Confessions of a Bad “Player”

Some people simply know how to play better than other people. My husband is one of them. Tim’s middle name is “epic” fun. He is energetic, spontaneous, and always up for an adventure on the fly. He is also the kind of guy who get’s on his knees and plays blocks with the baby, dukes out Madden with our boy untill the wee hours of the morning and delights in Scrabble with our daughter.

I, on the other hand, was not blessed with the “gaming” gene. I’ve got the bookworm gene, and the cuddling/nurturing/smart-ass gene…but games, not so much.

And while I am no expert in birth-order traits, I think “us” more structured “type A” personalities can blame growing up as an only child or as a much older first-born. It’s hard to play games (other than Solitaire) when you are the only kid around. (I guess my imaginary friends don’t count as companions either?)

Anyway, it was no skin off my teeth as a little kid, because I thought I was a grown-up. By the age of four, I read the newspaper with my Lucky Charms and coffee, scavenged for antiques with my parents, and conversed with adults effortlessly. Basically, I wasn’t ever a childlike kid, I was an adultified kid.

It’s not a bad trait –this grown-up kid mentality, but when it comes to child raising it makes a big difference in attachment and children feeling connected and cared for by their parents(according to my Yoda-like counselor).

So, to sum up my counselor’s theory, my kids don’t really care how many books I complete this year, or about my husband’s heavy workload…they just want us to play blocks and chase and Barbie. That’s so un-adultlike of them.

My lackluster game skills have never really been an issue before now. My oldest teen son is pretty mature (AKA another adultified child) and the baby has my husband to play with, but my middle girl child has become rather demanding. And now it’s come to a crux, because it’s partly my fault.

Apparently “play” is Faith’s love language and that’s just awesome, because I stink at it. And, though I excel at sophisticated grown-up play –Vegas and cocktails, wit and politics, this kiddy frolic stuff sails right past me.

So, I can continue to justify my lack of folly and claim my parents didn’t play little kid games all that much with me either (which is fine, I mean they had jobs to do and they did lots of cool stuff with me it’s just they weren’t five-year-old companions) or I can choose to own it and figure out how to be more silly in a childlike way.

Ummmm….painful! But do I really have a choice if I am to move towards my girl with love?

And so I am now entering a challenging season of being more intentional with my darling middle munchkins (and just for the heck of it, I’m throwing in some pre-school hijinks for the baby too).

For the last few days, I have played Matchbox cars, painted ceramic magnets, used crayons, tried not to punch Mr. Potato Head after I put his arms back in for the forty-fourth time, cut-out paper icicles, decorated sugar cookies, and watched Mickey Mouse Clubhouse over and over and over. I also played in the Jacuzzi with the baby, chased Faith and Kolby around a fountain until Kolby barfed (all over my shoes) and have read an endless stack of baby books. I have listened to toddler music until my head hurts and made Barbie do the splits about a hundred times.

I wish I could say it was easy. Sometimes I actually find myself hoping someone (anyone) will walk in and see me on the floor playing so I can get props and hear, “well now aren’t you the loving mama!”

And I’ll be so demure and bat my eyelashes…”You know, I am really into crafts and being an organic mother. I even make my own baby food.” I’ll say this as I pull my fourth baby out of his sling as I simultaneously play puzzles with my toddler and make macrame necklaces with my tween.

And then my nose will grow like Pinocchio because I am a big fat liar.

I envy the earth mothers. It is so hard for me to just sit and play. It’s like someone is taking away my efficient identity and things that need to get done are falling through the cracks. We already have one playful person in the family -epic funmeister Tim, so somebody has to keep us track, right?

But I’m learning (very slowly and awkwardly) that being present with my children is not about checking tasks off a list –it’s about getting rid of the list.

Nothing enormous has happened since I began my big “PLAY” effort last week. My daughters and my teen didn’t fall on their knees and thank me for my efforts. But, what I have found is that I feel closer to my kids. Faith smiles more. Kolby loves having a new playmate and I feel better knowing that I am making an effort to engage my kids in a way that speaks to them and in a language they can discern.

And sometimes love means ripping out our selfishness and cutting it off at the knees…and somewhere in all this pruning, reconnecting with our lost inner child.

Game on ♥

Do you have a hard time being present with your kids? Do you know your kid’s love languages? What can you do today to see the world from your children’s perspective?

