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There are positives and negatives to being a fairly relaxed mom. I don’t typically freak out when things don’t go according to plan and we often do things spontaneously. This is good! This is fun! But being this way also means that I am terrible at things like potty training. I’m terrible at it because I don’t have any sense of urgency about it.

When I was getting ready to potty train Reagan, I did what most people do. I read all the blog posts and talked to all of my friends. I remember my friend Julia telling me exactly what she does and I was like “Oh gosh, this is going to be so easy and great.” I mean, all of Julia’s kids potty trained in like 2 days!! Of course I was not taking into account that Julia is very disciplined and organized, and I am…well, not. (By the way aren’t you so grateful for friends who have different strengths than you?? Seriously. There is a reason we are called the body. Try though it may to exist on it’s own, the hand really needs the arm, and so on and so forth).

Anyway, I set out to accomplish the Julia approach (that’s what I call it in my head even though I know she uses some sort of method from a book). But, with me being me, it took me 3 separate tries and over a year to fully potty train Reagan. So definitely NOT 2 days.

Then with Charlotte, knowing my own weaknesses I just decided I’d wait till she was ready.  As in, until she took off her own diaper and sat on the toilet and went without any assistance from me. Which is exactly what she did when she was almost 3. She had been ready for a while, but my first experience had scarred me a bit so I kept saying, “No, I don’t think you’re ready, let’s just wait a little longer. Finally Charlotte decided enough was enough and just went for it on her own. God bless her.

When we went to Uganda last summer to adopt Eva and Titus, they were both fully capable of using the toilet. Eva was 5 and had zero issues. Titus was kind of half-trained. He had a few accidents while we were there, but for the most part was doing well. So, honestly, I don’t think I have anyone to blame but myself that he spent the last year in pull-ups. I think we got back and we were so tired and I was looking at these 4 kids who needed so much and I just thought, whatever, I’m not dealing with accidents right now. And Titus, my sweet boy, is kind of lazy himself. So he was perfectly content to wear pull-ups, even though he knew, and we knew, that he really didn’t need to.

Well, it’s June, and it’s been almost a year, and good grief, it’s got to stop at some point. So I kept telling Titus that once school was out we were going to potty train. I advise using different language because he and his siblings are convinced there is an actual choo choo train involved in this process, no matter how many times I try to explain the term to them. Yesterday was his first day and he, of course, did perfectly. Um, probably because he’s been ready for a year. But every time he went he inquired about this supposed “train.” Sigh. I might have to buy the kid a train.

He had such a good day, in fact, that he was quite horrified when I insisted he wear a pull-up again for bed. He is a big boy now, and it hurt his sense of pride that I would demean him by putting him in something that he now deems beneath him. He resisted to the point of defiance (I know that no one believes me when I say Titus can be defiant, but he is a 3 year old boy so of course he can). He had a talking to from daddy and begrudgingly donned the pull-up, all the while glaring at me.

But apparently the defiance wasn’t over because this morning when I went to change him I discovered that he had, at some point, gotten out of bed, put his underwear back on, put his pull-up on OVER the underwear, and slept that way. The lengths children will go to in order to get their way. I was so impressed with his attempt at clever subterfuge that I almost didn’t discipline him for it. Almost.

All of this to say, I’m really really terrible at potty training. But guess what, guys?! It’s DONE. I mean, I’m sure I’ll have a few accidents to clean up this week but I cannot believe I am about to have no children in pull-ups. This is huge. This is a milestone. This is glorious.

This is exactly the kind of talk that people use right before they find out they’re pregnant again. So I’m gonna stop talking about it now.


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Tonight Four Oaks Worship releases their first full-length studio album. This is a result of the hard work and talent of many, MANY people, but at the heart of the project is Josh (and Jesus, of course). He wanted to make this happen, had the vision for it, wrote or co-wrote all of the songs on the album, had several meetings and brainstorming sessions, spent countless hours in the studio recording and editing, and is now, in spite of his unfortunate leg injury this week, in the thick of the last minute preparations for tonight’s concert and release.

Now I know you think I’m promoting this thing here on my blog because Josh happens to be my husband and I’m a little biased. But bear with me for a minute and let me tell you why I’m REALLY excited about this (although that first part is also a reason).

