the one I should've written months ago.

You know what I love more than anything? Entertaining. That's why I love Theatre. My preferred genre is comedy. I love any outlet I have to give others a laugh. Laughter is the best medicine and others laughter is my best source of inspiration.

Facebook has been a big outlet for entertainment for me. I've literally contemplated a status for hours and re-written it several times before posting just to make sure it had its fullest comedic effect. If someone commented that I brightened their day or made them laugh, I counted it as worth it. I am not lying: I LOVE to make others laugh. Even at my own expense.

Unfortunately, sometimes this comes at the expense of my own productivity. I spend countless hours perusing facebook to provide a sarcastic jab or funny anecdote here and there when there are far better uses of my time. Lately, I've recognized the ridiculousness of my petty addiction to a social media platform with no tangible benefits.

A little background: For a while now, I've had an overwhelming sensation that there's something big out there for me. "Big" is a relative term. I'm not saying I'm headed to Hollywood. I'm just saying that I feel like I'm standing on the precipice of life change that can have a positive rippling effect. But I've known for a while that my Facebook habits are absolutely impeding that change from coming to fruition.

I've honestly felt God calling me to leave Facebook behind. And I've had some ridiculous excuses: "But, God, I don't see my family much. How can I share pictures of the boys or know what's going on with them? Isn't my desire to bring smiles a good thing? Can't Facebook be an extension of the calling you've placed in my life?" The answer is "no". It can't.

I've avoided abandoning Facebook because I am addicted to the praises of man. And that is wrong. There are some people who don't struggle with this. They can log on and log off any time they wish and not think a bit about it. I am not that person.

Facebook is a black hole of distractions. It has kept me from seeing Jacob make a goal when playing basketball. It's distracted me from conversations my husband is having with me. It's kept Silas waiting (very impatiently) for a cup of juice. It's been the "just 5 more minutes" that turns into 30 where I should've been meditating on the Word that I claim is the most important in my life.

Facebook is my idol. As humiliating as it is to say, it is true. I've allowed it to become that. I've allowed myself to compare my life to others virtual lives. It's caused discontentment, unnecessary arguing, anger, and kept me from growing in Christ the way I really long to.

For my non-believing friends who find this move completely ridiculous, I ask you to view it as you would an alcoholic who takes steps to become sober. They want something different for their lives. They don't want to waste it on something that will bring no eternal significance. Well, this is me making the same kind of commitment.

I want to see what Jesus can do with a woman who is willing to give up something she finds joy in, if He asks her to.

So, friends. This is my farewell to you on Facebook. I am nobody special so I doubt very much that I'll missed for long. You'll go about your days as normal. And I'll go about mine...just with a bit more purpose.

I'm inviting you to check in on my life here, at my blog. I plan to start posting a lot more often -- most of it will be the same light-hearted LL comedy you're used to. Some of it will be random ramblings you might have wished you hadn't wasted 5 minutes on. Whatever. I'll be writing. Pop in sometime.

 I also have an instagram account where I share incredibly adorable photos of my boys and our life: @llbadams. You can also find me on Twitter: @llbadams

Thanks for letting me tell you terribly unfunny jokes and validating my self-worth. Time to let Jesus do the rest. Catch you around. :)

painful observation.

I don't know if this is the world I want my children to grow up in. Of course, I don't really have much of a choice about that. Every time I scroll through my twitter feed or look at a newspaper or check the evening news on tv, I'm totally and completely floored by the headlines and happenings. From extreme, violent crimes taking place multiple times a day too close to home to a world that is slowly dissolving and losing any sense of whatever moral compass it once guided itself by, I feel complete anxiety wash over me as I think about my boys facing these issues head to head as they age.

Anxiety is something I have battled a lot in the past year (thanks, postpartum journey!) and I don't have much of a hold on it. I can't quite explain it and I don't at all know how to navigate it gracefully. It's funny, though, how - just like I do with everything in life - I try to fix the problem myself.

I don't think I need to tear into some long, drawn-out post to get to what I know to be true. Anxiety is not at all from God. He is the producer of peace - the calm in the storm, now and forever. That's the image we're all struck with - us dear ol' church-goers - when any of us begins talking about peace: Jesus calming the storm.

I don't believe I have an issue with Jesus bringing peace in my life. I think I have an issue living like I absolutely believe God's word is true. Because if Christ can calm a storm with a simple, spoken word, is He not able to do the same in my life? If I truly believed He is who He says He is, would I allow myself to fall into the same temptations and trials that anxiety brings me? (Or any other sin, for that matter...)

