Tag: God

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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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How to Help Your Teen Find Faith in a Culture That’s Losing It

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Teen faith is built less on lectures and more on late-night talks, honest questions, and knowing they’re loved no matter what.

I’d love to tell you I’ve got this all figured out. That my home is a walking worship set, my kids wake up quoting Scripture, and every mealtime ends in a revival.

But here’s the truth: I have three kids—two bigs and one teenager. Two love the Lord, attend church, and follow Christ wholeheartedly. One is wrestling—not with Jesus, but with church, with hurt, with the messy side of ministry life that leaves scars. (Translation: I’m not getting a parenting trophy anytime soon, but I do get the “Still Praying and Showing Up” badge, which is honestly more useful.)

When kids grow up under the roof of ministry, the stars don’t always align. They see behind the curtain—the burnout, the brokenness, the inconsistencies. And sometimes, that shakes the foundation they’re still trying to build. As parents, we do our best to lead well, but life interrupts even the best of plans. And sometimes those interruptions involve slammed doors, eye rolls, and theological debates over tacos.

Here’s what I do know: Every morning, I grab my Bible and journal. I spend time with God. My kids see that. They see me go to church—or at least watch it online when there’s a pandemic… or I’ve hit my personal limit of small talk and hard chairs They see me forgive. They also see me mess up—and ask for forgiveness. And that matters. Because faith isn’t a formula. It’s a living, breathing relationship. Parenting isn’t about raising “perfect Christians”—it’s about being faithful guides on the journey.

And that journey isn’t linear. In the story of the prodigal son, there are two children. One stayed. One ran. Both were fully loved. Both had a place in the Father’s arms. That’s the reminder I cling to when I’m tempted to control, fix, or fear—or when I’m Googling “How to make your teenager like church again” at 2 a.m.

Why This Matters: What the Research Shows

We’re not imagining it—our teens are growing up in a radically different world. Faith is not the cultural norm anymore. (Shocking, I know, especially when TikTok seems to have become the new gospel.)

According to Pew Research, 32% of U.S. teens now identify as religiously unaffiliated. That’s more than their own parents (24%).

Less than half of teens say they pray daily, and only 40% believe in God with absolute certainty.

Church attendance among teens is declining—even when parents are deeply involved in faith.

But there’s also good news:

  • 77% of teens say they’re open to learning more about Jesus, even if they’re not involved in church.
  • Many Gen Z teens aren’t rejecting Jesus—they’re questioning religion, institutions, and inconsistencies.
  • Their faith may look different—but the spiritual hunger is still there.

So How Do We Help Our Teens Grow Real Faith in a Culture That’s Losing It?

1. Live It Loud—But Humbly

Let them see your real, lived-out faith. Not just in church pews, but in the car, in the kitchen, in the way you treat people and respond to stress. Teens are radar-sensitive to hypocrisy, but they’re also drawn to authenticity.

“Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” — Proverbs 22:6

Your rhythms of prayer, Scripture, and grace—those aren’t wasted. Even if it feels like your teen is watching YouTube shorts instead of your life example, trust me: seeds are being planted.

2. Normalize Questions and Doubt

Faith isn’t inherited. It has to be wrestled with. Your teen may ask hard questions or even pull back from church. That’s not rebellion—it’s part of growing a faith that’s theirs, not just a copy of yours.

“Jesus said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here… Stop doubting and believe.’” — John 20:27

Jesus didn’t scold Thomas for doubting. He invited him closer. We can do the same for our teens—without panicking or turning into a one-woman apologetics conference.

3. Address Church Hurt Honestly

If your teen has been wounded by church or Christians, don’t sweep it under the rug. Acknowledge the pain. Don’t defend broken systems. Model the humility of Christ and remind them that Jesus is not the Church’s failures.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

Sometimes the most healing thing you can say is: “I’m so sorry that happened to you. And I get why you’d feel that way.” (Not followed by a five-point sermon.)

4. Give Them Voices Besides Yours

Research shows that teens who stick with their faith often have five or more Christian adults in their lives who invest in them spiritually. Youth pastors, coaches, small group leaders, family friends—they help your child see faith from different angles.

“In the multitude of counselors there is safety.” — Proverbs 11:14

Let’s face it: sometimes your teen will listen to a random podcast host or TikTok creator before they listen to you. It’s fine. Let God use the village.

5. Keep Praying—Especially When It’s Quiet

Even when it feels like nothing is shifting, don’t stop praying. Prayer isn’t just the last resort—it’s the foundation. You may not see immediate fruit, but faith takes root in hidden places.

“The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” — James 5:16

Keep showing up in the quiet, in the waiting, in the spaces where it feels like nothing is happening. God is still working—even if your teen rolls their eyes while you pray over their Chick-fil-A.

