Tag: Faith

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Gracefully Removing Yourself from a Dumpster Fire: How-to

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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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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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Divine Resilience: God’s Lavish Love When Life Takes Unexpected Turns

Last fall, I prayed a prayer. A rather greedy prayer, but my heart was hungry–a roaring hunger for something deeper than the ordinary. I wanted a glimpse of the divine. Some reassurance HE hears me.

I needed a whisper, a Holy Spirit high five, a manna flyover. The rhema word. Just something. Can I get a Jesus with skin on, please?

On my bed, snuggled in tight, early in the darkness of the morning, coffee cup by my side, with tears rolling down my face, I pleaded, “God, will you show me a sign of lavish love?”

I wrote the words in my journal and closed up my little bookstore in peace. I say bookstore, because I generally have about 5-10 books and devotionals in my morning nest, with blankets and pillows and sometimes my dog cuddled at my feet. It’s the best part of my day. The stillness, The sacred. The words that pour out of my heart. The promises I say over and over to remind myself of the truth. And the beauty of a God that is so close.

I knew He would answer. I didn’t know how. But I knew enough to wait, to watch and to be curious.

On some level, I thought he might show me a sign of romantic love. But a few days later I knew it was finally time to end an on-again off-again relationship. Maybe the lavish love was the solace of being alone?

All I knew was it felt bad…but then strangely good. I felt relief.

Over and over, as I mature as a believer, I find what appears to be abysmal circumstances are actually GIFTS from God. I just have to unwrap them and do the work.

My lavish love wasn’t going to be tied up in pretty wrapping. It might look like a capsizing ship or a fiery trial.

They say be careful what you pray for…

It started with one of THOSE weeks. The kind that Murphy invented. When everything that can go wrong, does. So DARN WRONG.

I got a serious health scare. Abnormal lab results. The waiting.

There were prayers and anxiety and tears until I surrendered like a child.

Finally, the appointment.

And while the news wasn’t great, it was fixable.

And I felt loved. Lavishly.

That evening my engine blew up on the freeway as I was on my way to pick up my daughter from dance. My power steering went out and my brakes. It’s always an adventure traveling on the 5 freeway at 75mph and losing the ability to steer or stop.

I dragged the wheel as hard as I could and tried to pull over, but the car just kept going and then rolled down an off-ramp. It finally slowed and came to a stop at the corner of a major intersection one hot second before I careened into oncoming traffic. I was blocking a lane, but I was alive. It was dark and I was in a construction zone. But I was alive.

Did I say I was alive?

I’m just a little grateful here. Beholden. Delighted. Filled with gratitude.

A man pulled his car up next to me and rolled down his window. He waved at me to come over. My Spidey senses were on high alert. I approached with trepidation, ready to use kickboxing or hair pulling if necessary. (I’ve seen the trailer for Taken, so I know the signs!).

But this guy was more angel than villain. He hopped out of his car and jumped into action. Turns out my hero was a mechanic in overalls. He grabbed some tools and tried to charge the battery, but my car was not responding to the CPR. Super Dude thought it was the fuel pump and encouraged me to call AAA.

Which I did. After I stopped hyperventilating and reeled in the dying cat noises.

He also told me the safest place to stand as cars flew by. It was dark, cold and truly terrifying. But this man made it feel strangely safe. Peace in the midst of total chaos. I thanked him profusely and he laughed and said he would have stayed with me, but he had to get home because his wife had dinner waiting.

It felt like a little heaven in that moment. A God rescue.

The tow truck took 2 hours to arrive, and I just stood there directing cars who got stuck behind mine. My best friend pulled up an hour later and we waited in her car until the tow guy arrived. A nice and warm toasty car with giggles and her bestie love.

And I felt loved. Lavishly.

The next morning, I woke up with a scratchy throat and a headache. Then the auto shop called. The car was totaled. My only option was to rebuild the engine or donate it to Cars for Kids.

Ouch.

The scratchy throat turned into the flu. Seriously?

A few days later my dad and I went to look at cars. We found a little SUV I wanted with low mileage and a solid price and as I started to give the guy my credit info while coughing up a lung and watching my savings disappear, my stepdad whipped out his check book and said, “don’t bother with that. I got it.”

I’m sorry…what? (Insert happy dance, more coughing and tears)

And I felt loved. Outrageously. Lavishly.

God knew I needed the kind of love and support that only dear friends, random mechanics and a loving dad can bring after you’ve had a relentless shit storm.

I needed Philia: friendship and affectionate love that does not involve any passion or sexual impulse.

