Where Oh Death, Is Thy Victory?

“I think we’re losing the baby, girls. I’m so sorry.”

We all still. The pin drops and you hear it all the way down. It crashes across the floor. Time must have stopped because no one breathed. Like the floodgates falling open the tears began to plummet. In silence at first. Littlest eyes fan into mine and it all burns. It took a whole thirty seconds for us to find a spot on the bed and hold on to something—someone’s arm or leg or foot. Heads buried and words non-existant. Touch felt safe in these moments where the sting settled in. 

I heard her words and I knew it in my heart hours earlier but I wanted to avoid it like the plague. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want it to hurt me. I needed to study and clean and sleep. I needed to keep going. And I tried for awhile. But it ate away until I sought out her words and the pain and now here we are and the truth is setting us free, even as we weep over life lost too soon.

It lands hard like Niagara across the still waters and I just let it fall because sometimes we just can't heal without the pain, without being washed and sometimes the washing just stings like death.

For He wounds but he also binds up.

But she a lioness and she speaks out loud that we trust Him right now and we all hold on tighter and I hear her roar through the prayers whispered from her spot on that pillow from which she can't quite lift her head.  It hurts and she prays grace like ointment that heals.

She is courage when fear shackles us and I feel them loosen. 

Two mammas very close to me have lost babies this month and I hate it so much. Eloquence of words aside, I just don't count it joy in this flesh. I count it...anger, doubt, depression, pain. But not joy. Not in the moments so raw. And yet I know God allows it, ordains it really, even though the whys and whats still float out of my grasp. They both love the Lord and they testify to His glory amidst their pain.

 "O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?" The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain." -1 Corinthians 15:56-58

It seems, for these mammas, the sting of death echoes praises to the giver of life—and the taker too. Crowned in victory, they choose praise and trust and hope secure even when the washing of the Word stings and life doesn't turn out how they had hoped.

But hope they do because hope doesn't belong to the world but to the God who spoke it to existence and called it good.

They teach me to hope here too. To wear the victory like a crown. Mostly because even after Eve disobeyed, God made a way for us to hope in the promise of His Son, the one He himself crowned in victory on the third day.

He gave us a way out, a promise who was, who is and is coming. So we have hope. 

Even as we grieve the loss of these precious lives, we have hope in the one who conquered death and is coming back to crown us with life eternal, the one promised to those who love Him.

Rise, And Christ’s light will shine on you.

These women RISE. You and me—we can rise too. It all starts with hoping in Christ, hoping in the promise yet to be and still fully alive. Struck down but not destroyed.

Today, I must remember to hope in Christ. 

"Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and werejoice in hope of the glory of God. More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly." -Romans 5:2-6

It's Just Life: On A Weekend With 5 Boys

I pull up and little one comes running a little too close to the car. 

"Corny! Corny!" 

Hi Baby, how are you?! I exclaim in my bestest excited voice.

I hold his hand as I gather my load and he escorts me towards the door. I am met with big boy shouts echoing from the basement, another confined to his room, little boy tears and pleas to go outside before I can even get my bags put down--or take a deep breath.

Mom and dad and big sisters are gone, so we learn together and we trust better. This is new—for us all. It has never happened before, just the six of us, me and these five boys, so we make it special.

We stick noodles in turkey dogs and paint pictures of rainbows right at the dinner table.

We laugh and wipe tears. We fall asleep on the time out bench and we slide our jammies on over the dirt, just this once.

We go for walks and have races on the deck because the house just can't contain it all any longer. We dye cookie dough bright colors and spell out the names of the ones we can't do life without.

We attempt pancakes {from scratch of course} on Saturday morning because we just need a little normal.. We eat them and I scold the one who says these are better then Mommys. I come up with all kinds of punishments I will inflict upon the one who says that to Mamma!

We laugh until we cry, just us around that table with the floor covered in crumbs and noodles and his water spills. And I smile and go get a towel.

I talk to Jesus more then I ever have in my life. Because there is no one else to talk to—not like that anyhow. I pray without ceasing. Mostly selfish prayers for patience and joy and peace, but sometimes I remember the moments and I give thanks.

Hours well into the darkness, as I lay with little man curled up on my chest. I focus on creating a steady flow of breath. In and out. In and out. I pray to Jesus that the steadiness of my chest moving in rhythm might lull him into rest and peace. That when he fades, the noise machine and darkness will make for a flawless transition from my breathing to his bed. I move a leg and his head bobbles up. Oh well. He has  never been put to bed by anyone but his sisters, Mamma and Daddy.

