Category: Raising Children

When You Need To Floor It!

On By shellilittletonIn adoption, Children, Encouragement, Family, Laughter, Living, Raising Children6 Comments

From the balcony, I watch my daughter, surrounded by all her Vacation Bible School kids and fellow volunteers in the choir loft.

I took pictures all week for VBS, capturing both my girls in their joyful moments of working with kids. Moments my girls don’t have to be talked into … time they love, hours they long to give.

Goose bumps sweep my arms and tears spring to my eyes, as I see my daughter surrender her all through song. Glorious VBS songs.

My daughter was that little just yesterday, it seems. Little enough for Vacation Bible School. And I’m thankful to God for her love of ministry, her love for children, and her love of teaching them about Jesus. Without having to be coerced.

How did she get all grown up?

A lady that I recently met–we have adoption in common–taps my shoulder and wraps me in a hug there in the balcony. Just what I needed. How did she know?

Father God, you always know.

DSC_9593 (5)The days are fleeting, and soon both my girls will be gone from our home. I can’t hold them back, and I wouldn’t if I could. But time is flooring-it, zooming by, and I don’t want to miss a moment.

I smile, thinking over the last week, remembering one of the best days of my life, when I floored it. When I really floored it.

The girls and I are driving home from the mall. It’s been a long day of shopping, eating pizza, and the Great American Cookie. The mall is our favorite thing to do together. No one has to be talked into going.

But we’re routine. Not only do we frequent the same mall shops, but as soon as we turn onto our road, we also look for our crooked mailbox, for home. We turn down that familiar driveway. It’s what we’ve always done. It’s what we love.

DSC_9588 (9)But today … something is different about today. We have music roaring over the speakers, the windows rolled down, and as we approach the house, my daughter slows the car.

We need a change. We need to be rejuvenated. We need to really live.

A pause hovers throughout the space, and the vision becomes clear.

“Floor it, Karalee!” I say.

She searches me, trying to make sense of the nonsensical one. The one who’s always routine. The one who has to be gently nudged into memorable moments, like VBS or playing cards.

Her stunned expression is just what I needed, and I’m laughing so hard.

“Floor it!” I say. 

A warm smile slowly inches over my daughter’s face, understanding dawning.

Well, okay.

She floors it. Has she ever floored it before?

We fly past our mailbox, past our home, and zoom down our deserted county road, our hair blowing every which way. When she comes to a stop, we three girls are laughing so hard we can barely contain ourselves.

DSC_9574 (5)What have we just done? Where did Mom go?

Oh my goodness, we’ve lived, we’ve laughed, we’ve broken out of that moldy mold.

We can’t believe ourselves.

Daughter turns the car around, and she floors it again of her own initiative. Zooms past our home, past that crooked mailbox.

We are all three laughing so hard that we can’t seem to catch our tears.

Until, oh man, we calm and realize that we should go home. Because not every neighbor on our road will understand that we need to live, because maybe they’re too routine, caught in that moldy mold.

But life is zooming by. The clock refuses to stop.

As I watch my daughter–a grown lady now–in that choir loft, singing out her heart and helping the kids surrounding her, I know what I have to do to make life count. And I know that it’s never too late.

When life “floors it,” as it always will, I need to floor it, too.

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Have you ever felt the need to “floor it”? Have you floored it?! I’d love to hear your story, of how you stepped out of your daily routine to really live.

Merry Christmas 2018

On By shellilittletonIn Christian Growth, Christmas, Encouragement, Raising Children5 Comments

“Mom, I’ve lost my wallet.” The heartbreak, fear, sadness, regret, and disappointment emit through the message.

Oh no. A mixture of emotion swirls around me. Sadness mostly, sadness for my baby. She’s in an unfamiliar location. I’d seen it tucked away in her coat pocket the previous night. “I’m afraid you’ll lose it,” I’d said.

And then the thought inevitably set in–I should have ….

But more inevitably came–She should have ….