I needed Storge: love for family.

I needed Pragma: enduring love by my heavenly Father.

And most of all… Agape: perfect/unconditional love that only the God of the universe provides.

The child, in danger of the fire, just clings to the fireman, and trusts to him alone. She raises no question about the strength of his limbs to carry her, or the zeal of his heart to rescue her; but she clings. The heat is terrible, the smoke is blinding, but she clings; and her deliverer quickly bears her to safety. In the same childlike confidence cling to Jesus, who can and will bear you out of danger from the flames of sin.

Charles Spurgeon

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Is That a Demon On Your Shoulder?

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One of THOSE Days

Birds chirp loudly. The sun assaults my face. Not asleep, but not yet awake, I imagine throwing rocks at the birds.

Wait..what? I like birds. What’s wrong with me? I turn my head and wince. My throat aches, my ear pounds and my head feels heavy and hurty.

Grumpy assaults me and I feel like I got hit by a tequila bottle. It must be the flu. I stumble down the stairs and reach for the coffee pot and Advil.

My daughter Faith wanders downstairs. “Mom, you have to take me to school now, Camille has a volleyball tournament so my ride fell through.”

I look at the clock and growl. I have twenty minutes to get ready for work. Twenty minutes to get two kids out the door in uniforms with packed lunches and backpacks filled with the appropriate gear for the day’s activities. Tim has already left for work and my man/child college student with classes that don’t start until 9:00 am is still snoring. The dog looks at me and sighs.

“I know buddy. No walk. No foot snuggle. This blows cupcakes.”

I gulp my coffee and burn my already sore throat.

Somehow we make it out the door. Faith asks to drive. I say “yes”  reluctantly. Driving my recently permitted daughter stresses me out. She’s not a bad driver, I mean sometimes we run lights and stuff, but really, it’s all the other idiots on the road I worry about.  I smile and nod yes, trying to find the nice mom hiding behind the bear.

I look at my phone and tune out as she drives. It helps with the terror.

After we arrive at the high school I take over and drive Kolby to Krispy Kreme. We load up on donuts and head to her school. I ask her not to eat in the car because we are still dealing with the red crayon marks and Capri Sun stains artistically displayed across the back seat. Did I mention I have only made three car payments on this car?

We park the car and head for the playground. Kolby finds a friend to play with and I head for the bench to rest my sick and weary behind. Along the way a high-spirited game of dodgeball interrupts. A large boy lunges for the ball but plows into me instead. I stumble and sprawl onto the asphalt.

“Sorry mam.” He looks at me with big eyes. I smile weakly, pick myself up, wipe off the dirt covering my nice work pants, then limp over to the bench. I think about suing but decide he probably has a small allowance.

All I want to do is sit. I hurt everywhere. The bench hums a siren song and I blissfully sigh and plop down. But relief does not come. Instead I feel wet. Maybe it’s because I am sitting in a huge puddle.

Bad words head for my mouth. If it wasn’t a Christian school I might erupt.

The END of the Rope

I head to work alternating between weak laughter and snotty hiccup tears.

Then a reminder  pops up on my phone. “Speak at Divorce Care tonight.”

Of course! I forgot. How silly of me.

I am supposed to share words of encouragement and motivate others towards Jesus and healing tonight. I mean I haven’t showered, my voice is hoarse and my ass is a train wreck. I think I’ve got it covered.

No!!!!! I can’t do this. I just want to go back to bed and crank up my electric blanket.

And then I remember the topic of conversation the other night at my pastor’s wives group–“How do you deal with Spiritual Warfare?”

I recall my awkward response. For some weird reason I get totally nervous at these gatherings and act like a weenie because I’m painfully uncomfortable when it comes to spiritual measuring sticks–either real or imagined.

Is That a Demon on Your Shoulder?

The truth is spiritual warfare is one of those weird terms in the church world that people throw around casually. Some folks believe every bad thing that happens is demonic.

Out of toilet paper? It’s probably the demons who used it up. Car broke down? Demons. Broke? Demons. It probably has nothing to do with your spending habits.

While I don’t ascribe every bad thing in the world to Satan, I can say (with all certainty) that I do notice a difference before big events and occasions where God is impacting lives that bizarre stuff happens to pastors and their families. Things like random misunderstandings, arguments, illness, assaults of insecurity and doubt. The week before Christmas and Easter is usually pretty tough to get through.

And when I’m actually in tune enough to identify a spiritual warfare attack, I know it’s time to start praying and ask for others to do so as well.