December 27, 2011December 27, 2011

Not So Dirty Words

My elegant and always beautiful mother got on my case today for being redundant (which is a plight worse than death to a connoisseur of words). Apparently I’ve been using the word “crap” too much as of late –which is sort of funny because it’s not even the word I want to use.

“Crap” is an interim word –my Nicorette alternative to the real bad word which got me into hot water with the religious right who think I should be excommunicated for swearing.

So, I’m in this wishy-washy wasteland of trying to clean up my potty mouth and it’s not a pretty place to be. There aren’t that many words to describe my angst and sometimes the perfect word is a bad word and all I have to replace it is –the stupid “C” word. Oh, man there it again.

Source: work.failblog.org via Jean on Pinterest

I’ve therefore decided to do some alternative bad word research and compile the greatest list known to mankind. (Parents: This is a PG-13 Rated List for slightly disturbing animal references and words that sound bad but aren’t)

Sam’s Not So Bad Word List

Cursed Monkey Parts
“Fargin Bastiges” (from Johnny Dangerously)
Jack Wagon (one of my personal favorites)
Crike
Shazbot
Son of a Biscuit
Jiminy Hee Haw
Shut the Front Door!
Cheese and Rice
What the Fish?
“F,” or “eff”
Pickle you Kumquat
You IceHole!
Drat
Nuts
Fark
Sufferin Sucatash (Bugs Bunny)
Ai Caramba/ Ai Chihuahua
Son of Batches
Blasted Tarnation
Putain
Mofakka
Peanut Butter Bone Head (my personal creation)
Blankhole
Motherblanker
“Oh Kelly Clarkson” (from 40 Year-old Virgin)
arugula
“faaaaaaaaaa”
Poop on a Stick
“inbreeders”
shiitake mushrooms
Dag gum it
Bugger
Badwordbadwordbadword
Poo
Jiminy Crickets
William Shatner
Rat Bastard
Abominable Puss-Bucket
Duck Sticker
Cockadoodie used by the malevolent Annie Wilkes as an alternative for cursing in Stephen King’s novel Misery
Catastrophuck A situation (i.e. a poorly planned, under-manned, under-equipped, mismanaged war) that reaches a point of horrific disarray. — from “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart” (10/3/06)
You “Lando” (meaning “sell out” from Empire Strikes Back)
Jinkies (Scooby Doo)
Leaf Licker (Land Before Time)
Mary-Jane rotten-crotch – from R. Lee Ermey in Full Metal Jacket (my husband thinks this line is hilarious but it’s borderline gross)
Uranus (love this!!!!)
Nutsucker (a baby squirrel)
Sugar Honey Iced Tea – from the movie Madagascar. An acronym of the dreaded “S” word.
Wrinklies – refers to…well, umm, the lower man parts –from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, episode School Hard.

Now I have no excuse mom, because I can use one of these fine descriptive words. The “C” word is OFFICIALLY retired!

December 24, 2011

Crazy Last Minute Gift Ideas

Like all women, I sometimes struggle with last minute gift ideas for my husband, so I Googled “pastor’s gifts” for some inspiration. I found this nifty web-site called My-Pastor.com which had some intriguing gift ideas for the spiritual man in your life and some AWESOME ones for his lovely wife!!!!

That is…if you live in the magical land of Spare Oom bordering the Forest of Narnia and you have a large pile of gold.

This may be the most bizarre list of gifts I’ve ever seen and I can only assume the lady who wrote this had to be a disgruntled pastor’s wife who seriously needed Calgon to take her away.

(She seems to have forgotten Rule #1 of blogging…don’t process your emotions on the internet)

I made a few notes so you would have a real-life PW’s perspective.

Pay for an overnight getaway for your pastor and his wife… provide babysitting if necessary. Right. Ummm-Hawaii sounds pretty cool. An ocean-view pad with a personal pool and Jacuzzi is how this pastor’s wife rolls. Oh yeah, and I have three kids. Make sure to lock down the internet for the older man-child and don’t let the tween out of the house with five of her friends and a case of toilet-paper after dark. The toddler is pretty easy if you like to watch five episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba.

Offer to keep her kids overnight on a Friday night. (We’ll be at Casa Ranchera if you need us, I mean Bible Study)

Pay for dinner and a show for the couple…provide babysitting if necessary. I am really looking forward to Mission Impossible III, thanks for watching my kids again. The baby likes mac-n-cheese.

