Category: Thoughts on Jesus

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God, the Stag, and My Control Issues

Sometimes the most jarring wake-up calls are the sacred ones.

It was early morning, the darkest hour before dawn, when the world feels both half-asleep and half-holy.
My mind raced ahead: carpool, client calls, meal planning. It was the usual pre-sunrise chaos.

The roads were empty as I crossed the bridge into Ladera Ranch—a deep canyon below, a sports park to the side. Routine, until suddenly, it wasn’t.

Out of the darkness, a flash of a movement in front of me.

A stag appeared, massive and majestic, impossible to miss. We locked eyes for a single breathless second. Beauty, strength, power. And then came the impact.

The front right side of my car struck him hard. It felt like I’d hit a brick wall. My hands clutched the steering wheel as the car buckled and screeched, metal groaning beneath me. Somehow, I managed not to lose control.

I slowed to a stop and looked back just in time to see the great animal stagger, then collapse. I sat there frozen, tears already spilling, unsure what to do. I was on a bridge with nowhere safe to pull over, and my car sounded like it was falling apart. Truthfully, I was falling apart too. Every light on the dashboard flashed red, screaming at me. I whispered frantic prayers, hoping the awful clicking sound wasn’t his antlers caught under my car.

When I made it home, I rushed inside sobbing. My girls hugged me and let me cry. We rearranged carpool.

Then I called my dad. He’s the one person who always picks up before dawn. He talked me down, guided me through insurance and accident reporting, and reminded me to breathe.

The repair bill was close to $10,000.
But the damage to my spirit? It raised far deeper questions.

Because I didn’t just hit a deer.
It was a stag.

The Weight of What It Meant

That morning has haunted me. Every time I drive over that bridge now, especially at night, my chest tightens. I slow down. I look both ways. And I wonder what God was trying to show me.

I felt like I’d just murdered Bambi—well, a grown-up, fully-antlered version of him anyway. I took down one of God’s creatures, and my heart just broke. It wasn’t roadkill; it felt personal.

The stag has always symbolized strength and masculinity, this noble, almost sacred energy. In myth and Scripture, he’s the king of the forest, the protector, even a reflection of Christ Himself. So why on earth did I have to collide with that?

Maybe because I needed to.

You see, I’m writing a book right now about faith and femininity, about reclaiming softness in a world that applauds hustle. That morning felt like a divine object lesson, one I never would have asked for.

I could almost hear God’s sigh, “Sweetheart, you can ease off the gas now. You’ve been driving in your masculine lane way too long.”

It felt like a turning point. It was one of those moments when God gently reminds you that strength isn’t about control anymore. It’s about humility. About letting go of the striving so something softer, wiser, and truer can rise up in its place.

And that pierced me deeper than the impact.

What the Stag Showed Me

As a single mom and business owner, I’ve lived in masculine energy for years, always leading, fixing, and solution finding. It kept me afloat, but also made me guarded.

Now I’m with a beautifully masculine man who cherishes and protects me, making it safe to soften. For (almost) two years now, I’ve been learning to exhale. With him, I can live in lightheartedness and peace, enjoying the grace of being emotionally cared for. I get to be the woman who laughs easily, moves slowly, and radiates calm.

I can release the control.
I can choose quietness over power.
I get to live in that quiet confidence of the feminine that trusts she’s protected and secure.

And not in some cringey, submissive way—please, I’m way past that—but in a beautiful rhythm where the masculine and feminine actually dance instead of me clumsily stepping on his toes and trying to lead.

A Cosmic Collision

Hitting a stag stays with you. It doesn’t just bruise your bumper; it leaves a mark on your soul. The beauty of the creature and the violence of the moment exist together in this unbearable tension.

And maybe that’s the point.

The coexistence of beauty and destruction in transformation.
The reality that awakening often costs something sacred.
And a deep reverence for life itself.

-Samantha

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Gracefully Removing Yourself from a Dumpster Fire: How-to

a hand holding a mug near the wooden table with letter board

There comes a moment in most women’s lives, usually somewhere between the group text meltdown and post-dance mom competition, when it hits you:
“Wait… are we just… gossiping right now?”

And then there’s the slow horror of knowing it’s your turn to say something. Or not.
You feel it in your stomach. Your conscience is squirming. Your inner people-pleaser is sweating bullets.
You want to shut it down.
You also want to avoid sounding like a total jerk.

Because let’s be honest:
Most of us don’t want to be that girl.
(You know, the one who starts quoting Proverbs mid-convo while everyone’s still passing guac and chips.)

But you also don’t want to sit there and give approval while someone verbally sets fire to another human being’s reputation.

So what’s a grown ass woman, with decent boundaries and a heart for Jesus, supposed to do?

First off: It’s going to feel weird, and that’s okay.

Standing up to gossip feels uncomfortable. Especially when it’s subtle. When it’s dressed up in concern. Or half-whispers. Or Christianese.

No one hands you a script. No angel shows up and says, “Speak now, O daughter of the King!”
It’s just you, your conscience, and your internal dialogue freaking out:
“Do I say something? Do I fake a bathroom emergency? Do I order another drink and hope this goes away?”

Here’s the good news: you don’t have to make it awkward. You just have to make a choice.

Here are my 5 Favorite Ways to Shut It Down

1. The Casual Pivot

“Oh wow. Hey, have you tried that new taco place by Target? So yummy.”