And this is when the epiphany cracks through my thick skull.

Hey Sam…this is that spiritual warfare moment.

The illness, the puddle, the accident on the playground, the ruined work pants–all coinciding on the day when we head over to talk to a group of people whose hearts have been ravaged by divorce. Hearts who are grasping for a shred of hope to hang on.

Maybe calling and canceling is a terrible idea.

I remember back to when I was sitting in Divorce Care after my ex-husband walked out on me and how much it meant for me to have people pour into my wounded heart and take the time to invest in my healing.

This crap day isn’t some cosmic accident designed to piss me off. It’s a calculated plan to steal my joy, keep me self-absorbed and completely ineffective for the Kingdom of God.

So I close my eyes and pray.

I am no wordsmith when I pray. I don’t quote scripture or use big words. It’s often just grunts and tears.

I whisper a simple thanks. I am grateful that even when I am defeated, whiny and pathetic, I am still loved. I plead for protection and for God to use me in spite of myself.

And the relief finally comes, not from a magical cure or less messy circumstances, but from a loving father who gives me the strength to push through.

Do not grow weary in doing good, for in due season you will reap if you do not lose heart.

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Never Say Never

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I stood outside on the patio at church on a Sunday a few months ago, and vehemently stated, “I will never volunteer in kid’s ministry again.”

My eyes filled with tears as frustration coursed through my body. Now “NEVER” is a bold statement for a ministry wife who is expected to serve with a smile, but at the time I meant it. I was done. My bucket—empty!

It’s not that I don’t like munchkins—I love kids—but a bad experience with a parent got under my skin and it messed with me. A new parent not familiar with our childcare system lost his claim tag to pick up his kid. If you’ve ever been to Chuck E Cheese or Ikea you know the concept—basically you drop off the kid, get a tag, and pick up the kid with the proper check in ticket. This alleviates child abduction by a non-custodial parent and no one but you takes home your precious little angel (or monster) depending on your parenting paradigm.

Anyway the guy lost his claim tag and I very nicely asked him to get another one. I had a large class of kids and I obviously couldn’t leave them, so I pointed him in the right direction to the kiosk. He refused and then got in my face, whipped out his ID and demanded I give his kid back. Again, I calmly refused to hand over the package. So he yelled a little louder, clinched his fist and puffed up like he was going to smack me. Fortunately my fearless teenage daughter walked up at just the right moment and hustled him out of my face to help him get a new tag. Faith—you are my hero!

Somehow I managed to get all the kids back to their parents without losing my spit. Then I staggered outside and broke down in a defeated heap. How did teaching first-graders about Jesus almost turn into a beat-down of Sam?

After a few days of venting, processing and praying with my husband I remembered a few important things about the plans I make for myself and the “NEVERS” I so casually throw out:

Oh Yeah…I’m not in Control

In a perfect world we would all play along with my Sunday school agenda and everyone would play nice. The kids would put their toys away at the end of class (instead of chucking blocks at each other) and recite their Bible verse to their parents on the way home to make me look good. Oh, and those very same parents’ would thank me profusely for watching their kids for free while they got to sit in an air-conditioned church and relax. And then the unicorns would dance and we could all eat the Crispy Crèmes and stay skinny because my perfect little world doesn’t exist on this planet.

On any given Sunday, the kids are messy and squirrely and demanding. If a few listen to the lesson and learn the verse I do a happy dance. Some of the parents are chill (thank you!) but there are those who wait impatiently in line and hate the claim check process because—darn it—they have brunch to get to.

But I am not in control and honestly I don’t want to be. I believe God knows every detail and is in every detail of these Sunday morning adventures. But when I lean on my own understanding instead of surrendering to the chaos I struggle. I operate out of fear instead of faith and nose dive into anxiety.

The truth is that it’s in the messiest moments that God does his best work.  I have no idea what good was in the crazy encounter with the scary guy—but I can rest in the hope that a plan beyond my own was at work.

Your Ministry is Where the Greatest Need Is

I love it when people say they will NEVER completely surrender control to God because then he might send them to Africa to work as a missionary—so they give God 90% over and hold back the rest. I get it—it’s scary to cede over the reins for some crazy “God calling,” but that’s where I think most people have a warped idea of what ministry is. True ministry is simply identifying a pressing need in front of you and getting your butt off the sofa to help out. Ministry can be raising babies with purpose, loving a broken spouse and investing in a marriage or relationship. It can be as small as caring for a neighbor or as big as boarding a plane and taking on the social injustice God impresses on your heart. It might be Africa but it’s probably more likely something right in front of your nose.