I cannot control the future. I cannot control the world. The things my children live through, whether I am by their side to guide them along or not, are outside of my dominion. Worrying over their safety and choices is about as useful as a wet match.

But..."The God who made the world and everything in it is Lord of heaven and earth...he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything" (Acts 17:24-25). This omnipotent ruler, this perfect peace-giver tells me to cast all my cares upon Him. He tells me that I cannot add a single hour to my life by worry.

Why do I live as if I don't believe these words?

...I don't have an answer to this post today. But as I reflect on it, I realize I do have a challenge.

Birthday Week: A Guide To Celebrating

Before I get to the nitty gritty of this post, I wanted to share with you today the differences in how my husband and I celebrate the holidays. To make this easier, I created a simple chart for your reading pleasure:

HOLIDAY	HIM	HER
Christmas	Put a tree up a few days before. Or don’t. Whatever. It’s pagan anyway. Get all the wrapping paper up off the floor the minute each gift is opened. Christmas music is not necessary.  Jesus didn’t celebrate Christmas so I’m not that big on it, either.	ALL DECORATIONS TO BE PLACED JOYFULLY AND WITH JUBILEE BY OCTOBER 1. BUY EVERYONE A GIFT AND SPEND WAY TOO MUCH MONEY BUYING THEM A SECOND GIFT. CRY EVERY TIME YOU HEAR YOUR FAVORITE CAROL. EVERY. TIME. No, it’s not really the date of Jesus’ actual birthday but…YAY JESUS’ BIRTHDAY
Valentine’s Day	Does she want candy or not? Can we just order takeout and watch Netflix?	Let’s dress up in our cutest clothes and go to a restaurant even though we’re introverts! It’ll be FUNNNNNNN!!!
Fourth of July	FIREWORKS. Spend lots of money and build the equivalent of a homemade pipe bomb and go nuts!	IS THAT SPARKLER BURNING MY BABY’S HAND?! PUT IT OUT!!
Birthday	Cake is fine. Then give me an hour or two in the shop alone to build something with my bare hands or tinker on my Jeep like real men.	Let’s celebrate all week and eat my favorite foods and look at pictures and then let me pick out something pretty and eat more cake! ALL THE CAKE.

As you can see, Brian and I have incredibly different opinions on celebrations. It's no bother. I love him the same. And he tolerates my jubilee with a grain of salt. But since my birthday is a few days away, I thought it would be a good time to talk to you, dear friends, about the most important holiday of the year. My Your birthday.


If you haven't been spending every year celebrating your birthday for an entire week leading up to it, then you're doing it wrong. Plain and simple. Since I have dedicated myself to be a pioneer of honesty and real living, I feel it is my duty to share with you my Birthday Week Celebration Tips. Grab a pen, everyone. This is important stuff.

1. SOCIAL MEDIA
To get any birthday week started properly, you'll need to force find someone in your family who loves you enough to post every day of the week leading up to your birthday. They'll need to gush about how wonderful you are and how their life would never be the same without you. Pictures and cute anecdotes are a plus. Be sure to thank this person by sharing their post for your friends to see. It shows how humbled and thankful you are that someone loves you so much. Sharing those posts have nothing to do with trying to garner more presents for last minute shoppers. Not at all. Ahem.

2. MEALS
This topic is especially important if you're a wife or mother. No woman should have to cook during birthday week. No woman at all. You have to rest for the big day. Simply have your husband make all the meals during birthday week. If your husband is the type of guy who thinks Hormel Chili over a bed of spaghetti noodles is a satisfactory dinner, then try calling your mom and remind her how special you've made her life the last _??_ years in hopes that she'll take on the challenge. Then you sit back and enjoy. This also comes with the understanding that no dishes are to be washed by you, either.

3. APPEARANCE
It's a big week, people. This is the one week where you have a little pep in your step because the world is gonna celebrate YOU. Go crazy and wear lipstick every day. Maybe wash your hair three times, even. The possibilities are endless. Just look flawless and werk it.