Show your pastor appreciation… when he’s discouraged she is too. He likes Hawaii too. I’ll invite him to join me.

Get a group of ladies together and go shopping at an outlet mall a day’s trip away…add a mall gift certificate to make this pastor’s wife gift even better. CABAZON! Oh yeah!

A Special Gift Basket (let’s focus on the chocolate here people. Cheese is good too)

Fresh fruit and vegetables…especially if they are from your garden or farm. Does anyone have a garden or a farm in Orange County, CA? If you have a potted plant with basil, I’m giving you props.

A walk in your woods with her husband. (Woods? What woods? We have Ortega Canyon but people get mauled by mountain lions there)

Fence in her back yard so she can let her small children play in safety (ask first). That’s clever that they tell you to ask first, I mean crap, can you imagine coming home to a new fence some random church member put up?)

Call her when your horse has just delivered so she can see a newborn kick up its heels…don’t laugh…I once helped a farmer deliver a calf. It gives you a new perspective when you watch an animal living in pure joy! (Oh, golly I always wanted to see a horse deliver. Ummm, sounds like watching an ORK being delivered. What a GIFT! By the way, anybody have a horse?)

Provide the down payment for her dream home. (Heck yeah!!!!!!!) But, I must confess I am living in my little dream home. So, you can just cut me a check to create a writing studio over the garage, or to send our posse of kids to college)

Find out what kind of things she enjoyed before she was in ministry. Make it happen for her again. The schedule of ministry and the expectations of church members often encourage a pastor’s wife to be more conservative in areas where she would sometimes rather let loose. Help her do that…even if you have to take her two hours away so no one else from the church sees. (Can you say Vegas baby? Ladies…pack your bags now!)

Pay the monthly charges for a cell phone so she can stay in touch with friends and family. That’s $157.00 to be exact.

A corsage on a Sunday morning for no special reason except to say, “She’s special.” (That sounds interesting-NOT)Babysit while she goes shopping. (Yessssss!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Drop off supper (call first). If it’s before 6pm you don’t even need to call, because I never have my crap together before then anyway.

Buy a bag of groceries. (Not to be picky or anything, but I like ORGANIC)

Drop off a cup of her favorite cappuccino. (That’s an Americano from Starbucks with extra room and cream please)

Get into the mindset that when you see special deals at stores such as “buy one get one free”, give the freebie to your pastor’s wife. (Sweet! Just don’t get the CVS diapers, because I bought a truckload on a special and they give my baby a rash)

Source: thatvillagehouse.blogspot.com via Tori on Pinterest

December 22, 2011December 22, 2011

Bad Reindeer

My phone started buzzing last night with one text after the next. It was vibrating so much it jumped off the table. I grabbed it and laughed and started texting back.

Apparently, our reindeer have been getting busy. And it wasn’t the first time today. My husband came home and found them inappropriately coupling and moved them apart only to have Rudolph get all frustrated and as soon as we shut the door mount Clarice again.

What is in the water at the Keller house? And, oh by the way, my husband Tim added that last line to my text to Staci. I think it was a hint.

Just after we delicately removed the young buck and his gal for the second time of the evening and donned our winter caps, John Ramsay texted us.

“Your reindeer are getting all crazy.”

Crap! Again? Do they just wait for us to close the door and then start humping?

I guess next year we are going to have a herd of reindeer because Clarice is already showing signs of morning sickness. Or maybe she’s just exhausted by her frisky buck? (I can so relate)

December 20, 2011December 23, 2011

Ferris Keller

My husband has many unique attributes –some quirkier than others, but my favorite “Timism” has to be his distinct approach to making friends with everyone he meets. Remember Ferris Bueller? That’s what it’s like being married to this guy. The world is just waiting to be Tim’s new friend.

Saturday, Tim and I (and our littlest girl Kolby) hit the mall to do some Christmas shopping. But I made sure to lay down the ground rules before we left the house.

The rules were:

No spending four hours debating over a single present. That means we get in, we get out and we do not make dinner plans with our new best friend –the retail associate.
No negotiating over prices in loud obnoxious voices. This is the Mission Viejo Mall not the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul.
No buying man purses.
No strange behavior.

First we went to the Apple store, where in less than four minutes I had purchased a gift for my daughter that starts with an “i” and rhymes with mad. (Sshhh!!! Faith will be so excited).