This is your smooth redirection, like you used to do with your toddlers when they wouldn’t give up a friend’s toy. Your emergency exit. Bonus points if it’s a totally unrelated topic like gluten-free muffins or microblading your eyebrows. No one will know what hit them.

2. The Unexpected Compliment (my personal favorite)

“You know, I’ve actually seen her handle that really well. She’s been through a lot.”

It lands softly, but it hits hard. You just quietly reminded everyone there’s a whole human behind the tea.

3. The “It’s Me, Not You” Move

“I’m working on not repeating stuff I didn’t hear firsthand. Could we change the subject?”

It’s the modern vibe of “Girl, you do you, and I’ll do me.” You’re not calling them out. You’re owning your own growth. No shame. Just a quick shift of gears with a side of maturity.

4. Poof! Gone

“Be right back!”
(This is where you hide in the bathroom)

You’re allowed to leave the conversation. Even mid-sentence. Even if it’s your mom group, small group, or carpool crew.

5. Stop and Pray

“Let’s pray for her.”

Depending on your audience, this may bring things to a halt. Or it may get awkward. Real awkward. But hey, sometimes, doing the right thing isn’t easy. At the very least, it plants a seed and shifts the topic.

The Harsh Truth

“A gossip betrays a confidence; so avoid anyone who talks too much.”
— Proverbs 20:19

Look. This doesn’t mean ghost your friend for life because she shared something she shouldn’t have.
It just means, don’t match her energy.
Don’t pick up what’s not yours to carry.
Don’t toss logs on a fire you weren’t called to ignite.

A Few Reminders

  • You can be wise and warm.
  • You can protect peace without preaching a 3-point sermon.
  • You can excuse yourself from the table without making a scene.

This isn’t about shutting people down. It’s about not letting someone else’s verbal diarrhea suck you in.

You’re not the gossip police.
You’re just trying to honor truth more than drama…and that is more aligned with the heart of Jesus.

Reflect

  • When was the last time I sat in a gossip-y conversation and said nothing, but felt awful?
  • What would it look like to leave one of those moments with quiet dignity instead of regret?
  • What phrase should I keep in my back pocket to pull out for next time? And I promise you, there will be a next time. With women…there always is.

Keep fighting the good fight.

—Sam

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Holy Hush: Silence Is a Spiritual Practice

A minimalist beige graphic with the title "Holy Hush: Silence Is a Spiritual Practice" in bold black serif font. Below the title is a simple black line drawing of a teacup with steam rising. At the bottom, it reads, "Day 2 of the Gossip Detox Series" in warm brown text.

 (aka: When in doubt, don’t blurt it out.)

There’s this thing I’m learning–slowly, stubbornly–that silence can actually be holy. Not awkward. Not passive. Not weak. Just… quietly powerful.

And I’ll be honest with you: I haven’t always been great at it.

Ever let an errant thought slip out that you immediately wanted to reel back in like a rogue balloon at a toddler’s birthday party? Yeah. Same.

I’d love to say I’ve never entertained less-than-charitable thoughts about people–but that would be dishonest. Shocker: I’m human. People can irritate me or get on my nerves and sometimes I don’t even know why? (but that’s a whole different blog)

But what I’ve realized over time is this:
-Not every thought needs to be shared.
-Not every person is a safe person to share it with.
-And not clapping back? Sometimes it’s a spiritual discipline–not just a social one.

Let me explain..

🥴 The Drunk Neighbor and the Moment of Clarity

A while back, I was at a party at a close friend’s house. You know, a casual backyard thing–easy vibes, lots of laughter. I felt relatively safe there. I’d shared a lot of my life with this friend. As in, deep-heart felt stuff. The kind of stuff you don’t throw around lightly. 

Thoughts. Dreams. Fears. 

And then one of her neighbors sat down next to me. Let’s just say she was… a little past tipsy. (Okay, she was hammered.)

And right there, in the middle of the party, she started giving me unsolicited relationship advice–based on every personal detail I’d ever told my friend. Not vague stuff. She knew things. Things I’d never said out loud to anyone but my friend.

Cue that sick to your stomach stomach feeling.

In one sad, uncomfortable moment, it all clicked:
-My friend wasn’t a safe space.
-My story had become someone else’s narrative.
-And gossip? Yeah–it doesn’t need a microphone to burn everything down.

🕊️ Jesus Didn’t Always Use Words

One of the most powerful examples of holy silence in the Bible? Jesus before Pilate.

“But Jesus made no reply, not even to a single charge–to the great amazement of the governor.”
 – Matthew 27:14

He was accused. Mocked. Misunderstood.
He had every right to speak up, to defend Himself, to lay it all out.
And He chose silence.

Not because He was weak. But because He focused on  the end game and a higher goal. His silence wasn’t passive–it was intentional.

And if Jesus could stay quiet in the face of false accusations… maybe I can hold my tongue when I’m tempted to vent in the group chat.

 Why We Always Feel the Need to Fill the Space

If you’re anything like me, silence can feel… uncomfortable. Like you’re letting something slide or giving up ground. But most of the time, when we feel like we have to speak, it’s coming from a place of:

  • Wanting to be understood
  • Wanting to be right
  • Wanting to protect our image
  • Feeling awkward
  • Or just needing to fill the space

But the older I get, the more I’m learning this:
Just because you can say something doesn’t mean you should.

🧠 A Simple Challenge for Today: The 3-Second Rule

Before you respond–pause for 3 full seconds.