4. WORK/CAREER
My apologies to my coworkers who stumbled upon this post. But you all need to hear the truth, too. It's your birthday week. Do just enough work to look busy but spend the bulk of your time eating candy and doodling, or whatever makes you happy. This is YOUR WEEK, people. You can't be expected to pump out 800 TPS reports when you know you've got a mountain of celebrations and gifts ahead. And rightly so! Are you a teacher? Tell the kids your birthday is coming up. Use it as leverage for good behavior. If they're acting terribly, start crying and tell them about how your toddler got up 6 times last night and how you feel disrespected and unloved in your own classroom after such a hard night. They'll be so flipped out by your show of hormones that they won't know left from right. It's great.

5. CHARITY
It's easy to get caught up in celebrating your own birthday and forget that the little people need us. So consider spending some time bringing happiness to others. If you have particularly cute children, like I do, consider allowing someone else to spend some time with them one-on-one, like a grandparent or neighbor or your mailman, whatever. Simply drop them off at their house and tell them you will happily provide them a few hours of individual time with your child so they can experience the wonder of their tantrums silliness and sweetness. Make sure you give them a good bit of time to truly enjoy them. Five or six hours should do.

So there you have it. These are but a few tips and tricks for getting the full enjoyment of your birthday week. It only happens once a year. Don't be afraid to do it big. It's YOUR TIME.

Actually, my birthday is Saturday so technically, it's MY time. But thanks anyway. :)

For Future Me, Who Is Down On Herself

I'm gonna give you a fair warning, reader friend. This post is not going to be for everyone. Particularly not for many of the male persuasion. It's a fairly normal type of post for me but I will be including a story or two that might make the men folk a little uneasy.

So just know, this is your time to consider whether you want to continue on. If words like "hot flashes", "bras", "PMS", or "feelings" make you uncomfortable, then you just need to mosey on back to the man cave from whence you crawled out of during commercial breaks for Sportscenter. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Go 'head, sir. Go. 

Now. Now that it's just us girls, and maybe a straggler or two who thinks he can read of my whimsical mishap and stare me straight in the eye, allow me to continue.

I've said it before (in some form of another) on my blog, and I'll say it again.

Motherhood makes you crazy.

Yep. Hair-pullin', crazy-eyed, frantic-laughin' crazy. Most days.

Don't get me wrong. There have been some (rare) nights that I get into bed and pat myself on the back and say, "Hey YOU. You rocked this mom thing like a boss today. You deserve these 9 oreos. You are the mother of all mothers... madre supreme. Go you."

But sometimes, the crazy sneaks up on you and you never even knew it was coming. Just POW. Right in the kisser.

Take for instance my latest mishap...It was a Wednesday. A frigid, bleak, January Wednesday. The morning began just like any other...rushing to get myself dressed while packing diaper bags and making bottles and breakfast. I suppose I thought everything was on the up and up. I should have known when I started washing my hair (in the sink) with Dawn instead of Pantene that maybe I didn't have my wits about me. But hey, simple mistake, right? And on the plus side, I knew grease would be no match for my locks that day. I digress.

I somehow made it out the door and into the classroom without any problems. Patted myself on the back for that one. I even felt super cute because I was wearing a denim jacket I've owned now for well over ten years and somehow made it relevant enough to today's fashion. Vintage. Chic. Look at me go.

Anyway, I made it to school. Went to my classroom. Doodled my name on a piece of paper over and over so passerbys would think I was working some kind of fierce. Then, I stepped out into the hall and said hello to all the children. All those angel babies. Mrs. Adams was feeling fancy and fine and by golly, she was determined to spread some January cheer.

I taught class with a pep in my step. I was pretty proud of how energetic I was. I was freezing my tail off, though. I turned my own classroom thermostat up to 75 (sorry administrators) and still felt chilly. NO BOTHER, I AM SUPER TEACHER. LET US PRESS ON AND EDUCATE ALL THE CHILDREN.

I finished my last class of the morning. Still bouncing with every step. Hoo-ah. The time came for me to pump (there's one of those scary words, boys), because I was a good mother who lovingly nurtured her babe with nature's intended form of feeding... Just kidding. It's cause I can't afford formula.

Anyway, I hooked the awkward machine up. Got all the parts attached and proceeded to ready myself when I finally realized...

I forgot to put a bra on that morning.

Coldest day of the year and I was walking around an ELEMENTARY SCHOOL like...well, THAT. Fear and laughter simultaneously overtook me. What do I do first? Text all my friends and tell them about how I'm officially losing my mind because parenting is winning over me or write genuine apology cards to the 100+ parents of students I saw that morning?

Life.