Your child’s faith journey may not look like you expected. It may come with detours, doubts, and seasons of distance. But remember this: you are not the Savior. Jesus is.

Your job is to reflect His love, to walk in grace, to trust Him deeply—and to never stop hoping.

Whether your teen is the one who stayed close or the one who’s out finding their way, the Father is always watching the road. Arms wide open. Heart full of love. Ready to run.Father is always watching the road. Arms wide open. Heart full of love. Ready to run.

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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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Keller, I had a Crazy Dream

Poker-Titl.jpg (500×334)“Keller, I had a crazy dream. I dreamed we got the old poker gang back together,” Dan shared with my hubby Tim.

Don’t you just love crazy ideas?

It seemed an impossible feat. Over the last ten years the group of single thirty somethings (now forty somethings) had moved and married, divorced and proliferated, faced health challenges, job transitions and relational crisis–basically the gritty basics of life assaulting us.

My husband shook his head in disbelief, but his wide grin revealed his excitement at the possibility of reconnecting with old friends.

“Yeah, let’s do it! Tim replied.

Dan worked hard to pull the event off and surprisingly it seemed to all fall into place until the house he rented for the party flooded at the eleventh hour.

Seriously?

Opportunity or Disaster?

Just as I was walking out the door to take Kolby to an audition the call came in. “Keller, we need a place to hold the party.”

I looked at my husband and sighed. I knew the answer immediately. “Offer up your house Sam,” God nudged at my heart.

Come again? My dirty messy house. The one that overwhelms me and reminds me of my failure to balance work, kids, endless sports, ministry, and a husband who fills our house to the brim with his knack for thrifty bargain hunting.

I look around and see clumps of dog hair in the corners, textbooks and laptops everywhere, Lego’s, Emoji’s and American Girl chaos in competition for biggest disaster area. I know the toilet in the guest bathroom looks like a pack of truckers stopped by and the dishes are piled high.

And my heart aches because my house is like a snapshot of my soul–me at the end of my rope, reaching out for rescue like a small child with arms held high. Hold me Jesus. I’m struggling to wade through this wonderful, exhausting, roller-coaster life.

Choosing The Best Mess

“Let’s do it here.” I say.

“No, I’ll look at the clubhouse.” Tim pipes back.

I know my husband will fight me tooth and nail because my heart is acting cranky again and I’m supposed to be on a diet of low stress–whatever that means because I clearly suck at it.

I immediately start stuffing clutter in cabinets as if  tidiness can hide my brokenness. And then I just stop and release, “Ok God, I get it. Messy is Ok.”

My husband protests and I bark back, “Just have the party here. It makes sense. God gave us this house to bless others. Just clean up a little, please?”

My husband gives me the crazy look, but I know this crazy is the right crazy.

Letting Go

I grab my little girl and we hit the road for a two hour drive, extended by an additional thirty minutes after my GPS sends me in the wrong direction. After I quietly berate my phone, I settle down and pray, reminding myself that in the big picture relationships matter more than a clean house and being on time in LA is a suggestion.

After the audition (which my baby nailed), I call to check in with Tim who is happily hosting the party–my darling extrovert in his element.

And I feel a sense of peace and strangely enough, rest. Not because my life is anymore less chaotic but because God revealed himself to me in the center of the mess.

A Message

When we arrive home later that evening, the roar of laughter hits my ears as I open the car door in the driveway. I open the front door and am enveloped in hugs. No one cares about the floors or the toys. I see beautiful faces and I am so glad I said “Yes.”

But then I sense something more–an undercurrent of restoration. Things are happening. Strained relationships are mending. Friends who let time elapse too long bond again. The old jokes and ridiculous names they call one another are music to the soul.

I sense the bigness of what’s going on. I’m just an observer but even I know this is more than a party, it’s a redemptive offering. I can’t believe they all showed up. I can’t believe a crazy dream led to this night.

I retire early and fall asleep with the party still in full swing, snuggled up next to my little girl, content in the sounds of laughter and revelry downstairs knowing that old friends are making new memories and hearts are full. 
What crazy dream do you need to say yes to?

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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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I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 42

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Truth–every time Taylor Swift’s song “22” comes on, I crank up my radio, sway in my seat, drive a little faster and sing along with gusto.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22 42.”

Yep, I change the words…mainly because it rhymes, it’s fun and I’m 42. Except now I’m not 42–today’s my birthday, now I’m 43.

I guess I need a new song.

My son gives me a card this morning and it says “Happy 29th for the 15th time!”   It’s supposed to be funny, but I secretly wince.  How come 29 + 15 sounds old too?