I’ve done lots of different things in ministry—some big and some small—but right now, the need in our growing church is for helpers in children’s ministry. Ladera Ranch is the Disneyland of suburban Orange County and we have a plethora of parents that reproduce more than the average American family. So, from a church perspective that means we have more kids than most churches our size do and we need extra leaders to help guide these tiny tots to Jesus.

And if you think, “Yeah, whatever Sam, I would still Never help out with kids.” You might be surprised at what God can do with your Never.

“Never” Might Be the Opportunity You Need

Once upon a time I said I would NEVER marry a pastor. You might not know it wasn’t an easy decision for me to make. I didn’t want to live in a ministry fish bowl with people judging me all the time. I wrestled with God over it. Sure I loved God but it was the 90% thing holding me back. I wanted to marry a rich guy with a yacht who would hand over the credit card and sail away often, letting me raise my babies in peace. But God had a different plan. My life looks very different than what I thought it would be. It may not be fancy but it’s exactly what I need.

I have a wonderful husband who is up in my grill at all times, who simultaneously drives me crazy and makes me laugh—bringing endless joy to my life. Our love is messy and complicated and more than I could ask for or imagine. My silly NEVER was God’s BEST.

And Sunday School? I went back the next week to drop off my kid and the teacher wasn’t there so I felt compelled to step in and help. It was initially nothing more than pure obligation and a desire to do something alongside my teenage daughter who is a faithful volunteer.

Then I signed up for more because somewhere along the way my heart got ripped open wide and raw by these stinking little kids and I was hooked. Yes, they are exhausting, but these kids are also glimpses into God’s Kingdom—into an innocence and wonder we lose as life beats us up.

One of the little boys in my class has autism. He’s named after an angel and I don’t know what fairy dust he sprinkles over me but I am mush around him. This child has taught me to slow down and go easy on the transitions. When we switch rooms for worship and lessons he clings to my hand and trembles. Then I give him a gentle hand squeeze and he takes a deep breath and leans in to the scary. Somehow we get each other—I don’t like transitions either. I also have laser focus and get overwhelmed sometimes. Maybe I see myself in his eyes?

Another sweet girl has cancer and her bald head and joyful spirit are a sacred offering to the class. She is fragile and yet powerful—a six year old and who lives in the present—not the “shoulds” or “have to’s”, not the “hurry ups,”just the now. She teaches me to BE. I want to hold her and weep all at the same time and yet I see the haunting gift that God wields through this child to those around her and I am wrecked and taken to a Holy place in this classroom I said Never to.

Now I don’t EVER want to leave…

What are the NEVERS You need to lean into?

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Peep Roast

FullSizeRenderIt was a simple command, really, but I suffered a mini-meltdown in my seat.

“Think of one friend you know that you can invite to the Peep Roast and send them this card.”

I looked down at the ground, I casually glanced around at everyone else thinking and writing and I choked in the death pause of uncertainty.

I couldn’t think of one person.

The truth hit me hard, painfully hard and it ached in places I didn’t know I could ache.

Here is my reality right now, I live in a Christian bubble.

No one put me here, it just happened because I let myself get comfortable.

And it’s revolting to me. It’s against everything I believe to be true about the gospel.

My kids go to Christian school. My neighborhood all goes to the church we helped start in our local area. I see the same people day in and day out. And I love this community with all my heart, but sometimes I need to get out of it a little too.

How can you invite new peeps to the Peeps Roast when you don’t know any?

When your husband is a pastor and you are a Christian writer, every conversation begins with, “Come check out our church.”

But I invite people so casually, I don’t even think about it anymore. It’s like “How are you?”–or some other greeting I drop like I don’t really mean.  It’s just a rote expression I do by routine.

When did I stop being intentional about meeting new people that are different from me?

………………….

I will never forget the night Tim when asked me where I wanted to go to dinner and I replied “Mutt Lynches.”

He looked at me like I was cray-cray, because Mutts is a rowdy bar on the boardwalk of Balboa Penninsula.  I was pregnant at the time and could barely stomach the smell of beer, barf, or people in general.

But I nodded yes vehemently because my intuition or (prompt from God) was powerful.

That night we met a group of guys and one in particular we connected with. Over too many beers on his part, he confided that his wife had filed for divorce and served him papers that day. He had come home to an empty house void of his little ones and all he held dear.

He started to tear up as he shared that he deserved it. He had put his family’s needs below his quest for success and climbing the corporate ladder. He had erroneously believed they would always be there until they weren’t.