O Soul Within, wasn’t it just yesterday when you peered up those same old stairs? It was.

DSC_7824 (6)I climb those stairs in the early morning hours, darkness hovering through the hallway and a kitty evaluating my every move. Reaching the top, I move into the dim light. I inch toward her in the quiet … those beautiful eyes are closed. Those once tiny fingers have grown inches. Those once tiny feet nearly reach the bed’s end. Her hair drapes over the pillow.

I touch her and softly call her name.

DSC_8605 (4).JPGShe startles awake, gasping in terror.

She’s never startled awake before. My other baby never startles awake. But it’s been so long since I’ve climbed those stairs in the early morning hours. Every excuse in the world comes to mind. It’s easier to stand at the bottom and call her name. But I’ve been absent from her morning routine, the one we’ve had most all her life–the brushing back of her hair, the soft touch, the softest kiss on her face, the soft calling of her name in the early morning–that she startles in her sleep at my touch, at my waking her.

O Soul Within, how many years have you missed touching her cheek for a new morning? How many years have you missed the calmness of her morning waking?

Five years in this home.

And my heart knows … my heart hears …

Guilt is wiped away, and grace for tomorrow hugs my heart.

Silent Night, Holy Night … All is calm …

My phone brightens with a voicemail before me. “This is your daughter’s university. Your daughter’s wallet has been found by the TCU police department, and you just need to call this number …”

I don’t need to say and she doesn’t need to hear one wise word. Because so often the lesson is in the losing.

And in the finding.

Hold on to the things you love.

DSC_8586 (4)Merry Christmas, everyone.

How has God been speaking to your heart lately?

God Uses The Puddles

On By shellilittletonIn adoption, Cancer, Children, Confidence, Encouragement, Faith, Hardships, Raising Children, Raising Teens7 Comments

Would she really trade me for ice cream and candy? On the way home from my meeting, I stew–the warm, tasty kind. My girl … she was just a little too excited for me to depart from home today. “When are you leaving, Mom?” she’d asked with a smile.

I pull into the garage. My girls step out of the house, waiting to hug me. My focus locks onto my youngest. “You are in so much trouble,” I say. I head toward her. She laughs, crouching into the wall. “You wanted me to go.” I tickle her. The veins on her neck pop out, like always, through her belly laugh.

Don’t ever want me to go, baby girl. 

“Let’s go jump in the puddle down the road,” I say. The girls slip on their rain boots, I grab my camera, and we trek down the road. The marshy ground boasts hoof prints and foot prints. The sky recently released loads of rain on us. A once empty bucket under a tree now holds over ten inches of water. Such a novelty for dry, Texas land.

We pass our neighbor’s home that burned completely to the ground two years ago. Rebuilt. Loss, but brand new. Oh, how we needed a downpour that night. Many of our neighbors’ front yards resemble ponds now. Even lakes. Water threatens their doorsteps.

“Have you decided what you want to do for your birthday?” I ask the youngest. We pour over a few ideas as we reach our destination, still lacking vision.

“Let me go a little farther, so I’ll capture the prettiest scenery behind you.” As I turn around, the girls step out into the water that covers the road. They touch it, really feel it. They stand there across from each other, smiling.

DSC_1288 (5)DSC_1379 (5)Don’t ever lose these moments, I want to say, reflecting over the past. Hold on. You’ve shared so many amazing years together. Don’t trade them for anything. Always be there for each other, no matter how old you get. You’re sisters, not by birth but by your worth. God loved you so much, that He had a plan for your lives. After He knit you together, He placed you together.

Oldest one is already soaring in the air. I watch that youngest one. She crouches.

DSC_1387 (4)My baby turns eighteen this month. Eighteen.

I bend to the ground, trying to capture their moment. My moment.