I knew exactly what I wanted and quickly made the purchase. Just as I reached out to grab the receipt, Tim walks up with his new Apple BFF (some random retail dude) and I have to redo the order because I now have a $10 discount. Then Tim and Apple guy start talking religion and technology and ten minutes later I excuse myself and head over to Pottery Barn. I browse for a long time and then call him and leave a frantic text message to extricate him from the store.

Then we go and try on perfume at Nordstrom’s. I find one I like and my husband debates eau de toilet vs. perfume with the lady –for another twenty minutes. Once again I have to drag him out of the store because he has made a new “she-friend” and they have exchanged business cards.

Now we go to the hair kiosk and try on extensions and he makes another new friend with the hair lady. I just love extensions because I have baby fine hair and sometimes, I wear them, and pretend I am a blond Kardashian. Please don’t ask me if I have them on. If my hair looks awesome just assume I do and if it looks stringy and like Rogaine would do me some good, you can assume I don’t.

Tim likes extensions too. Sometimes he wears them and I pretend he is Fabio.

Then we go to every single kiosk in the mall to look for the perfect iPad cover for Faith and another one for Tim. I bought him an iPad for his birthday in November and apparently he needs a different iPad cover for all the different ways you might ever want to use an iPad…like on a gondola in the Alps, preaching a sermon in Tuscany, or dancing in the Bahamas. So there’s the mountain man iPad cover, pastor iPad cover, techno Ipad cover…and so on and so forth.

I’m dying here because all the stupid cases look the same but my sweetie has to check out every single freaking one before he can make a decision. Then we run into our friend Dan and now we have a shopping posse.

Dan joins us as we head into Brookstone and my husband decides to climb into the massage chair. The whole store gets a play by-play account as Tim’ calves, arms and derriere are massaged by the a-ma-zing chair. Tim tries to negotiate with the young girls on the price and asks them very loudly to knock off $1000 off the large price tag. They laugh and think he’s cute and weird and I crawl into a hole…and die again.

We head to lunch at Nordstrom’s café and have a lovely meal with Kolby and Dan and then inevitably, we go to the man purse store –Tim’s favorite place at the mall.

And I’m sucked in to his excitement because he’s like a little kid amped up on Lucky Charms and he’s so excited to try all the bags on and find just the right one to fit his new iPad and make him look like James Bond.

Kolby found one too.

We have a new name for the man purse. It’s now called a holster and if you call it a murse Tim will pull out his gun and he might have to shoot you if you mock him.

And I buy him a new holster because I am sucked into the vortex of Tim Keller and his exuberance. And this man is so stinking energetic and adorable and friendly, he’s like Lassie and you just can’t help yourself from loving him because he’s contagious and absolutely priceless.

And that’s probably why he has over a thousand friends on Facebook and it’s why I go to bed every night with a smile on my face (though he might tell you it’s for another reason).

December 14, 2011

Gangsta Christmas

Every morning I wake up to another sappy Christmas commercial that emotionally hijacks me and leaves me all weepy in my honey nut Cheerios. For example: the Hallmark tear-jerker that keeps replaying of the lonely soldier in Afghanistan opening up a Charlie Brown book with his little boy’s voice warbling out the Christmas story –sob, sniffle, sniffle, sob.

Enough is enough! Instead of another blog post on the most amazing Christmas gift I’ve received, or even the most meaningful, how about a tribute to the worst Christmas Day ever? Yessss…I knew you were in for it.

On a dismal and dreary Christmas morning about ten years ago (a rarity in sun drenched So Cal) my family and I loaded up all the gifts, pies and babies (Kyle was 4, Faith was 1) into our Expedition and with my father and step-mom closely following in the car behind us, we caravanned to the kids’ grandparents (on their dad’s side) in a nearby beach community.

On the way over we sang snowman songs and goofed around. The roads were quiet and eerily still and we made quick time on the freeway, exited onto a road in a rather bad neighborhood (but one we drive through all the time) and continued on our way.

All of a sudden, a car coming in the opposite direction u-turned directly in front us and screeched to a halt within inches of our stunned faces. The kid’s daddy (Brent) threw on the brakes and my father (Papa Ken) stopped quickly behind us almost hitting us. I looked up and saw a black Escalade hot on the heels of the junky car that had just blocked our path.

The door of the junky car flew open and a man tumbled out with a look of sheer terror on his face, never taking his eyes off the Escalade. He darted right then jerked to the left as if he was carrying a football into the end zone then dashed across the street directly in the path of our car. Within a nanosecond, one of the heavily tinted windows of the Escalade lowered and a hand appeared with a large ominous gun tracking the fleeing man. The man raced across the front of our car and the gun followed his every move.