Ask yourself:

  • Is this true?
  • Is it necessary?
  • Is it kind?
  • Will I regret saying this later?
  • Would I want this shared at a party by a tipsy neighbor?

If you’re unsure? Choose the hush. Let the Holy Spirit say what you almost did.

🙏 A Prayer for Day 2

Lord, teach me the beauty of silence.
Remind me that wisdom doesn’t always need words.
Help me to resist the urge to explain, defend, or control how I’m perceived.
Give me discernment to know when to speak–and grace to stay silent when silence is sacred.
Heal the places in me that feel like I have to say something to prove I matter.
I want to be known for peace, not noise.
Amen.

💡 Reflect & Reset

  • Has silence ever saved you from regret?
  • Who are your safe people–the ones you can actually trust with your story?
  • Have you ever gone public with something that maybe… should’ve stayed sacred?

Coming Up: Day 3 – “The Mouth Mirrors the Heart”
 (It’s not just about words–it’s about what’s simmering under the surface.)

Subscribe to get the rest of the Gossip Detox Series

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10 Bible Verses for Anxious Moms (That Actually Help)

Personal Note from One Mama to Another

I’m watching my darling daughter-in-law juggle two babies under two, and I’m taken right back. I remember those days of complete surrender—when a quiet time, a shower, and maybe a quick workout (AKA a brisk walk with the stroller) defined self-care and sanity. In those early years, there was a fine line between letting go of anxiety and letting in the moments that took my breath away: tiny arms wrapped around my neck, first words and giggles, the magic of seeing the world through brand-new eyes. Was I terrified a seagull might eat my itty-bitty newborn when we walked on the pier? Yes-but I pushed through the new mommy phase and gained confidence one sippy cup at a time.

But then life got busier—school drop-offs, sports, scraped knees, and building a life that felt both full and complete. And then, the bottom fell out. I became a single mom. And anxiety? It stopped being an occasional visitor and became a constant companion. When you’re carrying the financial weight, the emotional load, and the spiritual burden alone—it’s no longer just stress. It’s survival.

During that season, quiet time wasn’t a sweet addition to my day—it was my oxygen. I couldn’t breathe without God’s presence. I still can’t.

Motherhood will test you in ways you never imagined. It will grow you, stretch you, and sanctify you. These verses below are the ones I’ve clung to in the early years, the single-parent years, and now—as I raise my youngest teen daughter and watch my children become parents themselves.

If you’re reading this while wiping tears or eating leftover macaroni off your toddler’s plate and calling it lunch—these verses are for you, too.

You’re Not Alone: What the Research Says

If you’ve ever wondered, “Is it just me?”—the answer is a compassionate no.

  • The American Psychological Association found that 46% of moms report high levels of stress, especially those with children under 18.
  • A 2023 study in The Journal of Affective Disorders revealed that moms are especially vulnerable to anxiety and depression due to role overload, sleep deprivation, and cultural expectations.
  • And here’s the hope: A 2019 study in Psychology of Religion and Spirituality found that spiritual practices—like prayer, scripture meditation, and trusting in God—are linked to reduced anxiety and greater emotional resilience.
  • Neuroscientist Dr. Andrew Newberg even found that consistent spiritual habits can physically change the brain to help you stay calmer and more emotionally grounded over time.

In other words, your quiet time isn’t just a spiritual discipline—it’s a healing practice.

The Scriptures That Carried Me—And Still Do

Here are 10 verses that helped anchor me in the stormiest seasons of motherhood. I return to them often—and I pray they speak life and peace over you today:

1. Philippians 4:6–7

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God…”
➡️ God invites you to release the worry and come to Him with every messy, real fear.

2. Isaiah 26:3

“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.”
➡️ Peace is promised—not perfection—when your eyes stay fixed on Him.

3. 1 Peter 5:7

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”
➡️ God isn’t distant. He’s a loving Father who wants your burdens.

4. Matthew 11:28–30

“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest…”
➡️ You don’t have to earn rest. It’s your inheritance.

5. Psalm 94:19

“When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.”
➡️ Even in spiraling moments, His comfort reaches you.

6. John 14:27

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you… Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
➡️ Jesus offers a kind of peace the world can’t mimic—steady, deep, and real.

7. Proverbs 3:5–6

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding…”
➡️ You don’t have to figure everything out. Trust unfolds peace.

8. Psalm 121:1–2

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord…”
➡️ God is your steady help when you feel like falling apart.

9. Lamentations 3:22–23

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning…”
➡️ Motherhood may deplete you—but God’s mercy refills you daily.

10. Zephaniah 3:17

“The Lord your God is with you… He will quiet you with his love…”
➡️ God doesn’t just fix problems. He soothes your anxious heart with His presence.

Bonus Resources for Your Journey

If you’re looking for more support, encouragement, or just a good cry-laugh while folding laundry, here are some grace-filled reads:

📚 “Mom Set Free” by Jeannie Cunnion
📚 “Midnight Mom Devotional” by Becky Thompson
📚 “Calm My Anxious Heart” by Linda Dillow
📚 “Rhythms of Renewal” by Rebekah Lyons

A Final Word, Mama

You don’t have to carry all of this alone. Your anxiety doesn’t disqualify you. You’re not a bad mom because you cry in the pantry or lose your marbles in Target. You are human. You are held. And you are wildly, fiercely, faithfully loved by a God who is not overwhelmed by your overwhelm.

