when I try to stay motivated and positive I often just have my panic attacks, just somewhat more quietly. I’m reading this book..well more, reading a paragraph and then when I feel convicted, I throw it across the room.  It’s about change…and accepting it, and even more so, embracing it, or even more more so, capitalizing on it.




macro closeup of a thesaurus entry on the word "change"

But really, it’s an everyone problem. We don’t really want to change. We want the perks, the benefits, the effects of change, but we don’t ACTUALLY WANT to change. Change is painful, change is uncomfortable. We like our traditions and our habits. We are content with our ways.

The moment someone challenges us, our ideas or the way we’ve always done things, we go on attack. We must protect ourselves from the uncomfortable, the painful. We tear others down, we attack their character and their credentials. We stand solid on our very old ground, not only embracing our traditions, but defending them.

As we face changes and new ideas, and even new possibilities, we marinate in the ideas of how it was, or how it should be– if only.

The Pharisees.  They argued with Jesus, and questioned his authority. They trashed his character, and twisted truth and refused to listen because they were …




Jesus. He brought a new message of freedom. He brought people out of the trash and gave them, not character, but righteousness. He revealed truth and listened to the hurting.  He brought the authority of heaven to earth. He challenged the ways, the culture, the theology of the time. He made people




Where are you? Are you in a place where you like comfortable and traditional? Is it too hard to exercise? Too difficult to have that needed disagreement with your spouse? Afraid of how your kids will respond when you set those boundaries?  So it’s just easier.  It works, somehow. But not everything that works is right… and even if it’s not “wrong” …. it’s not always God’s best.

Our goal in life should be God’s best…and God’s best for us in the transformed life. A life that is daily being renewed. He wants to renew our thoughts, and even our desires. Did you know that God can transform your desires? Your desires for smoking, or alcohol, or pornography? Did you know God can renew your marriage, and your relationship with your kids? God is waiting to transform every area of your life…but He won’t do it unless you accept the risk The risk of being uncomfortable. The risk of living in respect for God and not people. Do you really want that change?

I hope so. I hope you are willing to listen to the truth found in Scripture. I pray that you see that the results of the change, having confidence that the end result of the transformation will bring freedom and life…

and peace…

and joy…not just happiness, but joy–real joy…

and safety…..

and assurance…

and love…oh! the love!

Jesus is in the business of change…If you want Him, want the change He can bring to your life.

Do you fight against change like I do??  What’s the hardest change you’ve ever been through? Comment and share!



What I Am Learning As I Get OLD

About this time, 8 years ago, you would have found me curled up on the floor in the fetal position, weeping. As I celebrated my birthday this weekend, I was reminded how much has changed in my life, my heart, since I turned 30.

Thirty was traumatic for me.

For 29 years I told myself that 30 was old. For 29 years I set high expectations for my life. For 29 years I carried the weight of regrets, and mistakes and sin. And then I woke up and was 30. I was old, with no direction, and lots of baggage.

So I wept.

Every day…

For weeks.


My husband came home from work to find me unshowered, back against the wall, sitting on the floor in a daze. I had to get some help, I had to sort it out. If my car broke down, I’d go to a mechanic. I was a mess, I needed a shower, a washing machine and Jesus!

I dunno, I think we all go through those times in our lives, where we realize that life isn’t what we thought it would be. Someone wrote on a status on FB something like this:

“One day things will go as planned.”

I didn’t want to burst her bubble, but I really wanted to say, “Umm never. Things never go as planned.” Well not never, but almost never. And I could use the first 29 years of my life as case and point. And the last eight years to just throw it all in your face.  Nothing as planned.

I’m still wondering how my plans and God’s plans align, if ever. I think most of the time I simply stumble, and then ooopsey, I find myself some place God can use me. There is always more month than money, I find myself walking places more now than ever, I went an entire year without a haircut, I don’t know the last time I bought clothes. My husband works 70 hours a week, my kids are growing up and moving on and there are days I simply feel like I’m standing still.

But somehow, I no longer weep, I only cry a little.  I don’t curl myself in the fetal position, but there are days I do stay under the covers. I don’t live with too many regrets, only dreams that I keep pressing toward.  I don’t have it figured out, I still question God at times, and I have moments of hopelessness, Then there is God’s grace…  I find that as I am aging, I am so much more grateful for the little things:

A roof over my head

Food in my kitchen

Healthy children

I am taken care of.