I remember the weight of my role and thank Him. I kiss baby boy as his head nestles back into my chest and I rub his back and sing Jesus loves me--again. Though my singing does not comfort like his sisters. I laugh. I can't sing, period.

I begin to think about the weekend and the stress and the challenges and the uncertainty of it all. How will I ever be equipt to do this all the time, for life? I wonder late into the night. Will always feel this hard, this demanding? Will I ever rest again? Will I stop being so selfish? Will it ever stop feeling like the job that has provided for me though teenagerdom? Will I ever be as wise as their mamma? Will the striving just take few breaths ease?

As I get to church, boys in tow, I text Mamma and thank her for all she does everyday. I tell her that we miss her so much.

Of course she has to speak the Spirit of conviction into me, even over a screen with some letters on it.

It's not about you (or me). She texts me that morning. Children are a blessing from the Lord and we honor Him as we receive those blessings joyfully. She continues to tell me how much they appreciate me.

Several hours and a hard sermon later, the daddy texts me too, about something totally different but it ministers here. From his bed, sick at home he guides my heart in His words, "Lose the mindset that life is stressful—it's just life."

Simple truth that makes it all seem so simple—I breathe and the weight begins to dissolve.

I begin to get perspective. I won't have a dozen at once. There will be time to learn, to rejoice, to grow in wisdom. I won't be alone—a husband with authority will guard my heart with counsel too. They will be my own and that love is just something of a miracle, so they say.

And so, I press onward to heaven and I hope there, in that place that so far exceeds me, myself and I.

Today, I am learning that life is not stressful—it's just life. Today, I am learning that it's not about me—that kiddos are a blessing and Christ is glorified in receiving them as such.

So may life here on earth, what's left of it become lesser as eternity drives me heavenbound. It's simple and yet it changes everything about raising babies, everything about single-hood, everything about life as one of a dozen. 

On Being Blessed {A Synchroblog}

Facebook is my own worst enemy these days, plastered with engagement rings and lil ones. Sometimes, it makes me wonder.

Wonder who my husband is...when and where and how I will meet him. Wonder how I will know he is the one God chose for me all the way back in the womb. I wonder if there is a husband in my future? Or if I'm the exception. I wonder if He's really equipped me to be content if so. I wonder how I will know.  I wonder what my babies will look like. How many the Lord will give. Whether I will carry them in my womb or carry them home on a plane.

Sometimes, the wondering is a slippery slope...pulling me out of the here and the now into a reality that has not been promised.

But more often then not, the wondering is a blessing.

 It is a reminder that my life is not really my own, even now when it is just me living it. That the act of the will which must align with Truth is not for nothing—Romans 12 has a greater purpose then simply what it does in me. That training myself to flee from sin, to renew my mind, to walk by the Spirit--that it is not solely about my own entanglement being loosed. Avoiding the entanglement & breaking free brings life—and life abundantly, also for the generations to come.

At the end of it all, the wondering gives me vision of the hope and the future that He promises. Even on the days that feel so hopeless, in the moments where the future seems too far to matter—the wondering somehow lures me back to hope in something more. It calls me to fight. To hold fast in the valleys and soak in the mountains.

Before salvation, I never knew opposition to sin. Surely, I was enslaved to it, but not opposed. In fact, my life revolved around pursuit of it. But I was in opposition to God. Today, it is the opposite. Yet, I have never thought of the consequences of such a shift--no longer an enemy of God, but now an enemy of sin. No wonder the battle is so demanding, so tough some days. 

Sometimes, I wonder what my life will be like in a year, in ten years. Sometimes I wonder what my babies will look like. Sometimes I wonder if my daughter will live freer then me. Sometimes I wonder if I have what it takes to raise one—or a dozen.

Some days, I am convinced I will never be prepared—to submit to a man when I struggle to submit to Christ. To raise babies of my own, when I struggle to patient with the lil ones in my house now. To wait on His perfection, when I am so busy striving for my own.

Everyday, I know that apart from Him I am a disaster. With Him I am one too. Without Him life is just too messy, too hard, too much--so I will remain a slave to the Spirit, to Christ, the risen One in whom I am blessed.

Today, I am blessed to hear a sermon on Romans 7. To take comfort in the battle that rages in my mind, the way it is no different from Paul's. I am blessed that he had the guts to be honest about it. I am blessed that His testimony gives me hope today.

Listen close, self. In the wondering—listen for His voice.