He is with you in the endless bottle sterilization, in the pickup line, in the midnight teething wakeups—and right now, in this moment, as you take a deep breath and read these words.

And if no one has told you today: You’re doing better than you think.

-Samantha

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Going Primal

Lent hit home in a new way for me this year. I like to think of it as my caveman experience.

Sure, I’ve given stuff up before. I’ve fasted a little, prayed a little and given some of the “stuff” up I put too much emphasis on.

But this time it was different. This year Jesus took me deep into the wilderness.

It started with Keto.

Tim and I did the low carb diet in February. We had high hopes to lose a few lbs and get in shape.But one of us had some weird side effects.

That would be me. I stopped sleeping.

Sam’s body in ketosis is a navy seal on steroids. Basically, I felt like Wonder Woman with a surplus of energy.

I only needed 3-4 hours of sleep a night. Think of all those extra hours in the day!

Let’s just say I got $h1t done. Lot’s of it. I mean, I went from snoozing 8 hours a night to having a surplus of 4-5 hours in the day.

I was on fire. Losing weight. Wearing clothes I hadn’t worn in 4 years. Working at all hours of the day. Turning the coffee pot on at 2:00 A.M. to start the day.

Feeling good and PRODUCTIVE and energized!

It was a Keto high of colossal proportions. I felt buzzed all the time without anything to make me feel that way other than my body burning up my fat as fuel. Whoo Hoo!!!

I was simply eating lots of vegetables, fat and protein.

My Keto high lasted for 3 or 4 solid weeks. It was ridiculously awesome.

Until it wasn’t.

Around week 4 fatigue started to catch up to me.I got punchy. My filter for saying innapropriate things dissipated along with the pounds. I was a walking yawn. So, so so tired, but unable to sleep.

I started cussing more. I felt out of control when it came to my mouth. It was like someone slipped me sodium pentothal, and there are just some things that don’t need to be said.

I honestly got more sleep when I had babies–at least I could piece-meal together 5 or 6 hours a night.

By week 5 exhaustion was kicking my ass. I got dizzy at the gym. I almost fell asleep driving. I melted down at work and laughed until I cried and then really started crying because I couldn’t reel it back in.

My co-workers just looked at me in bewilderment.

I am normally a pretty disciplined and self- controlled human.

But this chick was on the edge. Sleep torture is real. I felt unstable emotionally.

Primal. Ragged. Raw. Like a girl on the streets trying to claw her way back to into normalcy.

When I hit 40 days my prayers got real.

I just needed RELIEF. My thoughts were racing. All I could whisper was Jesus over and over.

Then a word came to me.

Lent.

This is what Jesus went through. This is the wilderness.

Obviously Jesus’ scenario was extremely worse and my foray into the desert is on no way on par with his sacrifice and temptations, but to me, it was a Lenton experience.

When Jesus  walked away from food and water and into the dry land to be tempted he gave up all his coping mechanisms and faced the enemy with nothing but his faith.

And here I was…a walking zombie with stress hitting me from every side. Loved ones facing scary health challenges. Uncertainty. The thought of more loss dangling in the air like a balloon a mile high in the sky that you can see but not grasp..

I begged God to deliver from this sleep hell. Melatonin wasn’t working. Was it some type of spiritual battle? I was already fasting and praying, what was I missing?

So, I called in reinforcements.

I reached out to a good friend and got real and we talked about my broken parts. The ones that I can cover up when I have my makeup and rice and facade of control.

We talked about the spiderwebs in the recesses of my soul.

The parts that scream out for attention.

The impulses I bury deep but that find their way out when I strip away the layers of protection I shield my ugliness with.

Why do I stir the pot when I’m feeling insecure? Why do I mutter the “s” word under my breath like I have turrets when things go sideways? I’m a paradoxial mess…working my ass off to fend off financial insecurity and alternately pulling the blonde card when I’m overwhelmed or maybe just a little lazy? And why do I always feel like I have to prove my worth–which basically turns into social awkwardness every time I “try” too hard making me feel even more exposed and vulnerable.

So, I went back to Jesus. This time with a sacrifice of not just repentance, but unawered questions and a bag of tears over the sin I can’t seem to scrub off.

That very evening this beautiful girl came up to me after a class I help teach at church. She told me my blog was helping to change her identity and to remember her worth in God’s eyes.

And for a brief moment I felt like such a fraud. Here I am, wounded and reeling and she see’s something in me, I can’t even see in myself.

Because I forget too.

But in her eyes I saw Jesus reminding me of who I am.

Not perfect. Not even close…but still pursued and cherished.

My heart took a deep breath because I was carrying so much guilt over my sleep deprived “crazy.”

I don’t have to live the lie or DENY my sin. Maybe my best gift and your best gift to the world is to simply share our inadequacy.

Let’s be honest, it’s not like I can hide my “Jacked Up.”

When I  hold back and conceal my wounds, my inner darkness can neither be healed nor become a light for others.

As Dietrich Bonhoffer said, “guilt is an idol.”

I can choose to walk in the forgiveness I am offered or stew in the struggle.

And in the gap of my shortcomings He stands and rescues. Open arms in spite of my brokenness and hesitation.

I am being transformed even as I stumble forward one small step at a time.

I’m still not sleeping well even though I went off the Keto diet.

If I make it to the 4’s (AM) it’s a good day. Obviously, I messed with my bodies delicate chemical balance and it derailed me.

I’m also still struggling with my less than stellar coping mechanisms, although I only cussed once yesterday (#progress)!