At 13 months old, I didn’t know if my youngest would make it. Tears poured from my heart on her 2nd birthday, because she’d made it. Cancer crushes. Disease destroys. We’ve waded through so many puddles along the way. We’ve tripped and fallen into the puddles because chemo weakens the ankles of a small child. We’ve wandered in the puddle of how to stop holding hands, when attachment keeps you from falling but you’ve outgrown it now. We’ve muddled through the puddle of fear, fear that another puddle is looming up ahead, threatening. So much personal loss …

But brand new. Stronger. Closer.

In that bent position, her once thinned hair is long and flowing, curly, healthy, bouncing in the breeze.

I don’t want you to go, but I know you will. Oh, how blessed I’ve been.

She soars.

DSC_1397 (8)And when you soar, baby girl, you leave all those puddles behind. And I’ll stay right here and watch you, for as long as I can. While you’re still in sight. And when you land, because we always tend to land, we stomp them. We make a splash–on ourselves and others. The clean, pure kind–brand new–so welcoming to a land of drought. Because nothing is wasted, young one. Touch it, really feel it.

God uses the puddles.

Happy 18th birthday, Katelyn Grace Littleton

 

My Little Girls Are All Grown Up

On By shellilittletonIn Children, Christian Growth, Confidence, Encouragement, Faith, Family, Fear, Graduation, Hardships, Raising Children, Raising Teens14 Comments

It’s going to happen. Everyone thinks it will finally come down, it’ll finally snow.

Oh, I hope my #1 daughter’s university cancels classes. Because at the end of her busy break, I just need a break. I need one more day with her. One more day to hold her close and never let go. One more day to put the phone down, put the TV remote down. One more day to focus on my true loves.

“Mommy …!” she shouts, running to me.

Lo and behold, her university canceled classes. I jump for joy and clap my hands. I get one more day with her, with absolutely nothing demanding of us.

DSC_0442 (3)And after a little so-called dusting of snow, or ice, commences–beautiful, pure change over the horizon–#2 brings me her writing assignment, asking me to look at it. Taking the treasured pages in my hands, I read:

Ever since I was little, I always dreamed of becoming a veterinarian. I even wanted to be an animal myself for years, because I thought they were so cool.

I laugh out loud. She goes on to explain how she had wanted to be a vet, but seeing an animal surgery made her weak, nauseated, pale. A change of plans. She had to sit down, in another area. The vet’s cat came over and loved on her. The doctor gave her a chance to rest, regain her composure, and she returned to the surgery room. But at the sight of surgery, she continues to say–

I started slumping down the wall I was leaning against.

I returned to the chair with the cat.

I laugh again. Yes, my daughter wrote those words. The words that would begin her very first college English paper.

Did you get that? Her first college paper. My baby. Because while I was wishing for one more day with my #1, I had no idea that two days later I’d step foot out without #2. Both my babies are in college. Both. #2 hasn’t even seen the end of her senior year yet. I kick the ground. I know this isn’t anything new for most, but as a home-school mom, I’d anticipated a few more months with my #2 before she started college. Like next fall. But the door flew wide open, and somehow we tumbled right in.

Hugs and “mmmmm … smack.” I watch them head out the garage door. They’re weighed down with full backpacks. Their first day together without me. Because the first two days, I trailed along. I did. I had lunch with them and everything. It was glorious. But that’s it. No more. I’ve got to grow up, too.

Shivering, I slump against my car, leaving my imprint in the dust and watching them get situated in the car.

DSC_0447 (3)Words from yesteryear peek over my shoulder–

“Why does she pucker her lips like that?” he asked. “Monkey kisses.” He laughed.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Scan_Pic0024 (3)I turned to my daughter. “Goodnight, baby. Give me kisses.” I leaned in. I puckered. She puckered. Big puckers. “mmmmm … smack!”

Realization dawned and laughter tumbled out of me, causing me to collapse onto the bed beside her. It’s me. All me. I taught her that. I taught her the big pucker. The cutest monkey kisses.

