What a weekend we had! It was filled with egg dyeing, visiting with my parents, celebrating at church, egg hunting, and general fun. It’s no secret that I’m striving to be more intentional this year, and that includes the way we celebrate holidays. More than anything, I want Micah to know that Easter is about more than a fictional bunny that delivers candy in the middle of the night. It’s about more than new clothes and egg hunts and yummy food. It’s about a risen Savior.
That changes the way we approach a lot of things in our home. For one thing, the Easter bunny doesn’t know our address. Micah still received a basket of small gifts, but it came from her daddy and me. We still dyed Easter eggs because we can use them as object lessons for the new life we have in Christ, and yesterday afternoon, Micah hunted plastic eggs in the yard because empty Easter eggs are a great way to convey the message of an empty tomb. We’re trying to be thoughtful about the traditions we practice and honor in our home. For us, it’s worth it to sacrifice the Easter bunny because it allows the cross and subsequent empty tomb to be the center of our Easter reflections.
At any rate, the way we celebrate Easter may be a little different than most American families, but it works for us. Here are some images from the weekend.
Egg dyeing with Micah was a lot of fun. She was patient and interested in the process, and she even “dyed” her own {plastic} egg while I took care of the real eggs.
Since my parents were here to visit, we had someone to take our picture yesterday afternoon after church. Yay for a family portrait!
Micah enjoyed hunting eggs for a little while, but she soon lost interest and preferred hanging out with her Nana and Grampa, who took her home with them yesterday afternoon. It’s a quiet house around here without my little spitfire, but that also means that I have a little uninterrupted time to do a bit more writing and designing.
Hope you all had a wonderful Easter weekend! How did you celebrate??
Until next time, grace and peace.
Saturday morning, I felt like a heathen. I’ve always been pretty conservative in the way that I dress. My most risque moments stem from being nearly six feet tall – it can be kind of difficult to find skirts and dresses of an appropriate length when you’re this tall, you know. I’m hardly ever fashion-forward, and I live my life in a perpetual fear that Stacy and Clinton will accost me in the grocery store. You think I’m kidding, but I’m not.
Anyway, that’s all beside the point.
Saturday morning, I got dressed in a T-shirt and capri pants, hopped in the car, and headed off to practice for the community Easter service. It was at the Pentecostal church. When I walked in the door, I instantly felt conspicuous in my capri pants. I was surrounded by women in floor-length denim skirts with their looooong hair tucked into buns on the back of their heads.
We, clearly, were very different.
But we were also the same. We were there to worship together and prepare for a community gathering of all the Christians in our area. Twice a year, we lay aside our differences and come together in celebration. The pastors from all the churches each share a short message. The choirs mingle together, and we stand on the common ground of faith that we share.
Yesterday afternoon, we gathered together and collectively turned our hearts toward the cross. It was Palm Sunday, and we heard about the hope, and joy, and grace, and new life, and forgiveness, and peace that comes from the cross. I daresay we all had our uncomfortable moments, but we spend so much time talking about our differences that it’s nice to lay them aside at least for a little while. It’s one of the things I miss most about my days at Beeson.
I love the fact that at the community services, a woman preaches from IBC’s pulpit. I love the fact that the Pentecostal preacher makes the less lively of us squirm in our seats. I love the fact that we’re in it together, differences and all. It’s such a beautiful picture of what heaven will be like. Sometimes it’s good to be uncomfortable. We’re all different, but the cross is strong enough to bind us together.
On this Holy Week Monday, I hope that your heart is turning toward the cross. That your mind is stayed on the One who gave up everything for us. And that you’re clinging to the hope that sprang to life with His resurrection.
Until next time, grace and peace.
I grew up eating watermelon and shooting fireworks on the Fourth of July, but when I married Dennis, I was introduced to another brand of Independence Day festivities. What could be more exciting than watermelon and fireworks, you ask? Catfish and turtle races.
Every year, the fine people at Cato Baptist Church host a catfish fry and turtle race to celebrate the Fourth of July. It’s always an event to remember. Not only is the catfish amazing {so I hear, I’m not a catfish connoisseur}, the turtle race is also a source of delight for both kids and adults.
The hunt for turtles begins weeks before the race. In years past, my father-in-law has been known to drag the pond to catch a slew of turtles. For a couple of years, the Jones family supplied many a kid in Cato with a turtle to enter in the race. We always had a winner, since we held a couple of practice rounds in the yard before we headed off to the race.