Christians have been singing the praises of their God since…well, since the beginning. We were made for it. We see the Israelites singing His praises throughout the Old Testament, from their jubilant exodus from captivity to the beautiful song of the grateful Hannah to the countless Psalms of David and others. In the New Testament, too, we see Mary’s song (the Magnificat), and we see the new church of Jesus, gathering to sing and pray and learn. Here too, we have not only the example of song but the command to sing (Colossians 3). Since that time it is one of the things that all churches who gather in the name of Jesus do when they meet.

Since we are a singing people, meant to praise God with our voices, it is important that we have songs in our hearts that proclaim the right things about God. Sadly it seems to me that some of what is written in the Christian music industry today (not all, but some), is lacking in Biblical content. The Word of God is where we learn the truth about God. His character, His plan, His Son, His Spirit, Him. Here in these 66 books we have an infinite resource of inspiration for our singing. The content is there for the taking. And when we learn songs teach the Word, we remember them. Even those who struggle to memorize can remember the lyrics of a song without trying. In this way music can write important truths on our hearts.

When Josh writes, it is his goal to write the truth of God on the hearts of His people. I, more than anyone, can attest to this. I see how he labors over his lyrics, making very sure that what is sung is true and right, worshipful and God-centered.

This is why I think you should come to the concert and buy this album (and other albums that teach the truths of scripture!). I think that lyrics like this are good for the soul and honoring to God: All the longings of my heart are satisfied in who Christ is/Fount of mercy, living water, He is mine and I am His!

Come on out tonight and join us as we sing praises to our God!


You can still purchase advance tickets/a copy of the album here:

Or simply show up!!

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I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to follow Christ in this particular season of life lately. This week especially it just seems the Spirit is constantly urging me to ask God, “How do I pursue holiness? What does it look like to glorify you in this? Where can I change, what expectations do I need to let go of, what are Your expectations for me?”

Here’s something I know for sure. My life is nothing new. Being a stay-at-home mom with 4 small kids is not unique. Millions of women have done it before me. I cook and clean and do laundry and teach and train and rinse and repeat. If there is anything new about it, it’s that I’ve got the benefit of a washer and dryer and dishwasher and cleaning products and electricity and store-bought food, making my life slightly easier than the lives of those who’ve gone before. But even with these conveniences the core responsibilities are the same as they have been for generations: to care for the spiritual, physical and mental health of a husband and children.

I think that one of the less helpful things about the endless blog posts that inundate our feeds is that everyone thinks that they are saying something new, or have discovered something new, about this mothering journey. I suppose that is probably occasionally true, but let’s be honest, most of it is recycled. There is, I’m sure, someone somewhere who has said exactly what I’m saying here and they’ve probably done it better. I’ll admit that I sometimes cringe when I see yet another post or article about the crucible of young motherhood. Not because it’s necessarily wrong but because I simply don’t need to hear again, “What you do is valid!! This hard work is worth the reward!! NO ONE UNDERSTANDS HOW HARD THIS IS AND WHAT WE DO IS VERY VERY SPECIAL!” The message of these sorts of posts always seems to me to be that if I can just find enough self-worth in all of this work I do I will be satisfied. If I can get enough people to recognize what I do, or at the very least feel sorry for me, I will be validated.

When I read or hear something that elevates my season of life, that says that being a mother of young children is something that brings identity, I am tempted to do one of two things. I will either hate myself or love myself. Both are forms of pride that say no to God and yes to self.

The hating myself usually looks something like this:I don’t use organic house cleaning products, my kids eat chicken nuggets 3 times a week, we watch way too much TV, I don’t have enough cute chalkboards in my house, my 4 year old isn’t reading, we’re not memorizing entire catechisms together, my kids are singing Taylor Swift instead of kids praise songs, we don’t go on family bike rides together, what am I doing with my life??? This may not really look like pride at first glance. But it is a deceitful kind of pride that masquerades as self-deprecation. Because when I am thinking this way it is all about me. I’m not thinking about God I’m thinking about me. I’m not thinking about others, I’m thinking about me. I’m not even really thinking about my children or my husband, I’m thinking about ME.

The loving myself goes something like this: This IS really important, what I’m doing. These people do not know what I sacrifice to care for this family. I lay down my life for these kids and this man all day every day. Being a stay-at-home mom is totally awesome because I don’t enjoy anything so my family can enjoy so much. LOOK AT ME AREN’T I SO AMAZING. I become this martyr of motherhood, wearing my sacrifice like a badge. This is the more obvious pride. I’m just flat-out unashamedly making it all about me.