Oh my goodness. The things I’ve taught them. The things I haven’t. Have I taught them enough? Have I left the right impressions on their lives, on their hearts? Will they be okay? Will I be okay?

The car inches forward, not waiting for the answer. All routine for #1. And now routine for #2. Could you just wait till I figure out the answer? Till I figure out this whole thing? The car stops, and they wave and blow kisses. The car can’t proceed without kisses. The sweetest monkey kind. I return it all, with all my heart and some. Onto the hand and thrown across the air, like my grandmother taught me. To #1 and now #2. I catch mine and they catch theirs. We prolong the waves and kisses for just a little longer, ensuring we see each other. Not wanting to miss a single thing. Like we could.

The car accelerates down the driveway, leaves kicking up behind it, and proceeds down our Texas county road. When they are out of sight, I push the button and shut the garage–the full weight bearing down and crashing to the ground–as a chapter in our lives unexpectedly ends and another beautifully begins.

I go sit with the cats.

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What chapters are ending or beginning in your life? May I pray for you? 

A Crown-Of-Thorns Moment

On By shellilittletonIn Christian, Encouragement, Faith, Fear, Forgiveness, Hardships, Kindness, Raising Children, Raising Teens, Texas, Thankfulness11 Comments

Trying to hold my heart and stomach in place where they belong, I take the long walk from the dining room to the stairwell. “Honey?”

“Yes, Mom.”

My hand grips the stair rail, and I lean hard against the wall. “I waited too late to get the tickets. They’re all sold out. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“It’s okay, Mom.” That’s all. She seemed genuine in her forgiveness. There’s nothing more I can say or do. If I could have an outer body experience and get behind myself, I’d kick myself. My hands drop to my sides in the quiet, and I walk away. How could I have been so …? She’d been asking for weeks about going to see her friend in the Fiddler on the Roof play, a high school play. She wanted to go for support. And she’d been in the same play a few years back. And I’d let her down.

I pull out a chair and sit down at the dining room table. Footsteps speed down the stairs. The garage door opens. “I’m going walking.” Her voice … something unpleasant in her voice.

“I thought you forgave me,” I say. I’m sensing other feelings have begun to emerge. She’d had a few moments to think. The door shuts. I thought you forgave me.

I wait all I can. I walk out the door and see no sign of her. She’s on the trail, I figure. The sheep aren’t in the pen, so she must have let them out. I cut through the middle of the back property. The fabric of her white capris summons me through the forest of trees, the greenery. She’s sitting on the swing.

I feel like a fallen tree, humbled to my knee.

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The two sheep stand there, staring at me, accusing me, almost daring my approach. Like she’d poured out her very soul, her feelings, to the sheep … and now, everyone knows.

Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen.

My stomach and heart plunge. I wipe off a spot on the swing and sit down. “I’m really sorry. I feel awful. I didn’t want to go to the play without dad, and once I found out he was going with us, there were so many seats still available … I got busy with work. And I just can’t believe they sold out so fast. I can’t believe I did that.” I twist my hands. “Maybe it’s dad’s fault.” We both laugh.

“It’s really okay, Mom.” She smiles at me. We talk it through. “Think we could do pizza and  a movie tonight? Something fun?”

“Sure.”

We head back through the trail, toward the barn. “Look, Mom. This is a mesquite tree. We had these in San Angelo.” She points across the path. “And another one.”

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“It sure is.” I can’t believe it. I’d never noticed them before. Two mesquite trees amongst all the oak and cedar. “We had these in Wichita Falls, too.”

“Look at the long thorns,” she says in cautious admiration. She feels over the leaves on top, the groups of tiny leaves covering the thorns all the way down the limb. “But the leaves are so soft. Like roses, something so soft and pretty needs protecting.” One sheep stands tall, trying to eat the leaves, and fearful that she’ll poke out her eye, we manage to maneuver her front legs back to the ground. “Do you think this is like Jesus’ crown of thorns?”