I’ve added back in rice and a little wine on the weekends and gotten a few nights of quasi-rest but I continue to exist in a sleep deprived state.

It’s honestly not the best me maybe but it’s more of the real me.

I’ve learned some interesting things about myself in this weakened state that no one warned me about in the Keto manual.

Sometimes I need help. Some battles are more than I can face alone. I need my friends to pray for me and cry with me when the ache is more than I can bear.

Being a Keto Wonder Woman is over-rated. Carbs might be the enemy for some…but for me they are also sanity!

As Max Lucado put so elegantly, “The circumstances we ask God to change are often the circumstances God is using to change us.”

–Samantha

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How to be an Obnoxious Parent

I wrote this post five years ago and it feels like it needs to be updated.  Because maybe you don’t know how awesome my kids are now in 2015?

Random person-“Wow, your baby is really smart (pretty, adorable…amazing)!”

Me-“I know, right?”

Am I really that obnoxious parent who unashamedly brags on her kids?

Yep. I am. I can’t stop myself. I hear the words slipping out and I want to grab them back, whip out my lasso and coral them in, but it’s too late. Once again, I have over-shared regarding my kid’s total awesomeness.

(2010) Have I told you about Kyle?  We call him six-pack in training, our movie-star handsome, 4.0 GPA, nationally ranked football player, stud pitcher, kindergarten volunteering, gentle, loving, Godly, ridiculously humorous almost thirteen year old son?

lu7a0170Five years later…

(2015) Kyle is a 17 yr old senior in high school at J Serra.  He still loves football–although he is now a linebacker, fullback and tight end, instead of a center. He is in the process of getting recruited for college ball–more on that to come soon. He is a captain of his football team, still movie-star handsome, a good student, not playing baseball now and thinking of playing a little lacrosse in the spring?  He has no girlfriend (heck yeah!), is still soooo funny, even-tempered, hard-working, and is a county music, Jesus loving boy.  He’s building houses in Peru next spring, driving our old gas guzzling Ford truck around, and enjoying every minute of his friends and youth. Strangely enough, he is now violently allergic to his favorite food–sushi?  Suckaroo!  Kyle loves the beach, working out and snowboarding. If he’s not at football practice he is usually hanging out somewhere with Brad and Kelly.

(2010) What about my little beauty Faith? Let me tell you about my sweetheart girl who dances like a fairy, cheers like a maniac, is smart, fun-loving, a talented actress(recently starred in Peter Pan as the Indian Grizzly Bear), is a great big-sis, and leads worship with gusto? Did I mention she is shooting a spec commercial for the Vizio tablet this weekend?

(2015)  Faith is a freshman at J Serra and joins the Lions with her brother.  She is a JV cheerleader and is on the yearbook staff.  She is artistic, fashion-minded and dedicated.  She works hard in the classroom and wants to pursue photography as a career. Faith loves Campus Ministry–mainly because the worship director is “so beautiful mom,” which I totally get, because I think pastor’s are hot too!  Faith’s personality is mostly sunshine with a few storm clouds thrown in for good measure.  She is extroverted to the extreme and so beautiful, inside and out.

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(2010) How about the Kolbster?  Baby Kolby is so freaking cute! She is months beyond her year, crazy clever, reads letters, knows every animal sound (including “hop” for bunny because I don’t know what the heck the bunny says), has killer hair, and talks incessantly about her big brother.

I just love Duck Chili mommy!

(2015)  Yep, Kolby still has killer hair.  I think we are all a little jealous.  Kolby is in kindergarten now–a real big girl–and the joy of our lives. She is clever and silly and smart as a whip.  Kolby plays soccer, does ballet and cheerleading, and is a part of a Daisy Troop.  She still loves her bro Kyle but talks about other boys now too (gasp!) On any given afternoon she rolls with the Claymont Street girls gang of blond beauties. She loves to color, play with Shopkins, read books with mama and play Barbies.  Kisses from Kolby are magical and her snuggles have true healing power.
KolbyK_selects_017I know. I know. Someone stop me from bragging. I have diarrhea of the pompous mouth when it comes to my munchkins. But, I’m guessing most parents feel thisway. They love their kids so, so, so much, they simply can’t help themselves.

But in my defense, even God brags on his boy a bit. “Have you seen my son Job?” he tells Lucifer. “He’s a total stud, blameless, upright and courageous.” (Slightly modified by Sam from Job 1:8)

Sounds like some swagger wagon to me…

So maybe my crazy love for my kids is annoying, boastful, and even bombastic.

But maybe it’s also… sort of a God thing.

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When did Naked go out of Style?

playboy-logo

A few months ago as I scrolled through my Facebook feed, I noticed an article on the role of sexual power and male/female demographics.  Since Tim and I write on this stuff, I clicked.

Two seconds later I realized I had been redirected to the Playboy website.  With cheeks flaming red, I furtively glanced around, hoping no one at Starbucks noticed where I had landed and then inhaled the info at high-speed so I could exit the site incognito.  In truth, the article was a well-written piece but Playboy is not my usual stomping ground.

A few days later, my husband mentions to me that he accidentally clicked on a link off Facebook and it went to Playboy.  He fessed up early because he knows I get an e-mail once a week with his browsing history.

How awesome is my husband?

So why do I get this  e-mail, you ask? Am I one of those freaky paranoid wives hiding in the corners and spying on her man?

Uh…no.  Although that would make for a good story.