Sisters, we need to encourage each other when what we do is difficult or challenging, or let’s face it, downright boring. But I fear that we sometimes elevate our season of life to the detriment of our faith. We begin to define ourselves by what we’re doing. What do I do? I am a stay-at-home wife and mom. This is what I do. But this is not my identity. I am a daughter of God, a sister of Jesus Christ, a new creation, called out of darkness, into His glorious light. I am the recipient of abundant grace that gives all sufficiency to abound in good works. I’m set apart, made clean, an unworthy heir of eternal life. I want to let this beautiful identity intersect with and inform my season of life, and not the other way around.

I think of those 72 disciples, sent out by Jesus, returning to Him and rejoicing about all of those things they’re doing in His name. “Lord, even the demons are subject to us in Your name!” He says yes, I’ve given you authority, you have power over the enemy. Yes, I know that what you’re doing is meaningful and good. Yes, all that you’re able to do through Me is thrilling and joyful. BUT, “do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

See, I do believe that God means for us to enjoy what we do. I know that wives and moms are meant to love serving their husbands and caring for their children. I have complete hope and faith that I can have joy in the mundane tasks of daily life. But the joy can not find it’s root in the deeds, in the accomplishments. It just won’t work. I’m not even fighting demons in His name! I’m just trying to keep a bit of peace in a house of chaos. So if those disciples are called to think not of their deeds but of their salvation, I’m pretty confident I ought to do the same. It is the forward facing hope, that someday when all of this is done I will stand before a saving God and see that He has written my name in heaven, that sustains and brings joy. All other sources of joy will fail you.

How do we seek this sustaining joy? How do we keep our eyes on heaven, on the kingdom of God, on His grace and His sufficiency? What I love about the Bible is that in spite of its depths, that can never be fully fathomed in this life, it’s messages are often so clear and simple. Mary sits at the feet of Jesus and listens to his teaching. Her sister grows irritated, thinking only of all that needs to be done. And the Lord says, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken from her.”

The sense of satisfaction that comes from finding self-worth in what you do can and will be taken from you. There are things that cannot be taken: the Word of God, the salvation of His son, the presence of His Spirit. So if you find yourself, like me, completely immersed in this young wife and mom season of life, I implore you, trust Jesus at His word. Do not find your worth in what you do. Fill your heart and your mind with His words and find joy in the thing that cannot be taken from you.





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Sunday night I went out for dinner with a few women from our Fellowship Group. A welcome break to relax and enjoy a meal with friends. A brief moment away from that exhausting 5-8 cycle of madness.

“Mommy’s going out to dinner with some friends,” I said as I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door. “Be good for daddy!” (I try to keep such information from my children until the last minute give as little time for histrionics as possible).

In spite of my efforts, Reagan and Titus both threw themselves at my legs and started kissing me dramatically, begging to come with. Charlotte was in her own world, totally oblivious to the conversation. And poor little Eva dropped her head in sadness and went and sat down at the table, looking as though life had come to an end. “Mommy, I don’t want you to leave.” She refused to say goodbye, even as the others recovered from their sadness at the prospect of the quesadillas that daddy was making. She just sat there staring into her lap with that forlorn little expression.

Eva has been VERY attached to me lately. Sometimes I think of Eva’s development in terms of how long she’s been with us rather than of how old she is. So even though she’s 5, she’s only been mine for 10 months. Separation anxiety at 10 months? That seems about right. A couple of days ago we went to a big birthday party at a park and she spent almost the entire time with an arm around my leg. I kept asking her to go play with the other kids and she looked at me like I was asking her to eat strawberries or something (she REALLY doesn’t like strawberries). She just wants to be with me as much as possible.

Shortly after I left I received this text from Josh.


Talk about heartbreaking (and yes, I have hearts around Josh’s name in my phone. No mocking. We lurve each other). I mean, not heartbreaking enough for me to bail on dinner. Call me heartless but I was getting my Burger Fi on.

Still, that prayer is evidence of all the tiny miracles that have brought us to where we are. That prayer itself is full of miracles. A little girl, not even a year out of being an orphan, pouring her heart out to Jesus, loving her new mommy completely, speaking English so clearly. So many miracles in this house all the time. Oh, that I would stop and see them more.