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“It probably is.” I wind the long limb into a circle. “It’s beautiful though, isn’t it?” We stand there, imagining what it must have felt like to have those long thorns pierce through our foreheads, one by one, all the way around. Or maybe all at once. Gratitude fills my heart for the punishment He took for me.

“Be careful, Mom. Don’t let that pop back on you.”

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“I will.” I release it gently, moving back away and examining the events more closely.

We begin our journey toward the house, sheep following. Peace links our hands together, our hearts together. The capacity of love–nailed to a tree, to be given away, free. A love so soft and pretty, it needs protecting. And I realize that she could have driven the thorns into my head, but she placed the soft side on me instead. 

Have you had a moment of forgiveness that you can share about?

Saving Your Children Through Life Stories

On By shellilittletonIn Raising Children, Raising Teens, WMU, WMU Adults on Mission Blog2 Comments

“My daughter sat across the table from me, her forehead crinkling with confusion. ‘What do I do, Mom?’

Quiet hovered throughout the house this Sunday afternoon, with everyone else napping. I propped my elbows on the table. My thoughts twisted in every direction. How do I answer her?”

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How does someone who seemed to make so many wrong choices guide their daughter to make so many right ones? I’m sharing at WMU today about navigating my oldest daughter through the dating scene. I hope you’ll join me by clicking on this link. 

Have life stories–your testimony–helped you to “save” others? Have you been given a chance to caution others through your own mistakes?

And if you like this, you might like this other post on modesty–Homecoming

The Things A Mother Didn’t Do

On By shellilittletonIn Children, Encouragement, Forgiveness, Grace, Hope, Mother's Day, Raising Children, Raising Teens, Shelli's Scribblings, Texas7 Comments

It’s uncovered … once again.

I open the drawer to my daughter’s chest-of-drawers, shuffling a few items around to make room for the new. Beside me, my daughter’s sweet hands work, shifting and folding.

Ooh, what’s that? My hand glides over the shiny, smooth surface–the object lining the drawer. Stashed away. Purple. Paint. Prints. “Oh.” We carefully reveal and pull it out. It’s the baby, when she was a baby … her tiny handprints. Made in Sunday school.

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Frustration and disappointment sink to my lower tummy. My heart follows, weighing down a little heavier. “I never did hang this,” I admit. I look to my daughter. “I meant to frame this.” I stumble for words. “I just kept forgetting.”

How many times have I said that over the years? How many times have I stumbled across the thing I never did? How many times have I failed to make a change, make a difference? And now, it seems really too late.

“It’s okay, Mom.” She smiles, always assuring. Always forgiving.

We read over the words together, smiling, laughing, remembering how artistic and messy she could be. Oh, the stories there to share.

“Look how tiny your hands were.” She smiles and gives a little nod. It’s amazing how something so tiny can fill you so full … full of wonder and joy and love.

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We plop down for a game of Princess Uno. I marvel at how I manage to get my teenagers to play Princess Uno still. I never managed to shift to the older version. I guess I enjoy hanging onto all little all I can. And I laugh at the irony–that I played the older version when I was a kid, and now I play the princess version as an adult.

We eventually move to the bed, side by side, talking about her best bud, school, drawing, cats … The daughter who doesn’t love to dance jumps up and takes my hands in hers, and we waltz, laughing, tripping over each other. “You’re going to make me fall,” I say, with a frightened giggle.

Before I know it, best bud is joining us and sister, too. We’re looking and sorting through all the items stashed away in baskets on her bookshelf. And laughing. White wicker baskets, lined in pink-and-white polka-dotted fabric. It’s little items. Cherished items belonging to both of my daughters, from their childhood. Things I just couldn’t part with. Things I cherished too much to stash away in the attic. Because … what if we needed to see them, look at them, read them, breath them in … remember? Now.

I pull out tiny baby Bibles, framed baby pictures, tiny photo albums, and notice the dust covering the stuffed animals. A wave of embarrassment washes over me. I never did make my teenager a teenager room.