And sure, that's a comical little story. No big deal, really. Probably happens to others all the time. But for me - a nursing mama - to forget something so pivotal on the coldest morning of the year? Just not the usual mishap for me. And honestly there was a moment or two where (after the initial hilarity of the situation faded) I began to allow that one mishap to remind me of all my other mishaps: the dishes from last night's meal didn't get washed...you forgot to send Jacob's blanket to school...your kid's carseat has french fries from who knows when...you spend hours away from your kids a day...etc. etc...

The self-loathing just continued to get worse.

I wish I could say I ran across some inspirational quote or had a revelation of some sort that drew me out of my pity-party, but I didn't. Only time and today's good mood have really allowed me to see the pettiness of it. But the truth is that, more than likely, in a few days I will be right back at beating myself up.

That's why I jot things like this down. It serves as a reminder to myself that those days that seem the worst end up faint memories with no damage whatsoever to my long-term mama memory. They don't trump the giggling little boy who asks me to climb into his teeny-tiny tent to spend a moment pretending we're fireman. They don't override the feeling of my youngest grinning from ear to ear when he sees me for the first time each morning or the way he burrows his head into my chest as if to say he loves me more than Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

At the end of each day, no matter what role you play in your life, it's such a good one. I promise you that. If we can look past the filters of perfection we find on social media and the nagging need to feel like we have to have it all together, I think you and I just might find that life is a lot simpler and more blissful than we allow ourselves to see it. The mistakes we make, we'll make again. And again. And again. But the giggles will keep coming, the grins will never stop, and life will go on. Simply. Blissfully.

So, Laura Leigh (or reader, if you so feel spoken to): breathe in. Forget about what you didn't do well or what the world said you should've done better. Focus on your blessings. Be gracious to yourself.



...but please...don't forget your bra.

i'm not alright.

I’m raising the white flag here, folks. I’m going to just put all my thoughts out there and I’m not even gonna try to give you a perfectly packaged little lesson out of it. I’m gonna do what I’ve been harping on doing for months now while simultaneously not doing myself.

I’m going to be honest.

It occurred to me as I sat in church Sunday morning, unable to even pay attention from the second row due to the overwhelming flood of emotion that caused me to cry buckets of tears in front of God and everybody, that I’ve entered this incredibly vicious cycle of loneliness. The worst part – the part that hit me like a ton of bricks and hurt worse than a paper cut on your eyeball (you're welcome for that imagery) – is that I realized it’s nobody’s fault but my own.

Being married to a minister is hard.

Ok, let me clarify. Being a minister’s wife is hard. (Being married to Brian isn’t so bad…he’s easy on the eyes.)

I write these obscenely long statuses (statii?) about how irritating it is that moms will play off their parenting skills as if they are the Cinderella of motherhood. And you know what? I’m pretty good about being wittily honest about my own parenting skills or my kids’ behavior. But past parenting – down to the nitty gritty of who I am? A social media façade. All of it.

I’m an actor, ladies and gentlemen. Maybe not the world’s greatest but darn good enough to carry it over into my real life.

Enter LL stage right. Dressed in outfit she doesn’t particularly care for but is popular among locals. Smiles long enough to get to pew as onlookers take note of said smile. Makes witty comment to neighbor laced with just enough sarcasm to emphasize humor without being a jerk. Waves at acquaintances. Sings songs with forged fervor. Rinse and repeat.

Sundays/Wednesdays (I single these two days out because they are when I see the most people) have become a song and dance of me pretending like life is just glorious but inwardly longing for genuine companionship with anyone who is willing to return the favor.

My best friend, Lindsay, is my best friend because she knows me. She knows all the worst parts about me and still loves me and vice versa. So it’s not that I don’t realize that there are people out there who are willing to look past the flaws of another and invite them in to share life together. I totally get that. I have that.

Somewhere along the line, though, I stopped letting it happen. And the fact that she's over 700 miles away doesn't help me on the whole "needing to socialize" thing...

I can’t remember the last time I’ve shown anyone but my parents and my husband the real me. Don’t get me wrong, I like the real me. I’m not saying I’m so terrible that I don’t want anyone to know it. A lot of what I portray is exactly who I am: witty, sarcastic, outgoing, fun loving, etc. But I’ve built a wall just high enough to make sure no one can see the hurts and heartaches and flaws.

I stubbed my toe this morning on our dog’s crate and I said a curse word. Now, hear me out. That doesn’t negate my salvation or tarnish my reputation by any means, I get that. But in my mind, I seem to think that every other female on the potential friends list would absolutely be horrified at my choice of words because of who I am.