I got home a few hours later and was informed that the kids were waiting for a goodnight from me. Reagan, Charlotte and Titus were all wide awake, jumping around, acting crazy as usual. And Eva, also as usual, was sound asleep. The girl wakes up at 6:30, goes and goes and goes with unrelenting energy, and basically shuts off the second her head hits the pillow. After I’d distributed kisses and “be quiet”s, I stood there and stared at Eva for a few minutes. So peaceful, little hands tucked under her cheek, knees curled up to her side. So beautiful. My heart full of love for this little orphan girl now mine.

I think a burning question people are afraid to ask is how you learn to love adopted children as your own. I know I wondered myself before we did this. How do you bond with a child who is suddenly yours at 5 years old? All those crucial developing years already behind them.

The Bible says that every good and perfect gift is from above. The love I have for Eva (and Titus) was given when God called me to go and adopt. The gift of maternal bonding with her, the affection I feel for her while looking at her innocent, slumbering face, it’s just a gift. Gift after gift. Grace upon grace. I think it comes quickly for some adoptive moms, slowly for others, and for some it feels like it will never come. I think it’s a joyful experience for certain mothers, but an exhausting and painful one for certain others. For me it’s been somewhere in between. Eva and I have struggled to grow close at times, but I’m seeing prayers answered, deeper love every day. No matter what the bonding process is like, I know one thing for sure, and that is that God is a Father who completely understands the desire for the love of one’s adopted children. We can go to our Father with these prayers and trust in His faithfulness and goodness. He who calls you is faithful. He will surely do it.

Come Like a Child


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This week Reagan explained the gospel to me like this:

Mom, I know the greatest thing about God. He died on the cross for us.

Me: Why did He die for us?

Because, if he didn’t, then we would always have sin in our hearts (*places her hands over her heart in dramatic fashion*) and it would never go away!

Me: Well, how did he get rid of the sin in our hearts?

Because when he died, he took all of our sin and put it in HIS heart, so we wouldn’t have to have it in OUR hearts anymore.

All this week I’ve had that conversation in my mind as I’ve read through the Gospel of John, reminding myself of this message upon which I’ve staked my life, of this good news that I believe completely. That I have believed since I was my daughter’s age.

And when I try to think of this good news from an outsider’s perspective, I’ll admit it, it appears a little crazy. A bit farfetched. It seems unlikely. It offends sensibility and pride. It rings of foolishness and mysticism. That is why my daughter’s words struck me so when I heard them. Because they were simple and convinced. She’s not confused. She knows she sins. She knows she does wrong. And she thinks it’s simply wonderful that someone would love her enough to forgive her and cover the guilt. She couldn’t even word it as I just did, so simple is her understanding of it.

Repeatedly we see our Savior, Jesus, calling us to come to Him like little children. “Truly, I tell you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” When our own children express their belief in this Jesus, we should sit up and pay attention. This is how you want us to come to you, God? Like this? 

So as this Holy week moves toward it’s celebrated conclusion on Easter Sunday, I thought I’d share what I’ve learned from Reagan about how to come to Jesus.

Don’t forget that it’s your sin that put Him there on that cross. I love that Reagan unabashedly admits that we have sin in our hearts. Period. There’s no way around it. We sang these lyrics last night during our Good Friday service, “It was my sin that held Him there until it was accomplished.” Not just sin in general, but my sin. Sin is real and deadly and unavoidable, and it exists in all of us. And it is the reason Jesus Christ was nailed to a cross.

Don’t forget that Jesus took our sin on Himself. There are many people who would like to talk about the love of God without talking about the ugly truth of sin. This is impossible. Jesus didn’t die simply to display love. This makes no sense. He died in our place because otherwise, there was no way out of the sin.

Don’t forget that salvation through Jesus means a new identity. Jesus took our sin on himself, bore it’s weight, bore it’s punishment, and now it does not own us. It’s been dealt with. Today I was listening to the wonderful song “The Power of the Cross,” by Keith and Kristyn Getty, and I love this:

Oh, to see my name written in the wounds

for through your suffering I am free

death is crushed to death

life is mine to live

won through your selfless love. 

This is what the cross does. It frees us. We are no longer slaves to sin. It no longer rules in our hearts. And though it tempts us as long as we live on this earth, it does not own us. Christ does.