I mean … it’s cute, but it’s still a little girl room.

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“Do we need to change your room?” I ask. “Are you happy with the pink paint? It was named ‘Lauren’ … remember? After your best friend. Remember how we had moved away, and you were so glad the paint color had her same name?”

“Yeah. I think we should repaint and change things up some,” daughter says, with her cutest typical smirk–the smirk that tells me she loves me just the way I am, behind and all.

“What color would you possibly want? Other than this color?” I can’t think of one that would be better. Not a single one. Translation: do I have one more paint job in me?

She mulls over the idea.

“Can your room just stay little?” I ask. I know the answer to that. I love being a mama. I thought I’d never be one once. And I’ve loved every step along the way. But the uncovered truth is–I always seem to remain a world’s pace behind. What’s wrong with me?

I didn’t do this. I didn’t do that.

Days pass.

Daughter rushes toward me carrying something precious. She cups the tiny somethings in her hand, like she’s protecting it, guarding it, loving it.

Her eyebrows raise, eyes sparkling. Her smile grows. “Look, Mom. Look what I found in the basket on my bookshelf.” She beams, extending the treasured possessions to me, with her fresh prints anew.

It’s two tiny “A Little” Little Golden Books–The Poky Puppy, Little Golden Book Land. “I can’t believe I found these,” she says. “I didn’t know they were there. In my baskets. I loved these.”

One tee-tiny book, having been read so much, is bound by tape. Bound by love. Some things, some actions are just bound to be. Do you agree?

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And something is uncovered right at that moment. Embracing that second-in-time to my heart like a cherished friend, I’m so thankful I didn’t do what I never did. I’d never do what I never did again for another moment like that.

Happy Mother’s Day! Do you have a similar story to share?  Have you found a little favor through your failures? 

Valentine’s Day Tips For Giving And Receiving

On By shellilittletonIn Christian Growth, Encouragement, Faith, Give, Raising Children, Raising Teens, Uncategorized, Valentine's Day5 Comments

When someone gives to me, I yearn to give in return. My heart is still melting into a little pool of mama love over my youngest daughter leaving a letter for me several weeks ago out in the mailbox that borders our property walking trail.

The fragrance of chocolate wafts through the Valentine aisle as I select the perfect little heart box. And what are these? Tiny ceramic type decorations to stake into a potted plant. Mushrooms, squirrels, gnomes. Bright and colorful, except for the squirrel. I know … I’ll place these along the trail. Daughter’s been out walking every day. I’ll surprise her.

The girls are gone. Finally. I race outside, insert the little heart box into the mailbox, sprinkle the ceramic decorations along the trail. It’s time to wait.

I’m not a good waiter. Do you remember that my daughter waited 6 weeks for me to notice her letter? Whatever she has, I don’t.

We return home from church. “You going walking today, daughter?” I try to hide my smile.

“Why?” She sees right through me. Blast.

The door closes, and I can’t wait to hear from her. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Did you see anything?” I text her.

She texts back an attachment picture of her hand, holding a broken piece of glass. Oh, my word. Am I going to have to show her?

She texts me back. She found the heart box. “Is this for me?” Yep. She’s walking the trail, but she’s still not opened her eyes to what I’ve left her.

Sometimes one has to search a little deeper for treasure.

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I race out, uniting with younger daughter. Our steps join in the same direction. “Keep your eyes open,” I say. I’m mentally trying to identify just exactly what makes the heart worthy and open to receive from others, to uncover buried treasure.

Find Someone To Love

We come across the little gnome. She smiles while giving me that mom-you-are-ridiculous look.

I laugh, a proud-mama moment.

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My oldest 18-year-old daughter’s words surface in my memory. “Do you remember Evan, Mom?”

“No.”

“I used to buy Evan a Dr. Pepper on Wednesday nights at church.”