THIS is the kind of woman we trust to help lead our students?

Stupid, I know. It’s just a word. You might be laughing at how petty that seems, but these type scenarios have turned from petty, irrational, fleeting worries to gripping, overwhelming fears.

Sunday morning before going to church, I lost my temper and yelled at both my kids. They’re 2 and 8 months old. And yes, I’m crying as I write this because of how much I regret my outburst. That’s postpartum depression for you.

Oh yeah. PPD. There’s that… a monster in and of itself that I have only now just admitted to being held captive by. I’ve been in denial about it for so long that I haven’t even shared any of it with my own husband for months. (Fear not, I'm working through it, but this is the first time I've been vulnerable enough to admit it publicly.)

These are the things that make me feel like I’m too much of a mess for a friend. Or to be a friend.

These are the thoughts that the enemy uses to cripple me and keep me from growing in accountability with others. These are the ways he allows me to suffer by not truly being a part of community.

There’s a very dear student who often texts me with advice because she seems to think I have my life together. I do my best to guide her in the best way possible (scripturally). I sometimes find myself getting so incredibly frustrated with her inability to show the world who she really is and not always try to be so perfect and held together. I tell her all the time to let Jesus handle the mess.

Pot, meet kettle.

I know she reads my blog. So this is my attempt to apologize for my own hypocrisy and promise her to be the best example of my own advice. Love you, kid. “S’much.” :)

So here I am: white flag waving high in the air. I’m a mess. I’m broken.

I’m lonely.

...But 1 Peter 5:7 says to “cast all your cares upon Him for He cares for you”. So, I’m not hiding my struggles any longer because something tells me, He isn’t the only one.

The cycle ends here. Community starts now.

on the brink

Every day. The same things.

Wake up. Get dressed. Wake kids up. Pat myself on the back for being on schedule. Realize I forgot to fix bottles. Fix bottles. Finish getting dressed. Notice I'm no longer on schedule. Speed up the getting ready process. Rogue diaper incident. Clean mess. Look for keys. Refill milk for demanding toddler in high chair. Continue looking for keys. Panic. Blame husband for missing keys. Pick up crying baby. Find keys. Contemplate apologizing to husband. Change outfit because of spit up incident. Rush out of the door. 

Cue eight hours of blurred teaching, directions, hyperactive students, etc.

Go home. Survive until bedtime. Crash.

Rinse and repeat.

Don't read this wrong, people. My life looks a lot like every one else's. I'm no special snowflake. And I don't dislike life right now. But it's such a blur. Most days I have to sit back and contemplate on whether I did anything of significance.

Significance. That's been a recurrent theme for me lately.

What does that look like? Who decides what's important and what isn't? 

I don't know. I mean, I do know the good ol' Christian answers and what not. But even at 27 years old, I still wonder if maybe I'm missing out on something. Back in college I was certain that by now I would know myself completely and be self-assured and confident and successful. To some degree, I am. But there's still that lingering question mark of something more.

The best part in all of this questioning though, is that I've been so convinced that God has been speaking to me in all of this. It's almost like He's telling me, "hey! I've got something bigger...something better. It's yours for the taking." 

Hear me out. I'm not going all TD Jakes on you and expecting material blessings. 

Nope. He's really been speaking to my heart about sanctification for the sake of His glory. Can I be real here? Of course I can. It's my blog. 

For a long time in my walk with Christ, I've been so lazy. I'm married to a student pastor and I often piggyback off of his title. By that I mean, I tend to neglect my responsibilities as a believer because I'm "so involved" with Brian's ministry that I must have everything together well enough as is, right? Wrong. Recently I was really convicted about this. I realized that I DO have a lot of influence on Brian's ministry. My relationship and growth in Christ is pivotal to my marriage and the health of my marriage is absolutely pivotal to Brian's ministry. And Brian's ministry is pivotal to the salvation and growth of a multitude of students. All of this is a circular motion that should point right back to Jesus Christ. So. I've chewed on that for a while and have been really working on being a little less lazy and a lot more hungry for God. I'm not all there yet. But I'm getting better.

In the midst of all this, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Christ has been putting this idea of significance in my heart. I know He wants to work on me and break my unwilling and lazy spirit so that He can use me to bring Him glory. 

He's putting dreams in my heart and it's literally the most beautiful feeling I've ever felt. When He speaks, it's beautiful. It's so refreshing and reassuring and humbling to know that Jesus still speaks. To ME. 