Don’t forget that we do nothing and receive everything. As Reagan said, if Jesus didn’t die, we would always have sin in our hearts. If I’m like a child, I admit that I can do nothing, and everything I have is a gift. This is GRACE. If Jesus didn’t do it, it wouldn’t be done. I can’t earn it. I can’t add to it. It is all grace, and He gives freely to those who believe.

Don’t ever forget that this is the greatest thing about God. This is my favorite thing that Reagan said, as she opened this conversation. The longer one is a Christian, the easier it becomes to grow dull to the centrality of the gospel. It is central to our salvation, but we forget that it is central to our continuing sanctification. We are made holy through a constant, ever-deepening understanding of and dependence upon the gospel of Jesus Christ. If we lose this, we lose our way. Always, always, the greatest thing is the Cross.

One of the things that always strikes me about the book of John is the way it ends.

“Now there are also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written” (21:25).

This Gospel, this unbelievable news, is inexhaustible. We cannot ever know enough about it. The world itself could not contain all there is to know about it. It is the greatest thing we can know about God, that He sent His son Jesus as a perfect man, fully God, fully human. That Jesus lived a life we could never live, paid a debt we could never pay, died in our place. That the earth shook and the veil was torn and darkness fell. That three days later He crushed death to death, and rose from His grave. Death could not hold Him then, it does not hold Him now. And it does not hold us if we have placed our faith in Him.

So this Easter, may those who have placed their faith in the saving work of Jesus Christ find renewed, child-like joy in the ageless truth of the gospel. May we go back to that truth not just this weekend, but daily, moment-by-moment, for every need, in every temptation, for the rest of our lives. And if you don’t know this Savior, know that there is a way, through Jesus, to be free. To experience life as it was meant to be lived. To have abundant life. Confess sin, receive grace, and be free.

“These are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” – John 20:31






April Reading


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Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s April 11. I really should just not write this, wait until May and call it a day. But I was determined to update my reading list every month and gosh darn it, I’m gonna squeeze a book in this month.

I DID start Bonhoeffer, but have most definitely not finished it. You know what’s funny about vacation with 4 small children? They still need you to do everything for them. So even though I planned to get a lot of reading done on our spring break vacation I found myself preoccupied with other things a lot, and then when I did sit down to read I was distracted. We could be outside! We could be on a hike! I should do a puzzle with the kids!

Also I’m terrible at reading while the kids are running around. Josh astounds me. Almost every day we were in North Carolina Josh would light a fire, sit down, prop his feet up, and read. And read and read and read. And I’d sit next to him trying to read. But those kids are so loud! And Josh would say, “Hon. Ignore them. Just relax.” And I really did try. But mostly failed.

Then we got home and had a couple of seriously busy weeks. The kind where you fall into bed at 9 each night and think, wait, how old am I again? Why am I going to bed at NINE O’CLOCK.

All that to say, I didn’t make a ton of progress. But I am about halfway through the book at this point and I think it’s wonderful and I’ll definitely finish it. Metaxes is a very winsome writer and while some biographies can be dry, this one is definitely not. It is, however, FULL of details about WWII so if you read it be prepared to lament how much you’ve forgotten about everything you learned in High School. I’m horrified at how little I recall. But I feel like I’m getting a history lesson and a biography rolled into one.

There’s a unique kind of encouragement for Christians that comes from reading the stories of the saints who have gone before. We’re reminded that across countries and cultures and all of history there is a tie that binds us that is stronger than anything on this earth: our faith in Jesus Christ. As I read Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s story I often get chills thinking, “Yes, this Christ whom he loved is MY Christ.” And I’m reminded that no matter what comes in this life, that Christ and His church will continue to move forward.

All that and I haven’t even finished it! So I’m going to continue with Bonhoeffer, but I think it’s safe to say that I totally recommend it.

I also just started to read Bread and Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table by Shauna Niequiest.


A friend recommended this to me after reading my mildly obsessive post about pizza. I’ve read a couple of chapters and oh man, this woman totally speaks my language. Here’s what she says in the introduction: “This is a collection of essays about family, friendships, and the meals that bring us together. It’s about the ways God teaches and nourishes us as we nourish the people around us, about hunger, both physical and otherwise, and the connections between the two.” Sounds awesome, right? I’m excited to read it.