His friends had taken him out to tie one on. But it wasn’t helping. It just magnified the pain. His friends were stunned at his admission but too drunk to know what to do.

Then he jumped up and ran out the bar.

Tim and I huddled up and decided that Tim would go after him and I would stay with all my sweet drunk friends who would protect me or vice versa.

Tim found the guy walking towards the water’s edge.

Tim walked up and asked if he could pray with him and the guy collapsed on the beach weeping.

“I was ready to kill myself,”he confessed. I was going towards the water to drown myself. I cried out to God, “If you are real, give me one sign that you love me.”

“And you found me.”

They spent a long time on the sand simply crying out to God together and lifting heavy hearts, as the waves crashed and I played beer pong with iced tea back in the bar with the guys.

We later heard from the guy that he was working hard to repair his family. He thanked us over and over.

But the gift of that evening was just as profound for us as it was for him.

I, we, want to be available when God is moving. I want to get my hands dirty and wipe the tears of the broken and spiritually wounded.

And I don’t think staying comfortable is helping.

It’s probably time to start venturing out and hanging out with some rowdy folks again. Maybe you need to get your hands a little dirty again too?

–Samantha

 

Maybe no one has invited you to an Easter service this year?  Can I?

Saturday March 26th at 5:00pm

Easter Service at Mariners Mission Viejo (with our annual Peep Roast following the service)

26862 Crown Valley Parkway, Mission Viejo

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Throwing Stones

girl-sad-101artsSqueals erupt from the playground as a pack of pint sized girls tackle the monkey bars. The moms gather close, gobbling up grown-up time like precious pearls.

A small voice shrieks, “Mommy, sister said she hates me.” Tears fall.  A little sister sobs in frustration–she just wants to hang with the older girls. Be cool like them.

The lovely young mother administers a hug and kisses to her four-year-old, then calls the five-year-old over for a reckoning.

I watch the other girls stop their play. Somehow the word “hate” shocks us all out of our reverie. It get’s very quiet.

(When you play at the church school playground, it’s like God is watching)

I walk over and kneel down. A storm is brewing over their tiny countenance.

The girls are looking to lay blame.

“She said she hated her sister,” points out one little pig-tailed cutie. “That’s a bad word.”

I nod yes. “That’s true. But are you always nice to your little brother?” I probe, ever so gently.

A guilty smile sneaks out of the corner of her mouth. “No, she whispers.”

I turn to little Kolby. “Sometimes you and your sister fight, right?”

Kolby agrees sheepishly.

And suddenly they realize the “bad word” is in them too.

“Sometimes I say awful things I wish I could take back.” I confess.

I think of me sitting in the counselor’s office telling my husband his pride is an issue–as if I am somehow exempt from the very same malaise. 

And we all look down at our feet and the focus shifts off the bad child to the bad in us.

The next day the mom tells me her older daughter shared with her how she fears her friends like her little sister more than her.

In all truth, her little sister is a bit of a tot-sized hottie. She is vibrant and gorgeous with long golden hair and a winsome personality. She will probably be cheer captain and princess of everything.  I’d probably want to punch her in the face a few times if she were my sister too.  “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia ..”

Who wants to live up to that?

(I’m sure Jesus’ siblings struggled a bit too)

And then the mom laughs and said my little Kolby tried to empathize with her older daughter. Her daughter apologized for the bad choice of words and my Kolby explained that she too battles with jealousy towards her older sister Faith.

Kolby patted her on the back. “It’s tough, I know.”

The two hugged–closer now because of the rupture and the restoration.

I shook my head in disbelief. These are kindergartners–not thirty-five year old women. And yet somehow they are learning to self-identify and give grace and empathy to one another, not in spite of their brokenness but because if it.

I’ve learned down the long and bumpy road of life (and with a billion hours of therapy) that our broken pieces heal ONLY in relationship.

What a gift we give our children when we teach them to look within before casting stones and to share their hurt instead of bottling it up inside to fester and grow darker.

The mom and I hugged too–closer now because of the shared journey of parenting our girls together.

And I am grateful for friendship, forgiveness, and the sweet gift of grace we all desperately need.

–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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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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A Dad’s Best Investment

KolbyK_selects_007

About a year ago my husband Tim came home from a soccer meeting bubbling over with plans to join an Adventure Princess tribe with our youngest daughter Kolby.

(FYI…Adventure Princess used to be known as Indian Princess, but apparently “Indian” is politically incorrect now)

All I know is that it’s a daddy daughter group that includes games, monthly meetings, harbor cruises, camping and money invested in the process of all these grand adventures.