It is humming softly always, Amazing grace, how sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. 

But today, I am blessed because of the hope and future that draw so near in the wondering.

I am blessed to be living the hope and the future right now, too.

I am blessed, even when it seems the new hymn is stuck in the old flesh.

I am also blessed to read these words Emily writes over here. Check her out because you will love her too. She has a book coming out soon...you can pre-order it here! 

Grace for Today

Some days I feel like I am ready to tackle motherhood head on—bring on the babies, I laugh, lots of them. {Husband first would be nice}. But most days it is nothing short of amazing grace, how sweet the sound which carries me through til my weary soul and feeble knees finally collide with my mattress. Until I can finally gather enough quiet to go all introspective and greet 'control' with joy.


No where in scripture am I promised a husband, babies, or a home to run. But I just know I was created to do this—even on the days I raise my voice too high, slip in a little too much sarcasm, or pretend I'm asleep when the little fingers pound on the door—because I just need a minute. I am tasting life as a submissive, home-schooling, adoptive, country bumpkin mamma to a whole lotta babies—and it is good. I am learning from the best.

Yet, I find myself on edge lately, battling through the if onlys and what ifs of this current season of life.

What if I had never moved out to the country, been adopted into this family of a dozen? Well, then maybe I would have more friends. Maybe I would have a bit of a social life. Maybe I wouldn’t get off work to continue working well into the night—dinner, dishes, baths, and noise. Maybe my routine wouldn’t seem so mundane, so untimely for my age, so not glamorous. 

Something I am learning about life in the bosom of this family—my life is no longer my own and ultimately I am not in control of much. 

A hard, hard, painful truth to learn. Especially for a control freak like me. For someone who thrives off of alone time and never being late, stretched would be an understatement.


Good news: He is not done with me yet. Great news: His grace is sufficient. Excellent news: I have trusted in his sufficiency and leaned on grace a little more today then yesterday. 

“The answer, The answer, my friend, is not yours to invent or create. It will be decided for you. It is outside you. It is real and objective and firm. One day you will hear it. You don’t create it. You don’t define it. It comes to you, and sooner or later you conform to it—or bow to it.” ― John Piper

I conform to it or bow down to it. I submit or I succumb. I trust or I break.


So, all that's left I suppose, is to conform to my place as one of twelve {"normal" for my age or not}, to submit to K's authority, and to trust what M is teaching me about biblical womanhood, laughs around the table, lil sister talks, and goodnight hugs from lil guys to be sufficient. And today, it is.


Today, I chose to confrom—submit—trust. To take refuge in His grace being suffiecnet for my here and now. Maybe not for tomorrow. Certainly not for the past. But right here and right now in this moment where the noise and bodies don't relent, His grace is sufficient. 

The slippery slope of introspection often entices me—before I even realize the bottom I have hit as a result, the sting that follows. Some days I just don’t have time {or quiet} to think. To question. To ponder. To play games in my mind.  By dinnertime, I sometimes want to run away in search of the control {my comfort} that got tossed out the back door when my feet hit the floor with the rising of the sun. 


And sometimes, this is the greatest blessing of this season of life—that I couldn’t catch it {control, that is} before it is shattered to pieces beneath me.

So today, I call the noise and bodies so numerous a blessing. Because they save me from myself.


Even when I really don't like how it feels—when I long for an enticing ride down the slope of selfishness & control—mostly because I know it so farmiliar. When pride and I get real close. Here in this place, I begin to trust the here and now over the if-onlys and what-ifs because if not for the here and now, the latter would lead me into the pit of despair. So I will chose to soak in the grace sufficient in the chaos, right here and right now. 

We are not promised tomorrow and today has enough problems of its own to devote brain cells to yesterdays. Grace sufficient for today. That's all. And praise God that's all. 


So for today, no babies for me. Praise God because I don't have the grace to handle it. For today, no worries about the additional pound or two resting in my belly after last night's burger eaten in family fellowship. Praise God because I don't have the grace to handle it. But when I was crying about it last night, He wrapped me up in grace plentiful, as sweet sleep rushed in.

For today, conquering a big meeting with WalMart at work in time to move an apartment full of {hoarded} stuff {belonging to a broken & untrusting lady who showed up at church and begged for prayer} in this 104 degree heat—followed then by birthday celebration for the big four year old—in this His grace is sufficient and I trust He will sustain. Today, that is all I need. 

Silas is FOUR today!!!