I screamed “move, move, move!” like a commando from Rambo. Brent looked at me in confusion because he didn’t see the gun at first, then realized what was happening and quickly moved into action.

I whipped around and motioned for the kids to get down (difficult when babies are in car seats) and hollered at Brent to back the car up and get us out of there pronto. Brent threw the car in reverse like one of the Duke’s of Hazard boys and maneuvered around Papa Ken’s car motioning like crazy for him to back up.

The man kept running and a single shot fired off from the gun but missed him –and even more thankfully –us. The black Escalade roared to life and took off after the man down the side street. The junky car sat in the middle of the street abandoned, with the door wide open and blocking traffic.

Brent pulled over and we quickly called the police and choked out the incident in bursts of adrenaline. The police asked us to come in and give them a report.

Everyone decided it would be best to drop off the hysterical wife (namely –me) at Brent’s parent’s home with the kids and then go back to meet the cops.

I sat at the house in a trance of tremors and tears while my in-laws tried to console me but I was shaken to the core with this near brush of violence. The last thing I expected on a merry Christmas Day was a drive-by shooting initiated by gangster thugs.

Who shoots people on Christmas Day anyway? And what the heck did the guy do to deserve to be hunted down like an animal?

All these thoughts swirled through my brain and then finally peace washed over me like a gentle wave. And I knew that even in the midst of this terrible awful, I would appreciate this Christmas day like never before. I held my babies tighter, breathed in their sweet sugary cookie smell, and enjoyed my family with an unfamiliar intensity.

I discovered on that eventful day that sometimes the best Christmas gifts are wrapped in the worst possible circumstances.

Appreciation rarely reveals itself in the obvious; it’s subtle and generally involves suffering and trial. And just like the soldier sitting all alone in a tent in the Middle East yearning for his family, I understood all that I had to lose in a split second.

So if your Christmas stinks this year –let it be a reminder of better times, both in the past and yet to come (Lord willing). And relish the gift of appreciation, unconventionally wrapped, often missed but when found –deeply treasured.

(I know, I know…Halmark wants me to write for them)

What do you appreciate this Christmas? What do you long for? Do you have a worst Christmas tale?

December 12, 2011December 15, 2011

Awkward Reindeer Games

It’s been a whirlwind weekend despite my less than stellar health. Tim and I frolicked and made enough Christmas cheer that my teenage son actually asked us, “so are you guys (like) partiers now?”

“No, son this is called the Christmas Season when normally boring parents don Santa Hats, red cocktail dresses, and sweater vests with snowmen. It’s the time of year when we designate drivers, eat too much and try out new cocktails like “cake batter martinis.”

Some of the highlights of this festive weekend include:

Friday Cocktail Party: My husband approached an ongoing conversation and randomly overheard a woman describing a frisky sex game she plays with her husband…just then the host interrupted and introduced my husband to her as “Pastor Tim.” Poor, poor woman… strangely enough, she avoided us the rest of the evening.
Me hacking up a lung at every event. I coughed so much I have ripped abs. I’m not kidding. Forget seven minute abs –try bronchitis or the emu flu or whatever the heck I have. (And yes I’m heading to the doctor today because it feels like an elephant sat on my chest)
Attending my office Christmas party at the Cellar in Fullerton. The Cellar is located at the site of the original Hotel California which is surprisingly haunted…pretty cool huh? Personally I don’t believe in ghosts, but somehow my entire meal and my chocolate soufflé disappeared? (darn ghost)
Decorating the awesome nine foot Christmas tree on Saturday morning with the family (that a very cool young man gave to us as a gift). So fun!!!! And little Kolby has only demolished three treasured ornaments that I hand-painted from 1980. (Daddy forgot the three foot high toddler tree rule)

Waiting in line outside for Faith’s recital with no coats for thirty minutes in the freezing cold. I told Kyle to go to the car and find something warm –a jacket, a blanket, anything so we wouldn’t turn into popsicles. Unfortunately we were driving my husband’s car, so I didn’t know what he would find. Kyle sheepishly came back with a stained and pitted undershirt of Tim’s he found in his gym bag that I was forced to use to wrap up baby Kolby to keep her warm. I could see all the people around me curiously staring. Yep that’s me-the woman who gives her toddler a crappy and stinky old t-shirt as a blankie.