Jesus loves me.

All is well.

Until I’m 40…

What are you learning as you grow older? Share with me.



That One Time We Sold EVERYTHING

“I think we should just get rid of it all.”

He looked at me and said, “I was thinking the same thing but was afraid to tell you.”

We were moving back to Texas, and had a house full of “stuff”. A 2800 square foot house full of “stuff”. Toys, clothes, shoes, things to dust. Boxes and boxes of stuff.

And we hauled it all into our front yard, posted the signs and sold it. Well actually, we gave most of it away…and the rest, we might as well have.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Not just because it was me, but because I had to stand along side my kids while they learned the difficult lesson of materialism.

We loved our stuff. We attached ourselves to our stuff. Those are “my” dishes I bought in Mexico. Those are “my” legos. That’s “my” bag. Mine. Mine. Mine.

We kept a few things. I had a few pieces of furniture that have been in the family. I kept our memories, and school stuff from the kids. Those are still piled in my best friend’s garage in Florida. ( and I can’t wait to go back and dig through my boxes and get rid of more).

We came to Texas, all five of us, with just some clothes and shoes(and deodorant).

We call it “being in transition” but really we were technically homeless. So we shacked up with my bro and his fam for a few months until we could figure things out. Michael was waiting for his job transfer to come through from Florida to Texas, and I was figuring out how to organize the four of us in a few rooms, while feeling guilty for kicking my nephews out of their rooms.

We finally moved into our own space with still nothing but our clothes. We didn’t have a huge hunk of cash, so we financed mattresses, a fridge and a couch and dining room table (which we are still paying on a year later…smack me in the face).

My room has a bed. Yes just a mattress on metal slates. I have a broken tower fan in the corner by my side of the bed, just for the noise–it doesn’t stand on it’s own, it just leans in the corner.

We have the minimal of everything. And have now for a year.

And it’s absolutely freeing and amazing, and I love it!

Well, sometimes….

Sometimes I get caught up in the materialism of the city I live in, because believe it or not San Antonio, Texas is a town that likes stuff, likes to buy stuff, and wear new stuff, and spend a lot of money on stuff.

But most of the time I stay pretty grounded, because none of the “stuff” matters.

That one time we sold all of our stuff changed me forever. Not just on what I should own, or what I buy for my kids. No just about living minimally (Because ladies if you have to clean all the time, you need to get rid of it!) But about so many other things in the world.

I find myself sometimes sickened by the materialism in America. Not just because other countries are in poverty or need. Not because I’m on some high-horse, filled with pride about being able to simplify.

The reason I get sickened is this — people don’t even see what materialism, and wanting stuff, and taking things for granted is doing to them. People don’t see how it completely blocks a flow of the Holy Spirit into their lives. People fight for the wrong things, and work for stuff that doesn’t matter. People ROB THEMSELVES of joy and peace and love because of their Americanized perspectives.

I know, I know. Not you.

It’s just me.

This has been my soapbox lately. This idea of wastefulness and taking things for granted. This soapbox standings is probably why I got in a few heated discussions over the Ice Bucket Challenge for ALS awareness and fundraising.

Maybe it will pass, this feeling of being disgusted by our world’s selfishness and willingness to just accept things as they are.

But I hope it doesn’t.


It’s true. All of it, I confess. I went before the judge made my plea:

Judge: Do you understand the charges against you?

Me: Yes, ma’am

Judge: What do you plead?

Me: No Contest

Charges against me?! I now, officially, have a criminal record.

All the illegal stuff I did in my youth. The drinking and driving. The fake ID’s the drugs, the stealing….and NOW, as a mother of five….NOW, as I wife….NOW, as a someone who loves me some Jesus…NOW I am an official criminal.

And it’s not even a cool story. Everyone is expecting a cool story from me. But I got nothing for you…

It’s just as simple as this:

When Cody was sick, I sent in parent notes instead of doctor’s notes.

So because the school didn’t have their preferred excuse, me and my fourteen year old son had charges brought against us. And we had a court appointed time in the Municipal building with a judge. And we wasted a whole lotta tax payer’s dollars. To be told:

You are on probation until October 27th. Cody don’t have any unexcused absences, and Mom, make sure you monitor his attendance.

Yup. That happened… giving me a criminal record

I get there are kids who don’t go to school but these Texans take this truancy thing super seriously.