Stuff from floor to ceiling—all to be moved
But He said to me, My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. -2 Corinthians 12:9

Glimpses of Life as One of a Dozen

People often give me the doubtful, questioning, even speechless eyes when I tell them I live with a family of eleven—with me that makes a dozen of us under a roof, doing life together that all the glory might belong to the Lord.

Now, I just expect the hesitant, you are crazy eyes. But it really doesn't bother me much anymore—I just smile and joyfully explain to them how crazy life is and that I wouldn't change it for a thing. The truth of that statement has become much more true (if that even makes sense!) as the days, weeks, and months continue to pass. I cannot imagine life being any different. The flip of the calendar has in fact, taught me to love and cherish this family of eleven more then I ever could have imagined.

Over the past several weeks, there have been little GLIMPSES, little moments where I see God's perfect plan continue to be affirmed right where I am at, in the little house on the dirt road.

Like when I get home from work and a little guy runs up to me and leans in real close as he begins to tell me He accepted Christ today and I erupt with joy and praise. Or when we go around the table to affirm seven year old little one on his birthday, and he begins weeping as I tell him what a tender heart he has and how he loves people wholeheartedly. Or when the girls talk openly about the doubts and realities of life in a fallen world. Or when they get excited about something coming up and tell me I have to be there—I have to experience it with them. Or when baby boy runs into my arms when I get home from work (which has happened ONCE, making it one of these glimpses!). Or when Kevin cooks breakfast for me before I have to leave for work. Or when the boys asked specifically that I would come into their room to tell them goodnight. Or when Michelle takes me to run errands with her, even though it takes twice as long since I never stop talking. Or when I can unload the dishwasher without asking where anything goes (a rare occurrence, since things continue to move around). Or when I get to read a book to the babies as we cuddle before bed—when they will sit in my lap for JUST A minute. Or when I am trusted to drive nine precious lives in the big white van solo. Or when my friend's husband begins referring to me as "Courtney McCollum" because I was running a little bit late to meet them somewhere...I am STILL trying to figure what he's talking about??

In a large family, it is easy to get caught up in just trying to make it from one moment to the next...get everyone busy on an activity so you can get dinner going so you can get everyone to stop the activity to wash up so everyone can gather around the big wood table so we can actually hold hands without passing along dirt and snot so we can beg Jesus to sustain us, to help us speak kindly, to help us obey without anyone complaining of germs passing along through the grips shared among us all so that we can serve up a meal so everyone gets enough so we can be excused to get boys to bed and clean the kitchen so we can breathe for a few minutes so we can have more breathe to laugh at the craziness of the day so we can have even more breathe to process the trials of life so we can fall asleep with peace of mind to the quietness of nine little ones sleeping all so we have the energy to wake and do it all over again tomorrow.

Yes, this is reality. But somewhere in-between the washing up and the prayers, comes the GLIMPSE. Somewhere after the food before the last dish is put up, comes another GLIMPSE. To what exactly does this glimpse allow you to see into? The GLIMPSE allows me to see Jesus at work in these little hearts and minds. The GLIMPSE reminds me of my need for His grace, His love, His selflessness amidst it all. Through the GLIMPSE, the Spirit speaks to my weary soul and I joyfully press on.

The GLIMPSE is why I wouldn't change my life for anything, even if you look at me with those eyes.

The GLIMPSE challenges me to see Christ in all of His glory, to just get a glimpse of what He is doing here on earth reminds me of the eternity that awaits—that the challenges and suffering here on this fallen earth are worth enduring, for the glory that is to be revealed simply does not compare.

What GLIMPSE has He given you today?

3 Dozen GLIMPSES of His FAITHFULNESS in LIFE WITH A DOZEN:

Birthday Affirmation times—testify to Jesus' work in each heart

Dutch Puff—simply because it is my favorite "large family" food

Exploring nature—I see the Lord in a different way in the country 

Little brother good night hugs & goodbye waves in the morning—ahhhh love.

Late night kitchen talks with K and M—I would honestly pay for these moments and the Truth and life that is breathed into my inner place during these times. 

Reading in the chair that rocks—a comfort, I think, my favorite spot.

Ramblenising and deep conversation with sisters {after} bedtime of course—made even better when K stomps his foot on floor above, making me break into giggles. 

Mowing the grass on Saturdays—being able to serve and improve at making perfectly straight lines across the yard, no OCD though. 

Family Dinners—you just have to be there.

Washing dishes—it is my job and I enjoy it.

Kevin teaching—I always learn too.