I confess I was INITIALLY excited for them, until I saw the schedule of trips and the fees—then a part of me felt slightly resistant and maybe a little jealous.

Where’s my eight trips a year?  Can I spend the same amount of money bonding with our other kids?  Faith and I like to shop—just saying.

So my husband embarks on this new endeavor with Kolby and they join the “Wolfpack” circle.  The first meeting they return home with purple sweatshirts and patches, crafts and fringed vests.  Kolby acquires the ability to howl and Tim seems to truly enjoy time with the other wolf dudes.

Kolby is now known as “Sparkling Unicorn Princess” and Tim is “SOARING FALCON.”

They camp, they bond and I take it all in—mildly skeptical.

It doesn’t help that a friend tells me some gossipy things about the Ladera dads and their excuse to get away and party after the kids go to sleep.  In general, I try not to listen to second-hand-info, but because it’s a group I’m NOT invited to, the juicy tidbits create a little more distrust in my spirit.

I grill my husband when he returns from his first trip but he assures me all is well.

Hmmmmm…

Unfortunately, halfway through the year my husband has emergency spine surgery and the Wolfpack activity is put on hold until daddy recovers.

And now it’s June, and the last meeting of the year. But Tim is out of town on a football trip with my son Kyle, so the pack leader suggests I bring little Kolby to the meeting.

Come again?

The Wolf Dudes want me to bring my five-year-old girl to a pool party meeting with men?

Now I’m really feeling VERY AWKWARD but my baby girl wants to go so I acquiesce.  I bring Faith with me as backup and a good book.  I wear a modest bathing suit and put on my pastor’s wife game face–the “no funny business” one.

I show up at the pool leery.  I have visions of Animal House with the little girls in a corner doings crafts while the dad’s deal cards.

But to my surprise, the first thing I see is a big jolly guy with a huge smile in a neon orange shirt schlepping water toys down to the pool with two adorable little girls.

He introduces himself as the leader and invites me to join them.  This man is like Santa—he’s so good-natured and affable.  The girls run shrieking for the pool and the leader guy jumps in and plays water games with ten little girls attached to him for the next hour.  The other dads stand around quietly talking and catching up.

There is no alcohol.  No crazy stuff.  No strippers.  Just pizza and maybe a little too much sugar with the brownies, juice and otter pops—but that’s the extent of the shenanigans.

After the pool games wrap up, the men and girls gather in a circle and each child introduces herself and her dad and they share a small story.  It’s hard for some kids, but the dad’s encourage and guide them.  I help Kolby and although she is the youngest in the group she is brave and speaks up in a small sweet voice.

Then the girls run off and play—jacked up on sugar—and the dad’s talk “ADULT BUSINESS.”

“OK.  Now it’s coming, I think.  I tense up.  This is the juicy stuff my neighbor warned me of.

Except what happens next is the dad’s get serious about planning the next camping trip.  They talk food and grills and the architecture of sailboats and sandcastles.

And I am left in my seat for a very long hour—both humbled and ashamed—as I watch these kind good men take the time to invest in their daughters and create lasting memories.  

Yes-these man boys are a little competitive and some of the wild stories of paddle board races and stormy nights scare me because of my over-protective mama bear tendencies—but I also know that a little rough and tumble adventure with a dad is what every little girl needs to feel loved and cherished and empowered to believe she can make it in the world all on her own.

I sit in my seat and pray—and ask God to forgive me for judging that which I have no understanding of.  I confess how easy it is to listen to the “bad things” instead of “believing the best” about people.  And a tear runs down my face as I think about my husband and his desire to father and love our children to the best of his ability.

Boy, I can be a real schmuck sometimes—God help me!

Kolby and I Face Timed Daddy that evening night and told him about the meeting.  I apologized for my doubts.  Of coarse, my sweet husband forgave me and I could see his relief that I was now a supporter instead of a skeptic.

Ok, so I was wrong.  (BIG GULP)

The Wolfpack rocks.  And today my husband is camping with our little girl while I write this.  On the sand, with a hurt back–probably dirty and cold.  And those two monkeys are probably loving every minute of it.

As Father’s Day approaches, and I desperately miss my own dad in heaven now, I think about how important the love of a father is.

I think about my own distrust towards men and how is husband is changing my heart AND MY DAUGHTERS one deposit of love at a time.

And I am grateful.

–Samantha

What could you do to create lasting memories with your child?



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