Tim asked me to be his online accountability partner a while back and I am notified once a week if there is any questionable activity.  My husband initiated this self-audit–not moi.  Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) I never have anything to razz him about.

So when he mentions Playboy, I know I can mess with a little.

Husband: “Oh, uh, yeah…so there was this really cool article on Facebook and I clicked and I didn’t know it was on Playboy and…”

Me: “Yeah right, you just clicked on Playboy for the articles?”

Husband: “Yes, I mean, I know it sounds bad, but it was so innocent and I totally freaked out immediately.”

Me: Now dying laughing at his awkward attempts to explain this.  I poke a bit more and then fess up.

Me: “Hey babe, I read the same article.  I know you are telling the truth.”

And he breathes a big sigh of relief and then comes over to tickle me for busting his chops.

………..

When I saw the breaking news on Tuesday that Playboy will no longer post nude pictures it got my attention.  I guess it’s okay to read Playboy at work now.  Men for the first time ever CAN  truthfully claim they read it for the articles.

Playboy explained the drastic move away from their lusty roots citing that nudity is now “passe.” They will instead focus on writing and increasing their readership based on different parameters.  Because of the internet and easy access to porn, the “felt need” for nudity or what some would call “soft porn” has disappeared.  Apparently, twelve-year-old boys could care less about sneaking dad’s mag now since their iPhone is easier to take into the bathroom.

Wow.  It’s hard to believe nudity is so overdone now that iconic brands birthed on a provocative paradigm have transitioned to a less is more slant.  When Abercrombie and Playboy drop the sexy, it’s clear the titillation of a naked body is that of a bygone age.

Call me old school, but I want naked to mean something.

I want to get hot and bothered by my naked man.  (Just to be clear, I’m talking about my husband here folks)  I don’t want to live in the land of rampant sexual inundation where naked is the new norm.  Have we become “so numbed out by porn” that Playboy isn’t sexy anymore?

Am I the only one who wants to struggle a little bit at the mall as I walk by Abercrombie when the half-naked ripped young man  is at the front door.  I want to have the freedom to choose to avoid the men’s underwear aisle because I find toned abs attractive and every package sports a six pack.

I’m the girl who didn’t see Magic Mike, not because I’m not tempted, but because I choose to honor my husband.  But darn it I want the freedom to choose right from wrong.  I don’t want to just assume our culture is perverse and stop caring.

I want NAKED to mean something.

It allows me to FEEL something called temptation. It means I get to choose to stay or walk away from enticement.

I’m bummed that sex on Tinder is given out so freely that it’s lost its sacredness.

Way too many young people are now so jaded that sex is like flossing. “It’s just sex”, they say.

But it’s not just sex and it’s not just naked.

Naked is beautiful and sex is a gift.  Our good God created them.  They are not passe.

This may sound bizarre, because I’m not supporting naked men’s mags, but I grieve the fact that we are so far gone on porn that a gorgeous naked centerfold doesn’t cause teenage boys to go bat-poop crazy anymore.

I heard a Playboy rep say, “The twelve-year-old me is sad at this move.”

Well buddy, the 43-year-old me is sad too, because in our overly saturated sex culture, naked isn’t very naked anymore.

–Samantha

 

 

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How do I explain this Crazy to my Kids??

My friend is at the airport on her way to Hawaii.  Her family is pumped because they are heading to the Disney Island Resort of Mickey awesomeness.

But, six hours is a long time with three kids on a plane, so she herds her adorable brood of blond tots to the potty for one last go.

And this is what she encounters…

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Text from Friend: “How do I explain this to my kids?”

I won’t treat you to the text I wrote back because it’s politically incorrect.

But I will say this.  Be very careful near airports!

There are apparently uniboob half-skirted creatures walking around with surly expressions and no one can stop them from making weird faces and peeing in this airport bathroom because the government says you can pick your gender and expression.

I must confess some confusion over the peeing part.  If you are a dude and you get a sex change, do you lose or keep the unit?  Some do and some don’t right?

(In all honesty, my parent’s wouldn’t let me see the “Crying Game” which I’m sure would have explained some of this.

Do they have fake vajayjay’s?  And how do the doctors re-pipe?  Anatomy didn’t cover this and I’m afraid to Google it on my work computer.  It’s like Jr. High again.  I laughed with all the other kids about the “69” graffiti on the wall but I didn’t actually know what it meant until college.

So how do mommies and daddies explain trans-gender to the kids when we are clueless too?

I know there are a few TV shows on the Family Channel now to help us make sense of our changing culture–“I am Cait” and “Help..my dad is turning into a woman.”  But, strangely enough, I haven’t found compelled to watch.

So, here’s what I’m telling my kids.

Mommy doesn’t personally understand the motives to move towards trans-gender, but she does understand brokenness and its ramifications.  She know sadness and loneliness and the extreme measures people will go to find the elusive happiness that eludes them.

Your purpose and meaning go far beyond your sexuality.  Your identity is not in your maleness or femaleness or even in ambiguity.

Your identity is in Christ alone.  But  culture is sending a very different message to you.

The world says we can choose our identity by choosing our gender.  Mommy disagrees.  

Male and female God created them.  In God’s image.  We are all a reflection of our creator.

Our identity is in CHRIST ALONE.

I believe Trans-gender is throwing us all for a loop but it doesn’t have too.

It’s pretty simple.  Our job is to love God and love our neighbor.  And yes, that means the trans-gender neighbor-even if it’s awkward and confusing.