  

Experiencing peace as I watch chaos unfold—sounds crazy, but it happens daily.

Cuddles from the babies—a rare and precious occurrence these days!

Rides in the van—made even better when everyone breaks into a song and I start looking for cameras because I fell as though I am on a reality TV show

Learning to shoot a gun—one of my frirst glimpses, actually, sweet moment.

Helping Michelle cook—learning from her in the kitchen, learning to be a wife and mom.

When eleven (perfect) voices break into song during family worship time—add in the piano and guitar for kicks—I see Jesus. 

Driving on the country roads with windows down—and music blasting.

Michelle chopping my hair off—a tangible shedding of a whole lot of my insides. 

Little boys getting into my makeup—something I always wished I could experience growing up, as odd as that sounds. 

Being able to share my clothes and jewelry—or simply have it stolen :)

Watching old movies with the girls—who find joy in all of my firsts...including the movie we are watching.

My first time on the 4-Wheeler—when Kevin took off with me on it & got the death stare from mom

When Kevin (completely jokingly) refers to Michelle as "Woman"—with a capital W!

The way this family welcomes and loves on my international friends—incredible testimony to Christ's love for each of us. 

Coming home to squirrels hanging in my closet in place of the lightbulb—and the payback that came as a result.

Sharing a room with sisters for a season—another dream come true, learned lots too.

Birthday Pancakes—the best. 

The fact that using a dozen eggs a day has become somewhat normal—wrong I think!

Going anywhere with the whole family—I find joy in being with them all.

Taking communion as a family—one of my sweetest memories.

Finding pets in the wild and attempting to domesticate them—until they die, anyways.

Building a chicken house—and the fact that it hasn't been touched in months.

Driving the big white van—and not crashing.

Little brother goodnights—nothing better. 

The heart of this family to love me as one of their own—in so many tangible and unspoken ways

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you face trials of various kinds, for you KNOW that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. ---James 1:2-3

On A Lunchbox

It is funny how life happens sometimes. Really, I just have to laugh.

I think that sometimes the hurt is so deep, yet the reality of His faithfulness so divine that all I can do is stand in awe. This morning, I had one of these moments. I just had to laugh—to rejoice in His redemption alone.

Growing up, I dreamed of a life in which my parents were in the PTO at school, volunteered to chaperone all the field trips, and never missed the school musicals. Just the thought of someday coming home to the sweet aroma of cookies baking and toilet bowls with blue water brought me great joy. I was crying out to be a child—for that to be enough. I hungered for the little things.

I love my parents. I really do. I know that my mom worked and worked and worked to provide me with everything I ever needed. I know that being a single mom was such an impossible task—we as women just weren’t created to raise babies alone. I know that she loves me as every mother loves her daughter. And I know that no family is perfect—the aroma of sweet-smelling cookies and all. In spite of the truth I know now, there is this part of me that still craves the little things. The cookies—the blue toilet bowls—the conversations—the moments.

This morning, I had a moment. I was leaving for work and realized that I needed to bring a lunch. I was offered anything from the pantry to eat. I started making a sandwich and she came along and wrapped it up, adding a few things to complete my meal. She then realized I needed something to put it in. She reached up high and pulled out a lunchbox for me to use. She threw in some napkins reminding me that my orange will probably get messy and these will come in handy. She gave me a hug and sent me out the door.

Ten minutes later I am driving down the road and it hits me—through the tears all I can do is laugh. I can remember buying my lunch all through elementary school, even into middle school. I would sit down with my lumpy potatoes, plastic chicken nuggets, and chocolate milk carton continually glancing across the table at my friends’ lunches. Their pink and purple princess lunchboxes came full of surprises. They would pull out their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, in a perfect square with the crust cut off and sliced down the middle. They got chips and a perfectly plump chocolate treat for desert. And a juice box—always the newest and tastiest. They always had a napkin. The real sweet moms even wrote a little love note to their daughter on the napkin, or snuck in an extra treat for later.

I was so jealous. I can vividly remember crying in the bathroom one day. I just so deeply desired that kind of a lunch box—not because of the food, the colors on the box, or the napkin—I wanted the love that came in the crust-free sandwich and letters on a napkin. 

Here I am, twenty-one years old—and I finally got my lunchbox.  

And of course it wasn’t about the box—in fact it was a boy-looking lunchbox, nothing spectacular. It wasn’t even about the food—and yes, my bread still had crust on it. But it was about the moment—it was about the thought inside the lunchbox. That lunchbox was filled with love.