I just finished reading through all of the gospels in my daily Bible reading but I’m going to read through John again in the coming week in preparation for Easter. I know that for me, in the midst of the craziness leading up to Easter (it’s one of Josh’s busier weeks), I can become distracted, anxious, tired. I want to guard my heart – with God’s Word – against letting earthly distractions keep me from remembering that this, THIS, is what my life is all about. That Christ came to earth, loved the sinners (me), died for sinners (me), and rose again, giving sinners (me)  completely new, forever-changed lives.

That’s all for this month! We’ll see if I can finish anything before May :).


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Today is my baby boy’s birthday. Technically he’s turning 4, although in reality we don’t really know how old he is. Probably a year younger than that. Not that it matters.

It is his very first birthday here in his new life, his new home. He’s still getting used to the idea of a birthday and isn’t totally sure he understands it all (although he’s pretty clear on the whole cake thing). Every time he’s been wished a happy birthday today he’s said “Happy birthday!” in return. He’s ridiculously content so I think he’ll be pretty unaffected by the presents and fanfare.

And maybe it’s his birthday or the fact that he’s extra cute today but I can’t stop thinking about how amazing it is that Titus is my son, and about how far he’s come. So I hope you’ll forgive me if I go on and on about it.

I guess I always imagined having a son, in a vague, far off sort of way. It was a little hard to picture because all I’ve known so far is very girly little girls. But even when I did try to imagine it, I never would have expected to get a son the way I did.

I did not meet him in the normal way. He was not placed in my arms after endless hours of painful labor. Instead I met him in a small stone orphanage set on a hillside somewhere between Kampala and Entebbe. I did not know then that He would be my son. But, of course, God did. The God who loves the orphan.


We did not bond in the typical way, through long hours of nursing, changing, snuggling and singing. Instead our bond was fast and unexpected, so ready was he to love me as his own mother. No, it was not the typical way, but the result was essentially the same.

Sitting on those long flights to Uganda I had little else to think about but how little I knew what to expect. There were so many variables; it was impossible to imagine how things would actually go. He and his sister were a complete mystery to me.

But then I climbed into that car in the Entebbe airport where he waited for me and he scrambled up into my lap and that was that. He knew almost no English but “mommy” came easily. Every day of that month we spent there he surprised me with his unhesitant, unreserved love for me. Running across our room and hopping into our bed to lay on my chest every morning. Falling asleep in my arms on long car rides. Coming to me immediately for any want. He trusted me implicitly. It was, and is, a miracle to me.

This mystery of adoption is great indeed. Because he is as much a son to me as any child of my flesh and blood ever could or will be. And I can’t explain it except to say that where there is a willingness to let God do what He has promised, He can give us a love that is like His own, one we could never conjure up in our own strength.

Every day I learn more about him.

He is brave. He’s suffered more in his short existence than I have in my 30 years and yet he is affectionate and strong. I pray that he will always be so brave. This world needs brave men.

He is a servant. He willingly shares his favorite toys. He absolutely will not let me carry groceries in by myself. He loves to give help anywhere it is needed – he is currently moving the clothes to the dryer for me – and he never seeks praise for it. This, as much as bravery, is needed in this world.  May he always love to serve.

He is so very tender-hearted. I knew this from the first moment, but I see it more and more. He hates to see anyone cry, and runs at them with hugs and kisses. He is sensitive to correction, repenting quickly and forgiving easily.

He takes life in stride. I don’t even know what to make of this. Nothing fazes him. Except maybe a lizard. Or a bird. Or a squirrel. Or a dog.  OK, he doesn’t like animals. But other than that, he is unflappable. This house full of estrogen NEEDS him.

He’s a little bit serious. But that’s cool because we could use a little serious in this house, too. It balances things out.

He’s so handsome, scars of unknown origin and all. And I am prepared to scare the crap out of any girl who comes near him before he’s 20. Or 30.

And yes he has tempter tantrums and gets mad and occasionally talks back or defies me (I know, who could believe it of that angelic face??). But I’m grateful for that, too, because it means he feels safe enough to sin in this house. And he could have come into this whole thing feeling the need to be perfect, fearing the neglect or abandonment he had known before. So yes, in this I am thankful as well.

He is a delight to me. A delight to this family. I can’t believe he’s mine and that he’s the son God chose for us.

Happy birthday to my wonderful boy. I am more grateful for you than you know.