That’s not cheating, is it??
But this year, there was no pond dragging. Micah and her cousins had one turtle to share between them. Lauren {my niece} dubbed him Rufus. We painted his name on his back, loaded him in a bucket, and headed off to church, sure that he would give the other turtles a run for their money.
Not so. Rufus didn’t move. At all. The race began, and other turtles scurried to the edge of the circle. But not Rufus. He stayed put. Never moved a muscle.
So much for our winning streak.
There’s always next year, right??
Until next time, grace and peace.
Two days ago, Dennis and I stood in front of our church and “committed ourselves to the Christian nurture” of our daughter. It was a precious moment, celebrated with family and friends. Micah won’t remember the day. She won’t remember the prayer. She won’t remember the way she wriggled in my arms and tried to eat her shoes.
But we will remember.
I’ve always been amazed that God would give me a job so important…that he would entrust me with the task of raising one of his sweet little children. I try to be a good mother not just because I love my daughter. Not just because I’m a perfectionist. But because for some crazy reason, God gave me this task. I want to do well because I want God to be pleased with the job I’ve done.
Micah is a sweet little girl. We rarely have days when I want to call a do-over. She’s got an infectious grin and a laugh that bubbles out of her. Every day, she shows me a new facet of her personality, and I’m quite surprised that so much life can fit into such a tiny package. She’s a sweet and precious gift from God. She’s cute as a button too; that doesn’t hurt.
It is my prayer that she will grow into a beautiful young woman who loves the Lord and chases after him with abandon. I know that I can’t shelter her from pain, but I pray that the hard times she faces will help her appreciate the good even more. I pray that God will transform us into the kind of parents that he created us to be. That he will grant us patience, and kindness, and grace and mercy as we raise his baby girl. I pray that God will help her forgive us when we make mistakes, that he will cultivate a gentle spirit, a contrite heart and a sweet disposition in her. I thank God for Micah every time she falls asleep in my arms. I pray that she will make her heavenly father proud. I pray that she will love him. I pray that she knows how much we love her, how much we care for her, how often we pray for her. I pray that God gets ahold of her in the same way he got ahold of me – in a way that will leave her forever changed – for the better.
These are the things I pray.
Some of them, anyway.
Will you pray with me?
The thing I love about baby dedications is that I get to pray for a tiny little person and his parents. That I get to call that child by name and ask God to protect and nurture, to guide and bless him. It’s a privilege that I love to be a part of.
I love it, because I feel like we’re really being the church when we commit to help raise a child. Will you be the church for us and pray for our family as we raise this precious little girl?
Until next time, grace and peace.
Ever since I found out I was pregnant with Micah, I’ve had a slight obsession with any pregnant woman or new mom on TV. No matter how different we may be, we are all the same, because we’re all facing one of the greatest challenges in life: becoming a mother.
It’s hard work, y’all. Being a mother is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. I’m grateful and blessed to have a loving, supportive husband at my side. I cannot imagine doing this alone. It’s even harder to imagine doing it as a teenager.
MTV has a habit of producing documentaries that capture my attention. The second season of 16 and pregnant wrapped up last night, and I’m heartbroken for some of those girls. When I watch scenes like this, I’m overwhelmed by the responsibility that little girl is about to face.
That’s just one example of a season full of difficulties those girls are facing because of rash decisions and careless sex. Some of the girls have partners who support them, but others, like Chelsea have baby daddies who couldn’t care less about them or their child.
Chelsea’s episode left me in tears.
I hope these girls make it. I hope they can survive this difficult time in their lives and come out on the other side better people. I hope that the hardships they’re facing change them for the good.
Watching this series made me realize what a responsibility the church has to help pregnant teenagers. It happens all the time. Some of the girls in our youth groups are pregnant and scared right now. We can preach anti-abortion all we want, but the only real way to encourage those scared little girls to choose life is to offer them a safe place to raise their children. We Christians need to step up and stand in the gap for deadbeat dads and parents who don’t want to have anything to do with their knocked-up daughters.
The church has to be the kind of place that can restore people. We have to love people into choosing the right thing. We have to be willing to step into a messy situation and hold a little girl’s hand as she struggles through what is bound to be the most difficult time in her life.
I’m willing to step up. Are you??
Until next time, grace and peace.
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