As I sat alone eating my lunch at work today, I simply had to bask in the moment—He is faithful to redeem the years the locust has stolen. He is faithful to meet all of my needs—even my need for a lunchbox at the age of twenty-one. And only He knows those needs, even better then I do. And oh is He faithful to provide for them, that He might be glorified in that very provision. Only He knew the joy and praise that would one day come--from a lunch box at that.

Today, I saw His intimate and persistent and selfless love for me in a lunchbox. He cares for each of us so much, that He would place me in this place on this morning with this spiritual mom to whom He told to send me off to work with a lunch in a box, and in that perfect plan which far exceeds anything I ever could have dreamed, I see HIS love for me—the depth and perfection of it. I stand in awe.

Lord, thank you for revealing your love for me in my lunch box.

I am STILL confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. -Ps. 27:13-14

Dads, where are you??

We are a generation of young women crying out for our dads. The more time I spend with young girls, the angrier I become. Their stories of loneliness and insecurity, of abuse and neglect, of feeling void inside, of never learning how to do certain things, of never having discipline, of the fears they have as they approach adulthood and marriage. As these girls passionately preach to me about their desire for wealth, self-sufficiency, and a noteworthy career my heart breaks inside. Such things will not last! Will the generational curse ever stop?

They want to challenge this picture of a biblical marriage…of the roles a man and woman should play. They have grown up in a society that tells them they can be anything they want; they can have it all—they can be just as smart, powerful, respected, and renown as any man. They don’t have to sit at home with the kids all day, wash the dishes, or have dinner on the table when their husband walks through the door. They refuse to be his slave. Oh no, they can be so much more then THAT. Such tasks are so belittling. 

These young women think that submission to a man in marriage is from the olden days—no one does that anymore. Several of these girls think ‘I won’t have to submit if I am just as good as he is.’ They reason that there are two people in a marriage, so why should they have to be the ones to always sacrifice their dreams and desires for their husband? No one should have more power—we must be equal. They explain to me how they could never stay home all day with the kids—why couldn’t their husband do that? “What if I wanted to be the one to come home to dinner on the table after a hard days work,” they ponder aloud. The opportunities are endless.

Where are you dads?

I don’t know what the Lord is trying to show me; I don’t understand His timing. But every single conversation I have had with teenage girls lately consistently comes back to this underlying cry for a father, whether they realize it or not. It is so, the cry of my heart as well.

I feel as if I am beating up against brick wall, over and over. This generation of young women has made up its mind; submitting to one’s husband, sacrificing a career for a family, dying to self to love another human being like Christ, signing a covenant before the Lord that divorce is not an option—these are not priorities for them…period.

Dads where are you?

Lord, I thank you that you are the PERFECT FATHER. As I am coming to a deeper understanding of imperfections and let-downs in life, I TRUST that even when my earthly dad fails me, even when my spiritual dads let me down…that you REMAIN—the Perfect Father who will never leave or forsake me. Praise to you that I know where you are—and that you protect me like a big, strong daddy should.

Oh Lord, I praise you for the convictions you have so engrained into my heart. Thank you for strengthening me to remain steadfast in those convictions—even when opposition surrounds. I pray that you will teach me to soften my words that I may be a sweet aroma to those around me, those who may not share the same ideas about dating, marriage and motherhood—Lord use my past, use the work you are doing in my heart…may my voice be firm and steadfast, yet gentle and wise. Lord, I will not settle—I will remain faithful to the hope to which you have called me in Christ Jesus. Thank you for surrounding me with women (and their husbands) who share similar convictions and are living them out—thank you for placing women in my life to teach me and challenge me. You are ever faithful to complete the good work you began. (Phil. 1:6)

Testimony Tuesday: Like Mother, Like Daughter

It started out a normal school-day like any other. Pulling myself out of bed, I stumbled into the shower as my eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness of another day. I soon escaped the heat of the bathroom for the coolness of my bedroom as I quickly dried off and began to dress. It had become a chore to get dressed by this point in my life—those ever-widening curves made all of my attempts at covering myself seem useless. The clothes sprawled out across the bed began overflowing onto the floor. It seemed the tornado had touched down in my room then continued spiraling its way into the distance, the rest of the house untouched in its perfection of cleanliness. Finally, something black—yes this will have to do! Gathering my stuff, I hastily ran out of my room, flipping off the light switch as I headed for the stairs.