The Conditions Need To Be Just Right

Proceeding, the younger and I stumble across the mushrooms that I’d inserted into the soft soil. Both of them. One red. One blue.

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“I touched it earlier. I thought it was real. It felt real.”

We laugh. Another proud-mama moment.

Older daughter’s voice floods my heart again—“I’ve worked with Evan at church since he was in kindergarten.”

Don’t Miss The Blessing

We reach the final one …. She searches all around, but she still can’t see it. I bend down and brush my fingertips over the tiny squirrel holding a treasured acorn.

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I recall older daughter’s final words. “Mom, Evan’s in 4th grade now, and every Wednesday, he now buys me a Dr. Pepper. He uses his allowance.” I envision her smile, my smile.

“This one’s a bit camaflouged,” I say to younger. Brown squirrel against brown dirt and nearby leaves. “You have to really be looking to see it.”

Sometimes it seems we have to wait, and sometimes it seems we have to search.

But we are loved.

Love doesn’t always come in a heart-shaped box.

We love because He first loved us—1 John 4:19♥

What tips do you have for giving and receiving? How have you been loved recently in a not-so-heart-shaped-box way? And Happy Valentine’s Day.

 

A Return to Family Devotion

On By shellilittletonIn Children, Christian Growth, Confidence, Doubt, Encouragement, Faith, Fear, Grace, Raising Children7 Comments


I inch open the door. Two teeners are playing. I’m so happy to see them playing, taking life by the reins. Like they used to. When did life get so serious? 

One’s perched on the other’s back, having turned into some type of cowgirl. The other’s on all fours, and somehow I’m waiting for a “neigh” to bellow out of her mouth. Instead, all contagious laughs, giggles, smiles.



“What?” I nearly fall over laughing.

They jump up, place sweet hands in mine.

It’s bedtime.

“Do y’all want to start reading together through the New-Testament-in-a-year?” I ask the girls, switching gears and interrupting their Lone Ranger and Silver moment. But it’s been weighing heavily on my heart. 

Both nod so eagerly.

Whew! Because I’m going on fumes right now.



And I need to get at least one weight off my heart. Taking something off my shoulders would be nice, too.

We always did pretty good at family devotions when the girls were small. But things shifted somehow. I tried to get them started on Bible Gateway, helping them establish their own routine. No more “we” but God in thee. That went good for a while, but like with all things, discipline tiptoes out the door, and we’re left crumpled on the floor. And that’s a complete disservice to my girls.

I need jumper cables. Um, okay … spurs kicking into my sides.

Because when serious sickness enters your home, even teens can only go on fumes for so long. Anxiety hugs the heart, pinching in the night, demanding conversation.

And one daughter wraps her arms around me. My teetertotter emotions …. “I understand, Mama. Shh. It’s okay.” I adore her motherly way. What gave it away? Hands that I used to hold everywhere—once so tiny with tiny nails that I used to clip with the baby clippers—soothed over my face, wiping away the moisture. Tight hugs. My other daughter gifts me with one, too.

Life has been so busy. Where has my time with them gone?



Is it okay for a mama to admit she’s scared? She’s scared of the present, the past, the future. She’s scared of every day she tried to make it on her own and failed miserably. She’s terrified of the scars etched into her heart from days without holding her Savior’s hand. She’s scared of every reminder, every memory. She wishes for white-out, do-overs, the delete key for her heart. 

What does she yearn for more than anything for her girls? A clean piece of paper, a clean heart. One prepped and ready to type God’s beautiful future, beautiful present on their hearts, to accompany their beautiful pasts.

But we can’t pour out our heart’s desire on that blank page what we aren’t pouring in. The page will be written on, but it won’t be desirous, the Godly way. It’ll never sell.

And when I’m too tired, I’m reminded I’m too tired not to. I’m loading dirty dishes in the dishwaser, and I don’t think I have the stamina to finish, but I will. That’s my disciplined, determined self talking. And I’ll collapse into that bed.