The truth is we are all in some type of bondage to the lies of culture.  Some of us just wear the chains on the outside and it’s more obvious.  I too have bought into the lies of sex, beauty and materialism equaling my worth.  Only a belief in something bigger can deliver us.

Trans-gender is complicated and messy and its’ really hard to explain to kids. But it’s a conversation we all need to initiate because it’s not going away. 

I hope you wrestle with this dialogue too.  Let me know what you think and how you are explaining it.

 

–Samantha

And please, I’m cool if you disagree but keep it clean. Only grown-up comments please.

 

 

 

 

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Ooops…I lost my Tolerant Bumper Sticker

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I haven’t posted much this summer.  I’ve been writing up a storm, but not much has made it past putting down the words.  I keep asking myself why?

Why am I gun-shy?  What’s going on my heart?

After a summer of crazy headlines causing massive polarization in our country, I think I feel a little worn out, frazzled and defeated.

Is anyone with me?

Every day it’s a cacophony of doom and outrage–rainbow flags and Confederate flags, the Charleston Shooting, the warning of impending annihilation to Seattle from a catastrophic earthquake and tidal wave, the Greek banking failure, baby-parts for sale and Iran nuclear deals…and on and on it goes.  Benghazi and terrorism, ISIS and missing airplanes.

More BAD news.

But even worse is having an opinion about the BAD NEWS.

And as a writer it makes me SAD.  I’m grieving.

We are losing the fundamental freedom to express ourselves as extremest minority voices amp up their scare tactics to wipe out ANY voice of dissension.

How dare I disagree with anyone these days because I will be immediately labeled a bigot, a dumb-ass, a racist, anti-Mexican, intolerant, a religious fanatic, old-fashioned, pro-life and a million other slanderous titles.

Since when did everything become so black and white?

Is it possible to love people–all people–gay and straight and different colors AND the un-born?  I think so.

Is it possible to support the tax-paying people of America, the soldiers who fight for our freedom so we can whine like babies on safe soil and the police officers who risks their life on a daily basis without getting slammed?

Why do we need someone as brash as Donald Trump to speak up regarding border protection and scream in frustration because our economy is dangling on a precipice of debt and a falsely inflated dollar?

Why?  I believe it’s fear.

I don’t agree with everything the Donald says(and I sure hope he doesn’t go independent), but at least he has the balls (or enough money) to not care about the aftermath.  At least he’s speaking up about the things many of us are afraid to articulate.

I have never been a conspiracy theorist but it feels like something is about ready to blow…

…and I think it might be us–we, the American people.

I’m a student of history.  While many of you studied business and engineering in school, I buried myself in dusty books of the past.  And while I’m no Nostradamus, the signs are clear–our country has peaked.  We are on the downward slope.  It’s the classic rise and fall of an empire.

The more rights we give (without a moral compass) the more rights we lose. (see Andy Stanley video below)   And sadly, freedom of expression is only allowed if you are TOLERANT.

If you don’t have the TOLERANT bumper sticker, you can’t play the game anymore.

I don’t feel safe to disagree without getting blasted and my web site hacked to kingdom come.  I have spoken out against pornography in the past and how it negatively effects relationships.  Every single day I get hate mail.  My firewall has a firewall to protect it from attackers.

Here is where my so-called radical tendencies lie:  I don’t believe porn is art.  (OOOHHH crazy stuff, I know)  I’ve seen first-hand how the industry chews up women and spits them out.  I abhor the sex-trafficking trade and the violation of women.  I celebrate women who keep their babies and choose not to abort. I volunteer with single teenage moms and speak up for the downtrodden.   I believe the church should step in and care for the widows and the orphans, not the government.  I might even be a rather liberal Christian. No one’s ever accused me of being pharasitical or legalistic.

I’m not politically conservative.  Let’s all digest that for a moment.  When the moderate feels under attack it’s a big red flag that our so-called democratic system is about to implode!

Truthfully, I think I’m numb. 

My cousin-a police officer in California-has to pack a meal or come home to eat on duty because people at restaurants will put stuff in his food.  Huh?

What is this craziness?  We poison the people who are supposed to protect us?  And we aren’t supposed to stick up for cops for fear of being politically incorrect in our “anti-cop” trending culture?

The real persecution is going on right under our noses.  The more we revere celebrity and the socially “loud” the more we drown out the still small voices of our communal integrity.  It’s a subtle censorship based on our fears of being labeled Intolerant.

Today, I’m speaking out against the loss of something I love–my right to feel safe to write whatever I want.  Big Brother has arrived cloaked in social media frenzies, Twitter wars, and catch-phrases taken out of context to destroy people’s character and business.

And I am sad…

Any thoughts?  Join in on the conversation!

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Letting God out of the Box

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Why do I limit God? 

My husband and I sit in a café and discuss buying a car.

Tim is the type of guy who becomes an expert on something before he pulls the trigger.  So by this point, he can now tell me the make, model and location of every top-rated used car under 10k in the OC area.

We’ve narrowed it down to two options—one is new and one is used.  The new car is a 2015 Hyundai Elantra and it’s AWESOME and has all the bells and whistles we “po’ ministry folk” are unaccustomed to.  It’s a deal beyond a deal but it’s also out of our budget.

The used car is well, ummm…used.  It has great gas mileage and it’s a 2006 Prius and more fiscally responsible—meaning we can afford it. it’s also good for the environment—right?