Well, this morning, unlike any prior, I walked down the stairs to find my stomach begin to churn. With about five steps to go, I sensed her eyes looking me up and down, up and down. I felt the disgust, disappointment, and embarrassment from fifty feet away. I cringe just thinking about how this scene continued to play out—and the way it has shaped nearly a decade of my life.  

The words to follow stung. “Courtney, if you want to go back to LA Weightloss, I’ll sign you up today. I mean are you even trying?” Silence.  

I honestly don’t think she has ever realized the hurt of her eyes and words that morning. This moment has been engrained in my heart for nearly eight years now. Every time I walk down the stairs and sense her sitting on that couch, my stomach churns as I try my best to suck in my gut, stick out my chest, and swing my purse around for additional coverage. No matter how much weight I lose, the whole stomach churning when walking down the stairs to meet her criticizing eyes never does seem to dissipate any—not when I was thirteen and not now, in my twenties. It is so stupid! Some of it probably just in my head by this point, and she is not even looking at me that way.  

It was on this day that I decided to make myself throw up my lunch for the first time. I was covinced worked for awhile too—not that it quieted the gaze of her eyes and judgment in her heart any. I wish I had never made that decision, but I didn't know any better--I was insecure, lost, and on a desperate search for love. I have felt that I never measured up to my mom’s standards my entire life—never pretty enough, skinny enough, smart enough, bold enough, funny enough, or nice enough. I have battled this one out tirelessly for nearly a decade now, yet it continues to linger in my mind most days.

God’s word agrees…I am NOT good enough…nor will I ever be in comparison to Jesus Christ. That is why today I am desperately dependent upon Him. Only by His blood am I able to renew my mind and accept the Truth in exchange for such lies, but at the time I did not understand this concept apart from Christ.

Fast forward to now--just yesterday, I was with my mom visiting my grandmother in a rehab facility (she fell and broke her hip a couple weeks ago). My grandma asked me to water the flowers we had brought to her several days prior. I hesitated. I made up a couple excuses of why I didn’t want to, praying she would forget. She may have a broken hip, but lemme just tell you her memory is still going strong! Finally, I had run out of excuses—I stood up, sucked in my gut, stood up straighter, put my chest out, and awkwardly tried to narrow my hips by putting my hands on them. Within moments of rising to my feet I felt two sets of eyes judging and critiquing my body as I moved across the room, bent down to water the flowers, and as I sat back down I looked up to see my mom, eight years later, staring me up and down—still ashamed. I guess some things may never change—and that feeling that you are being judged will never be something I enjoy.

But one thing has changed from that morning walking down those stairs to face her gaze to now—I don’t have to measure up to her standards…I don’t need her approval…I don’t have to be good enough because that is something impossible to achieve. I know that the Word of God tells me I am fearfully and wonderfully made, that I am flawless in His sight, that I am a new creation, that I am white as snow. Now I understand my position in Christ and who I am in Him.

After that afternoon in the nursing home, my mom and I were driving back home after leaving grandma’s and we were talking about her husband, Kevin, and how he was probably out to lunch or at a movie. “Well who did he go with?” I asked, interested. “No one,” she replied, “he doesn’t mind going to eat or see a movie by himself! In fact, he goes often” I laughed, completely picturing him, in all of his confidence doing just that. Of course he would! Shortly my mom broke my thoughtfulness, “Gosh, he really is crazy. I would never have the self-esteem to do that!!” I nodded my head in agreement as a grin formed across my face. Turns out the whole, “like mother, like daughter” concept is more fitting then I would ever like to admit.

Yesterday I realized that as much as my mom’s gazes, comments, and disappointments have hurt me over the years, she really doesn’t mean to hurt me—how could I ever expect her to gaze at me, curves and all, with pride and joy across her eyes when her mom never looked at her this way. How could I ever expect her to speak encouraging words about my appearance and character when she is constantly trying to change hers. How could I ever except her to be proud of me, to accept me, to tell me how much she loves me when she doesn’t know how to accept, be proud of, and love herself?

An hour later, my grandma calls to tell me that she is sorry for being such a grouch that afternoon while we were there. She went on to explain to me that her hair stylist had called and told her that she must look horrible since she had missed two appointments (since she was in the hospital.) My grandma made up every excuse to avoid going out to the dinning room to eat her meals with other elderly men and women to the point where she got angry with me for trying to encourage her to get out of her room and make some friends. Why? Well, she was convinced because of that one conversation that she looked hideous and ugly and was so embarrassed and scared of what the other women would think of her that she has now avoided leaving her room for almost two weeks.