And a brush of wind swirls past me, sweet arms envelope me. “You ready to read our devotion?”

“We better do it now, while I can.” Anxiety only falls away when we fall into the arms of God.

We plop down onto the floor, circle around, maybe hit the couch, maybe climb into my bed …. She takes my phone, hits the Bible Gateway App.



“The verse of the day,” she says, “is Ephesians 4:2—‘Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.'” She clicks on “Begin A Reading Plan” and continues right where we left off. “Matthew 20:1-16,” she says. 

Verse 16 ends with, “So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

We all chuckle. “I used to say that to you when you were small all the time,” I say. “I wanted you to be giving. It feels good to give.” And I didn’t want them to fight. But my version usually came out like—“If you want to be first, you have to be last.” And that’s where I might blow a raspberry, if I were that kind of mama.

fishing in the swimming pool … caught a plastic fish each and every time




floaties in the shallow end

They laugh. Then nod.

“I remember, Mama. I say that to all my Sunday school kids,” one daughter admits.

Yes. They haven’t forgotten. Full circle. God is writing on their hearts. The giving has been received. Because when we give, we always receive. An honest servant is always rewarded in time. It might seem like a rough draft, but it’s the real, published deal, where purchases are final. It’s sitting on the heart-shelf, waiting to be taken, to be given to their friends, anyone blessed enough to receive from their hands, maybe their future kids.

We take the limited time in this life together by the reins.

A return to family devotion.

~~~


Do you have a family devotion? Have you had to take life by the reins recently? 


I Guess I’d Follow My Daughter Anywhere

On By shellilittletonIn Christian, Christian Growth, Encouragement, Faith, Fear, Raising Children8 Comments


“I wish he would quiet down,” said someone … I can’t remember who. “Boy, that’s annoying.”

Ever since we let Azzie, our cat, out of the house for a few moments while we hung up the Christmas lights, he’s been completely discontent. We never let the cats out much because … this right here. The cat balks louder and louder, over and over. And not to mention the summer fleas, the many critters excluding the fleas that would eat him alive. And boy, what if he ran under the deck? 

And right now, it’s cold. It’s snowing. It’s actually snowing (it snowed one day, a week ago … you get the idea). A novelty in these parts of Texas. And the wind is whipping around something fierce.

My snow-girl. Her New Year’s resolutions are to become well-rounded and to get in shape.


My daughter goes to her room and places on her winter gear. She puts the collar and leash on Azzie. He’s really balking now. 

My daughter. I’m not surprised. She’ll go the extra mile for anyone, especially those she loves. Every Sunday, during “shake-a-hand” moment, she walks all the way across the church to hug and talk to our realtor, the first person we met when we moved here and the very one to invite us to her church, our church. Yes, she ventures all the way there because she loves Ms. Frances. I love her, too, but I’m not so great at going the extra mile. I wave across the way. 

But that’s my daughter. She’ll walk the extra mile. She’ll brave the new ice cream flavor, while I stick to the safe mint chocolate chip. But she lets me try the new. She’d give her last dime. Her last bite. Her coat. She loves the lovely and unlovely. She doesn’t meet a stranger these days. My shy, quiet daughter is coming into her own God-given gifts. A friend to all. A giver.

The wind rattles the house, along with the windows.

My daughter picks up the cat, opens the front door, steps her new boots out into the snow. 

I throw on my winter gear, grab my camera because when it’s all said and done, I guess I’d follow her anywhere. And I want to love like she loves. And I want to capture her love on camera. 



She sets Azzie down into the snow. He leaves a trail of paw prints.

And in no time, we’re all outside.



And almost lying prostrate for a good photo, I think about the prints I’m leaving on this world, on my girls, on my friends …

I want to leave the kind of heart-prints my daughter has left on me. I want to throw open the door, brave the wind and cold, the unknown, and step out in love … to love. And I know if I ever step out, I’ll never be content to stay inside.














What moves you to action? Others’ words or actions?