So here are my thoughts on 43…

1.  It SOUNDS worse than it is.  It’s actually not that bad.  Last week, I traveled with my son.  He looks far older than his 16 years–probably about 20ish.  I could pass on a good day for mid to late 30’s.  After, multiple days of people assuming we were a couple, I felt like a total perv, I told my son I was getting a t-shirt that says, “I’m the mom (not a cougar)”

2. Ok, I do miss the energy of youth (and maybe my perkier parts)…but that’s about it.  A few wrinkles seems a small price to pay for all the benefits of maturity.

3.  I have time now to enjoy my life.  When the big kids were small, when I was a single working mom, when we started the church and I was trying to get my writing going…all I did was hustle, hustle, hustle.  There was constant rushing and scrambling.  Now–I can relax a little bit and appreciate all those years of wiping snotty noses and working late.

4.  I treasure the wisdom I’ve gained over the years.  You couldn’t pay me to go back to my twenties.  All the emotions and turmoil of youth fade in light of parenting all the emotions and turmoil of my own teens.

5.  I’m getting way more nostalgic.  I used to set goals for myself for every birthday.  Each year was a litmus test of  accomplishments–the great grading scale of the American Dream.  Graduate college. Get married by 25.  Have babies by 30.  Finish masters degree.  Start church.  Develop ministry.  Blog.  Write book by 40. Start women’s ministry. Run marathon.

Boy have things changed…

I forgot to include divorce, and career change and loss–and all the tragedy and circumstances that mold and shape us into people of depth and character.  I never finished my graduate degree and I never ran that marathon, and truthfully, I could care less.

My yearly round-up is much simpler now.

I thank God I get to crawl into a toddler bed every night with my little girl and read her favorite books and growl and do all the voices of her favorite monsters and animals.  I thank God for letting me go back East last week on an Ivy League football recruiting trip with my son.  I will never forget laughing our butts off on the mountain roads of Vermont as we almost floated away in a hurricane in a rental car.  I thank God for my lovely daughter Faith who will be a cheerleader next year in high school (just like her mama) and has the sweetest most loving spirit in the world.  I thank God for my second marriage to a beautiful man, for the glorious redemption of having a family again and the ability to write and do what I love.  I look at the people around me and pinch myself for the blessing of friends and neighbors and family.

I guess 43 is filled with perspective.

Here’s mine–Each day is a gift.  

Fortunately, Taylor Swift is now 23–maybe we can get a new rhyme for 43?

What’s your perspective on middle age?

 

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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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How it’s SUPPOSED to Be

supposed to be

It’s never obvious but it’s there all the same—lingering expectations—the unstated kind.

And it starts from day one—at least it did in my marriage.

Because we all believe marriage is supposed to be…

(fill in the box)

We stand at the altar and unknowingly dump unspoken expectations all over one another.

And we  cloak our aspirations in pretty words and flowery promises.

The pictures don’t lie.

Tim(my husband) cried during the ceremony and my grin is the size of Texas.

Because we erroneously believed marriage was supposed to (fill all our sexual, emotional, and relational needs)

We solemnly read our vows –nervous giggles spilling from my lips and Tim furiously wiping his watery eyes.

We promised to put the other first (and lied).  The crowd coos and sighs.  Then, we make a commitment before God and our guests and say “I do”, sealing the deal with a swoon and a kiss.

Reality vs. Ideals

But what if instead of PROMISES to love and cherish one another, we showed up at the ceremony with our true expectations.

(Play along with me)

“Tim, I promise to freak out when you are late, all too often put the kids first, over-react if you don’t like my cooking, chide you about parenting teens, snap when you forget to say I look pretty after an hour getting ready for our date, and go into hysterics when you ignore me when I am sick or hurting because I have severe abandonment issues.”

Samantha, I promise to get irritable when I forget to eat, expect you to manage all the housework, put work and ministry first (all too often), and snap if you ignore me when you get too caught up in your work because I need your attention too.

It would certainly make for a more honest wedding day.

Real, honest, sometimes selfish and more often than not –patterned expectations of what a marital relation SHOULD be like (in our eyes)

From our family of origin and past relational wounds we each bring an overloaded bag of expectations based on past hurts.

And each of us subconsciously EXPECTs our marriage will look like this.

Yet when all hell breaks loose and feelings get hurt—when we end up in opposite corners instead of on the same team—why, oh why are we so surprised?

Getting Honest

The questions to ponder are this: Are we bound by generational brokenness to repeat the patterns of our past?  Is it possible to strive for a different type of relationship?

Expectations –good or bad are a powerful force in a relationship.  They can influence and sometimes even determine our future because our behavior propels us towards the very things we either hope for or fear.

