It’s not that I used to be a Playboy Bunny that makes me a hottie.
It’s not cuz I have a voluptuous figure.
What makes me a hottie is my hormones!
Mr. 4-Ever was at deer camp last week. It made me think of this funny story.
It happened several years ago but the lesson is as true today as it was then.
Girlfriend! It is my expectation that when daddy goes deer hunting, mama gets a staycation complete with chick flicks and good chocolate! Not that decoy candy you keep around so your kids stop looking for your stash.
When my man goes to deer camp with the boys it means there will be no one in my house asking for food, beverages, clean socks or a back rub. There will be no one who needs advice, an extra $20.00 or a ride somewhere. There will be no one playing the piano badly, tracking a trail of mud through my kitchen, or falling off the jungle gym requiring a trip to ER.
Deer hunting camp is great for everyone. The boys will eat bacon at every meal, sit around a fire sharpening knives to throw at trees and not change their undies for two or three whole uncivilized days.
I could hardly wait for their adventure and my staycation.
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The tree you climb
when life is out of control.
When people you love don’t behave properly,
or money is way short
or you discover a secret that you wish you hadn’t.
That crazy tree!
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I grew up in a little town that boasted
a city pool and a large playground.
Do you have hair in places women shouldn’t have hair?
I do, and the older I get,
the furrier I become!
I took my teenage boys to an amusement park
and reluctantly agreed to accompany them
on a roller coaster ride.
It was one of those big, old, wooden monstrosities.
The kind of rollercoaster that
shakes and tosses you around inside the cart
until your sunglasses fly off your face and
most of the contents of your purse
fall into the abyss below the tracks.
As the roller coaster thrashed us about,
fear crawled up the back of my throat.
I thought,
Why did I ever agree to come on this ride?
I’ll probably die and my children will be orphans!
“This is terrifying!” I shrieked to my son.
“I hate this. How do I make it stop!”
“You can’t stop it, Mama.
You just gotta do it scared!”
my son yelled back.
There was nothing to do but hang on and ride it out.
Rationally, I knew that millions of people
had survived the ride,
but at that moment it didn’t feel like
I was going to.
Maybe that’s how you feel now.
Like you’re being rattled and shaken and
tossed about and that
you’re not going to make it.
Fear creeps up on you and
your mind is filled with
Why’s and What if’s?
I spend a lot of my days doing
Ordinary stuff.
Boring stuff.
Familiar stuff.
Cleaning bathrooms.
Washing clothes.
Fixing meals.
You, too, right?
There’s a little verse in Zechariah 4:10 that says,
“Do not despise these small beginnings,
for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin..”
As an author and speaker
I have BIG DREAMS
to see thousands surrender to Jesus.
I have BIG DREAMS
of women breaking free of stinkin’ thinkin’.
I have BIG DREAMS of
infusing hope to the bowed down.
In the season of life called menopause,
my body randomly flashes nuclear.
I thought women were kidding about melting,
but no, it’s true.
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As if the cascade of perfect FB posts on
Mother’s Day weren’t enough to create
a case of the covets,
every conversation on Mother’s Day Monday
was about
being showered
with attention and gifts.
Mr. 4-Ever is a great husband.
If I could, I would clone him and
give him away as Christmas presents
to women who want
a Godly man with impeccable character.
But the clone would have to come with a disclaimer.
This is a good man.
He is kind, gentle, loving, fun,
hard-working, generous, and patient.
He is creative and calm in all situations.
He is a great kisser.
but …
a Harlequin Romance novel hero …
He. Is. Not.
Rarely do flowers or chocolates show up
on my desk.
Good behavior gifts and
just because “I love you” texts
do not happen.
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Vacuum cleaners and frying pan gifts aside,
women who have children eagerly wait by
mailboxes and
telephones and
on the edge of their seat
to see if anyone will acknowledge the day.
Women who are desperate for children
are expected to exuberantly celebrate those who do.
Women in the throws of child-rearing years –
the ones who could really benefit from a day off,
are the ones who work overtime
on Mother’s Day
to make sure their mother or
mother-in-law is recognized and honored.
Husbands who remember Mother’s Day
worry and fret about
what to do and how to do it.
Is a card enough?
How about chocolates?
Should there be flowers?
What about women whose mamas have died?
Mother’s Day dredges up lots of memories
with the realization there won’t be any new ones.
Women who aborted or adopted
often spend Mother’s Day lamenting
what could have been.
On this Mother’s Day,
instead of letting
card companies,
old memories,
television commercials,
comparisons,
or regrets
define your day,
celebrate
who you are in Christ.