As I watched these other moms, I wondered how difficult it was for them to be there. How many of them had to take off work? How many of them have cried over their wayward child? How many have dreaded that phone call from the school saying their child wasn’t at there, and every tear was a different worry about something being horribly wrong?

My BIGGEST fear going into this whole court ordeal was that I didn’t want anyone to think I was a bad mom. I wasn’t afraid of jail, after all I’ve seen ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK. But people thinking I’m a bad mom would be worse than death.  In fact, the whole BIKINI DISCUSSION really boils down to this–moms wanting to make the right decision. We want to all say it’s for the sole benefit of our child, but, really, is it? I think as moms we want to impress other moms. We want to make the more noble decision. We want our kids to come out of their messed up childhood with flying colors. And if they don’t, then maybe we didn’t give them enough attention. Maybe we let them wear a bikini…maybe we turned in the wrong kind of note.

At one time, maybe those moms felt the insecurity of being sub-par. But as I looked around the courtroom, most of them were courtroom veterans. One mom told the prosecutor she just didn’t know what to do anymore, and she has a younger daughter who hated school, and life, just like the older one who was ready to drop out and get her GED. One mom hired an attorney. The other moms could care less about their criminal record, they just needed someone to help them figure out how to help their children.

How petty of us to be concerned about what other people think of our mothering?! In mothering we extend each other the least amount of grace. Even when we are sympathetic to that mom who has a struggling, rebellious child, we have those secret questions wondering to ourselves,… never out loud….where that mom went wrong.

If a child is doing well, we assume he has a great mom. If a child is failing, then it’s for sure the moms fault.

This entire situation taught me a few things:

  • I didn’t choose the thug life, the thug life chose me .
  • We judge ourselves so harshly, and sometimes even hope to come across another mom that is worse at parenting than us, just to make us feel better.
  • Moms of truly hurting kids don’t give a crap about how you parent. They are way too absorbed in their own troubles to care about your failures.
  • We are all humans in need of grace and mercy.
  • Truancy judges are bound to be bored out of their minds.

How do you handle your parenting failures? Do you give yourself grace or feel like you’ve messed up your child forever? What have been your eye opening experiences?

I really want to know…. Comment and SHARE!

LG|LP – Tiff


For the Hopeless

I made up my mind. I had watched hours and hours on the TV. Tragedy, destruction, death. Complete life change in a moment for far too many. I was going to pack up and go help! The devastation was too overwhelming for me, and after all, What Would Jesus Do? Jesus would pack up and go to Moore, Oklahoma.

But I didn't go. I couldn't understand. It felt right, it seemed right. As I was talking through this with one of the voices in my head, God whispered to me, “You will have your own tornado.” And six weeks later, our family did.

My experience with the tragedy is minimal compared to what my sister in law and her family have endured, and are still enduring. The devastation is far spreading, and this time, I did pack up and go. But I went to San Antonio instead.

It was the evening of July 4th. My sister-in-law and her side of the family had just spent the day watching parades and sipping lemonade. Mom and Dad (affectionately known as Mimi and Poppy) left before the fireworks. It had been a long day, and it was a long drive home. That commute ended too close to home when another driver veered out of his highway lane, and hit Mimi and Poppy head-on, not even giving them time to brake.

At the age of 63, Mimi, a mother, a grandmother, a wife, a sister, an aunt, a church-planter, a Jesus-lover, died. Poppy was burned on a majority of his body and endured having both of his legs amputated above the knee and is fighting for his life, moment by moment until they family had to let him go be with the Lord, and his beloved wife.

My husband and I walked into the hospital waiting room. Poppy was in skin-grafting surgery. A family, broken, in heart and spirit, sprawled throughout the waiting room. Tears, memories, shock, and the business of death loomed. It was my own tornado.

The damage still wide-spread. The rubble, and people's hearts buried deep within. Questions and doubts, fears and life re-defined.

I'm learning through this and what my own family is enduring right now that I love and serve a God that often I do not understand. His ways and his thoughts and his ideas of provision and what is best for me are so hard to grasp in my life.

I can only imagine what my sister-in-law and her siblings are feeling. Life is full of such much uncertainity, I can't imagine not having God as the strong pavement beneath my feet. Without God, this family would never be able to recover. With God, there is hope.

If you have no hope, then you have no God.

You are Loved.