Expectation Management

My husband Tim loves to explain EXPECTATIONS this way…

Many years ago a friend of his dragged him to see the movie “Weekend at Bernie’s.”  The movie was panned by critics and Tim expected it to be a total dud.

But instead of hating it, he thought it was hilarious—maybe not Oscar worthy, but laugh your butt expectation fun.

So, Tim decided this was a good plan—to manage his expectations by keeping them low.

In his mind it’s better to be pleasantly surprised than terribly disappointed.

And this is a great plan as long as he knows what they (the expectations) are.  But sometimes it takes intense reflection and work to know the deeper areas of our hearts—the expectations we carry without realizing it.

In marriage, like movies, it’s vital to be honest about your expectations (to the degree that we know them) for your relationship—because without transparency there is ONLY disappointment when the other person fails to meet your un-communicated needs.

Do you hate fighting and believe ALL conflict is bad?  Are you always waiting for the shoe to drop and disaster to strike because you lived through a divorce?  Do you believe marriage is a prison or a ball and chain holding you back from the good life?

Or do you believe marriage has its ups and downs and you are committed to seeing both through?

Don’t underestimate the power of these expectations.

But don’t overestimate their power either, because there’s a power that’s even greater than expectations: God can heal our brokenness and it’s usually through the comfort and arms of the spouse pissing you off the most.

Healing the Wounds

Yes, I did say YOUR spouse will be the one to help you heal.

But you have to choose the marriage.

Choosing to behave differently than your past is possible.

We don’t have to live lives as victims of the past.

John Townsend and Henri Cloud say this,

“Those who blame external circumstances for their situation do not find what they want.  Those who work on themselves, take responsibility for dealing with their circumstances, and then take action, have success.”

Motivation moves towards personal responsibility.

Marriage experts agree that both before and after you marry; you must be intentional about growth in your relationship.

Tim and I are very open about seeking counseling in our marriage.  It is a non-negotiable with us.  It keeps us growing personally and relationally.  It also keeps the fires lit and the hope strong.

The best decision we have ever made is to invest in our marriage.

We have decided to learn everything we can about ourselves and each other, as well as practical tools to build our skills and strengths.

We study relationship books.

We go to relationship classes, support groups and seminars.

We take the time to do relationship inventories and assessments.

We found a good counselor.

And we are never above humbly asking for prayer and guidance when we hit the sticky spots.

We don’t have it all figured out—quite the opposite—but we are committed to the journey of figuring it out together.

“If you expect to hit some rough patches but have intentionally equipped yourself and your relationship to handle them, you’ll be able to navigate anything that arises. You’ll also know what your resources are and be able to ask for appropriate help as needed. If you intend to learn more and more about yourself and your partner as years go by and follow up those intentions with action, your relationship will stay fresh and current. If you expect that the investment of time and energy in marriage pays off, and add intention to your expectations, you will do what is needed and required to develop a strong, healthy relationship.”

 

Resources: All-in-One Marriage Prep: 75 Experts Share Tips and Wisdom to Help You Get Ready Now, www.allinonemarriageprep.com

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When Your Normal is My Crazy

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This is me.  This kid…this is my inner-(mini) me.

And NO, it’s not my mom talking.  It’s my pastor husband.

This picture is HOW I FEEL after church—like I want to bang my head against the wall because my husband won’t stop talking.

Being married to a relationally gifted man of Christ certainly has its perks.

  1. Everyone is a friend
  2. No party is boring
  3. Often we are the party.
  4. (Unless the party is in a foul mood…then we are the party pooper)
  5. We can go to a mall, Starbucks, restaurant, golf course, etc… and come home with five new best friends.
  6. There are no off-topic conversations. EVERYTHING is up for grabs.

But there is a dark side too.

  1. I rarely leave church without my three kids and I experiencing debilitating hunger pains. It’s usually 2:00pm before we get out of the parking lot.
  2. I’ve heard, “I just have to talk to this one guy” a bazillion times.
  3. There is an unspoken acknowledgement between the kids and I that if Tim forgets something at church and has to “run back in real quick” we will probably wait another 30 minutes with the engine running.
  4. And of course, every conversation is for Jesus, so how can we argue?

 

I adore my husband but sometimes he drives me bazonkers in the best of ways.

And he looks at me, wide eyed in befuddlement?  “Why are you irritated darling?  What’s wrong?”

(Because this is HIS normal)

And I want to scream, “Your normal is my crazy!”

But instead I just pray for patience. And every week I suck it up with a weak smile.

And then God gives me this little gift to tell me he hears my heart.

And I finally feel understood.  Heard.  Affirmed. Validated.

Because God knows, I’m just tryna leave!

And he loves me  anyway…

–Samantha



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