December 8, 2011December 8, 2011

Just Cracking Up Over Here

: Check out my awesome boa!

I am having one of those icky-sicky days where I sound like a barking seal and feel like snotty slug. But sometimes we have to buck up and get through these crap days. I find that laughing is always the best medicine.

So, I decided to share some of my favorite silly finds of the day so you can share in my folly (or misery if you have no sense of humor).

How about some cat humor?

Source: popurls.com via Samantha on Pinterest

Source: media.photobucket.com via Samantha on Pinterest

I’m on pins and needles waiting for him to say “boo!”

Source: chubaandcompany.com via Samantha on Pinterest

I think I saw a lady on Balboa Island with this little guy. He was in a stroller.

Source: collegehumor.com via Samantha on Pinterest

Little offbeat humor here…for weird moms like me who know Goodnight Moon by heart.

Source: quickmeme.com via Samantha on Pinterest

I totally relate! I’m a July baby. It stinks man! And because I’m close to the 4th of July, people always give me sparklers as a gift. What’s up with that?

Source: imgur.com via Samantha on Pinterest

Baby Charlie Brown…I love it! All he needs is a crappy ornament!

Source: iwastesomuchtime.com via Samantha on Pinterest

This is so twisted and sick it’s kinda funny! He looks like a young Dexter.

I hope I made you grin!

Much love…Sam

December 6, 2011December 6, 2011

Putting the “Fun” Back into Dysfunction

Normally by this time of year I’d be up to my ears in Christmas cheer, volunteering, filling bags of gifts for kids of felons, and helping to clothe and feed the homeless. But this December, due to a demanding writing schedule I’ve been a bit lax in my elvish duties. I’ve watched instead of engaged.

So in a guilt ridden effort to do at least one noble deed for the greater good, I want to acknowledge those that have stepped up to the plate.

Take my ex-husband “Uncle Brent” for instance. (For more details of this twisted relationship see the Dysfunctional Family, and “NO” I am not from Arkansas or Appalachia or mountainous communities where we marry our brothers).

A few weeks ago Uncle Brent mentioned he and his wife “Auntie Lauren” wanted to serve the homeless. I just happened to have a flier from church with a list of all the “do good” activities I planned to do but put off (no judgment please).

But Brent actually followed through and took my two older kids (Kyle and Faith) last Saturday to serve in downtown Santa Ana. My son Kyle filled me in on their adventure. He told me the leader of the group –Randy, asked Brent if he knew how to pray. Brent replied “yes.” So Randy informed Brent that he was now in charge of praying for the whole group before they tended to the poor. (No pressure!)

Now this might not sound like a big deal to most of you –but it’s kind of a big deal to my son, to me and maybe to Brent too. He hasn’t been super involved in church in a long time –since our divorce, actually (eight years ago), and in a roundabout twisted way, it felt sort of redemptive.

I never wanted to be the reason someone turned away from God but in all the mess of the divorce, I clung to the church in my (victim mentality) righteousness and Brent moved away in his (bad-guy) shame.

The truth is there should be room for both of us and God makes no distinction between the prodigal son and the older brother who played by all the rules.

It took me a long time to embrace forgiveness and understand true mercy, to let go of my anger, move towards healing and learn to love my ex-husband like a real brother. Fortunately the benefits of extending grace have far outweighed the excruciating refinement of my crusty character.

I can honestly say I enjoy co-parenting my son and daughter with Uncle Brent and Aunt Lauren. I know all of you divorced parents out there are like, “Really?” Yes! Really. I pinky swear.

I love watching my husband and ex-husband hang Christmas lights together and bumble around on the boom, seeing little Kolby squeal with delight when Auntie Lauren comes over, and I am overwhelmed with emotion when I hear my boy telling me about his dad leading a group of humble servants in prayer and service to the poor and needy.

And to me…this is what it’s all about.

To seek justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God.

(Oh yeah…and TO FORGIVE. Even when it’s hard)

From the Keller’s to Uncle Brent and Aunt Lauren…we love you and Merry Christmas.

Samantha, Tim, Kyle Adams, Faith Adams, and Kolby Keller

If you would like to jump on board this Christmas and help out the poor in the South Orange County area, here is a list of service opportunities through Mariners Mission Viejo Church.

Spread the Love by serving this year! And if you sign up, let me know and I’ll join you.