The root of it all—insecurity…pride. Like mother, like daughter, like grand-daughter. Well it is broken here—in the precious name of Jesus Christ, my girls will not be enslaved to this generational curse of insecurity rooted in pride. I pray that my mom and grandmother could come to know the hope of life with Jesus Christ—that through Him their minds could be made new, that they would not continue to live out their lives bitter and fearful of what others think. That they may be set fear from this trap of insecurity and self-condemnation. That with knowing Christ, they may still hear the lies, but that they could be equip to fight the battle—praise God the victory is already won—even in my life! I needed this reminder today!! Oh is He ever faithful to complete the good work He began in us, until the day Christ returns.

“And you will know the Truth, and the Truth will set you free!”  -John 8:32

This One is for the Moms



Me and My Sweet Mom



Mothers are created with a deep, intimate, indescribable and incomparable love for their daughters (and sons). Just as we are created to love and be loved by Christ, so a mother desires to love and be loved by her child. Unfortunately, when sin entered the world with Eve, she was suddenly unable to perfectly love her baby. I don’t know if she was too busy sewing together fig leaves to cover up her nakedness or if it was simply that sense of shame, guilt, helplessness, hopelessness that crippled her from selflessly loving her baby, but I do know that from her, the very first mamma, generation after generation of mothers who would die for the well-being of their children fail at loving daily.

Today, some moms put their own needs first. Some abandon their babies all together. Others forget to say I love you and give their kiddos a warm embrace. Some end their child’s life before the baby even has a chance to live. Then there are those who give their children everything they could ever ask for if it just silences the needs of the child for a moment. Some are controlling and manipulative. Then there are many who just spit out hurtful words amidst a stressful day. Sin so destructively distorts that place where a mother’s love pours forth.

But there is good news! Jesus redeems. Jesus offers grace and mercy freely. Jesus came down to meet us in our sin and brokenness and hurt; He came to redeem what the enemy came to steal. Jesus came that mom’s may be set FREE to LOVE their children as He has selflessly loved us. We are sinners…were never gunna have it all together…nope, not even super mom. We are going to fail at loving our kids. But He never gives us more then we can bear and He always gives us a way out to stand up beneath. He has the power to break off these old mindsets. He has the power to restore relationships in the family unit. Through Him, forgiveness and healing are attainable—and freeing! In the name of Jesus Christ, generational sin—sin passed down from grandmother to mother to daughter to granddaughter is BROKEN OFF!!!

Last week I was spending some sweet time with a mother of four incredible kiddos. We were just hanging out and watching TLC. As we were just talking about the past week of our busy lives, I realized once again how much I learn from these indescribable hours of fellowship with godly moms and wives. Literally every day or night of this week I have spent hanging out with wives and moms. The Lord sets the solitary in families! How incredibly gracious and sovereign is He, that He would not only allow me to finally understand my own mom’s inability to love me well, that He would show me how very much she loves me, that He would strengthen me in this restoration process between my mom and I, and that all the while He has been surrounding me with Mother after Mother to love the stinkin heck out of me, to encourage me, and more then anything to teach me by example, by just doing life on life together, how to be a godly mom someday. Ohhhhh Lord, never let me forget your faithfulness in my life. Oh how you see me and know me INTIMATELY and LOVE me DEEPLY.

For all you mamas out there just doing the best you know how…you will never have the capacity to love your kiddos well, until you understand the depth and selflessness of Christ’s love for YOU!

Thank you mom, for always loving me the best you knew how. Thank you for sacrificing so much for me to always have everything I needed. Thank you for working hard to make ends meet day after day. You are a precious blessing in my life and I love you more then words will ever express! I am also overwhelmingly blessed by the godly wives and mommas in my life. Angel, Cindy, Meg, Ashley, Shelly, Julie, Kelli, Terri, Mama Fogt—thank you doesn’t even begin to express my gratitude for allowing me to be a part of your lives as well.   

My Beautiful Sisters!

Incredible Wives and Mamas!



Ashy and Shelly...amazing wives and mom to four!

Ash and My Mama Fogt

The One and Only Kelli Cossey :)

Me and Terri...super mom to six amazing kids!!

Precious Julie Hunter

Loveeeee this Woman soooo much!

My Big Sis and a Wonderful Wife!!!

Incredible Nurse, Wife to my big bro, Mama of 2 incredible kiddos and sweet sister!

My Sister...Incredible wife and mother of four amazing kiddos!

Greatest mama to a precious lil guy...amazing wife...loving sister!!!