(did I mention the new car has a back-up camera, so cool!)

“What would our friend’s do?” My husband Tim asks.

“”Well we can’t compare ourselves to our neighbors because we make about a third of their incomes.”  I reply.

“Ok, who do we compare ourselves to then?” Tim responds.

“We compare ourselves to the Ramsay’s.  John is a pastor.  Deanna is a singer/speaker and works part time.  That’s an appropriate comparison.”

Tim looks at me wide eyed.  “Yeah, but Deanna won a car on the Ellen Show.”

I nod.  “Yeah, that kind of stuff doesn’t happen to us.”

We hold hands.  Our tummies churn and we contemplate our finances.

……

This whole car business started because of a few numbers.

  1. 366,000

A big number, certainly, It’s also the amount of miles shared between our two aging but faithful SUV’s.

  1. 16 ½

That’s how many years my son has been alive.  Not so big—but a big kid milestone.  In two short weeks, my almost senior boy/man gets his license and like any teenage boy, Kyle is ready to roll

So we start a search for an another automobile that get’s more than the whopping 12 mpg of our 2004 Expedition or the 15 mpg of my newer 2006 Xterra.

The budget is limited.  We have some money saved—enough for another really crappy car—but we also have mounting expenses from Tim’s hospital bills (spine injury and subsequent surgery), three kids this year in private school and college looming. Truthfully, it’s a tad overwhelming.

Tim finds some cars online and we debate each one’s merits like it’s a resolution in the UN.

Tim’s sweet father, upon hearing our car predicament, offers us a large chunk of change.  We are thrilled and so blessed to be cared for so lavishly!

Now we had enough to get a NEWER used car.  (And yes, for all those wondering, we could have financed a newer car but are committed to keeping our overhead low rather than raising it)

Through the car ministry at our church we are put in touch with the owner of the Hyundai dealership in Tustin.   After a great phone conversation, he invites us to his dealership and we test drive a used Elantra and with a little prompting from the salesman a new one.

(ok, it’s not like he had to push real hard)

With the tremendous discount the owner of the dealership offers us (did I mention he is a generous volunteer at our main campus?), the new car is only 3 thousand more than the used car, but still, 6 thousand more than our budget.  They are going above and beyond to bless us.  The discount is even more than employees get.

Now what do we do? Do we justify spending more because it’s a great deal?

We go and sit in the 2015 model and pray, lifting this car dealio up to God. The people in the dealership probably think we are Jesus dorks—whatever.  We close our eyes, hold hands and talk to God.  We surrender up the decision and go to lunch.

…………..

Back at the cafe we make the painful choice to let the shiny new car go.  It stings a little because it’s SO AWESOME, but we probably shouldn’t have been shopping in the lot we couldn’t afford to begin with.

I leave the restaurant and call my step-dad.  He asks what I was doing at the dealership.  I tell him about the two cars and how we have decided to stay within our budget, honor our financial goals to lower our overhead, and be responsible with the precious gift Tim’s father has given us.

“Why, don’t I give you the money?  Six thousand–I’ll just give it to you.” My step-dad offers happily.

Silent tears stream down my face.  “I wasn’t asking for money.”

“I know honey, he replies.  “I love you.  It’s a gift.”

And I think back to my own words.  “That kind of stuff doesn’t happen to us,” And like Peter I am blown away at my doubts and God’s provision.

The next day we return to the dealership and climb in the new car before we write the check to take it home.  As the ignition fires up a song blasts through the car.

God in my living, there in my breathing
God in my waking, God in my sleeping
God in my resting, there in my working
God in my thinking, God in my speaking

Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything

God in my hoping, there in my dreaming
God in my watching, God in my waiting
God in my laughing, there in my weeping
God in my hurting, God in my healing

Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything

Christ in me, Christ in me
Christ in me, the hope of glory
You are everything

Christ in me, Christ in me
Christ in me, the hope of glory
Be my everything

Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything

God in my hoping, there in my dreaming
God in my watching, God in my waiting
God in my laughing, there in my weeping
God in my hurting, God in my healing

Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything

Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything
Be my everything, be my everything

Christ in me, Christ in me
Christ in me, the hope of glory
You are everything

You are everything, You are everything
You are everything, You are everything
Jesus, everything, Jesus, everything
Jesus, everything, Jesus everything

We look at each other in amazement.  “You think God is trying to tell us something,” I weakly laugh swiping away at the tears running down my cheeks.

Back inside the dealership, Tim asks the salesman, “Did you turn it to a Christian station because you know I’m a pastor?”

The salesman replies, “No, generally the boys in the back play the thump-thump music when they get the cars ready.”

We give each other the look—the “OMG, I’m freaking out inside look.”

I call my step-dad on the way home and tell him the story.

“I’m a part of an answered prayer?” he says.

“Yep, you are.” I whisper.

“Huh.”

I can picture his bemused grin over the phone.

Later I thank God in my prayers.

And I think about the love of a father—Tim’s father who blessed us, my step-dad who surprised us so generously, and our Father God who blew us away with this gift.

We didn’t ask.  We didn’t beg.  We aren’t worthier than any other person out there.  But God through our parents gifted us anyway.

Everything.  He is my Everything.

One day later we sit in church and the last song of the service sounds familiar.

God in my living, there in my breathing
God in my waking, God in my sleeping
God in my resting, there in my working
God in my thinking, God in my speaking

Coincidence?—I don’t think so…

–Samantha



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