So right now I may feel like I'm in a rut of the same things each day. The same messes, the same chaos, the same routines...for now. 

But I'm holding on to the idea of significance and sanctification. I'm letting Him break and mold and chip and chisel. Because I know He's putting together something wonderful. He's preparing something currently unfathomable. And it's all for Him. And these dreams are the only ones I want to chase. They're the only ones with any significance.

More of You. Less of me.

"Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen."                 Ephesians 4:29

sanity and sanctity

I'm sitting on my bed at 9:30 PM on this Thursday night eating a cold slice of pizza and drinking Mountain Dew straight from the 2-liter bottle because, friends, it's been that kind of day.

Kids, man. Kids.

Yesterday I went to go get my hair did.

....Yes. I color my hair. Because it's entirely traumatizing to be a 27 year-young woman and have mounds of gray hair. I digress.

As I was letting the chemicals soak into my skull with their unknown lasting effects, I was talking to my hair magician, Deidre, about being a mom. It had been a tough morning and I pretty much just started gushing about my frustrations with my children and myself. And I admit it. I said it. I said what very few mothers want to say:

"Being a mother is NOT the most beautiful job in the world and most days, it's not the best. Anyone who says differently is a liar or blinded by whatever drugs they're taking."

Like I said, y'all. It had been a tough morning.

I've been thinking about the statements I've made and at first, I felt a little guilty for feeling the way I do. But as the day has progressed (read: as more caffeine has been consumed), I realize there's absolutely nothing wrong with having those sentiments.

Before I indulge further, let me tell you: My boys are the absolute greatest gift I've ever been given and are my greatest accomplishment to date. If I had to, I would go head-to-head with the vilest offenders on earth if it meant keeping them safe. And I would dominate them. Because a mother's love, y'all, is way beyond comprehension. And I wouldn't trade them for the greatest riches on earth. They're irreplaceable (like Beyonce - to the left, to the left).

BUT MAN CAN THEY DRIVE YOU CRAZY.

Some days I don't even get five minutes to myself to mindlessly watch tv. I haven't gone to the bathroom or taken a shower in our house with the door closed in two years. I can't remember the last time I didn't either have to share a meal or eat it cold.

And sometimes I log onto social media and I see Perfect Prissy Pants Mama waxing poetic about how wonderful her sweet little smocked-outfit-wearing babies are as she uploads pictures of her perfectly kept house on her way to vacation number 4 of the summer and I just wanna punch her.

That lady is not the picture of average motherhood. She isn't. And I hope her kid smears grape jelly on her couch.

Here's the truth, well, what I've learned, about motherhood:

• Some days you cry more than your kids.
• Sometimes you lose your temper and raise your voice louder than you should.
• Finishing a cup of coffee before it gets cold is a luxury and a rare happening.
• The only time you get to yourself is going to the grocery store and even then, you're rushing to get out as fast as you can because you know your husband is going to give your kid an entire giant oatmeal creme pie if you don't get home quick enough to stop him.
• Every night, you'll find some way you messed up and kick yourself in the proverbial butt because of it.
• There's always going to be a mess...somewhere. If you can't see one, you aren't looking in the right places (check behind the couch).
• You'll wonder where you've gone and when parenting became your only source of identity
• You desperately hope that somewhere beyond the spit up stains on your shirt and the fact that you couldn't find time long enough to shower again that your husband still finds you pretty(ish).
• You absolutely cannot do this job alone.

So, yeah. I think Perfect Prissy Pants Mama and her Oh-So-Smart-Above-Average Angel are obnoxious. But there's a heart of the matter that I've got to get to here: the fault lies with me. If I wasn't falling victim to that ever so tempting game of comparisons, I could look at her posts and say "good for her!" and move on with my life. But instead, it leaves me wondering where in the world I went wrong.

I just need to realize I haven't.

I need to remember that for the Christian, parenting is absolutely a sanctifying process. And sanctification means addressing issues that keep me from being pure and holy. And trust me -- I've seen them: my temper, my covetousness, my selfishness...I could go on (and on and on and on and on)...

 For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named,  that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being,  so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth,  and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

Ephesians 3: 14-19

And there you have it. That's the passage that has been washing over me the last few days...mostly when I feel overwhelmed in this day-to-day mama stuff. 

God is so sneaky, you know? I mean, I can be in the middle of a me-tantrum and BAM here comes those words again. 

Sanctification. Thank GOD for it. Maybe I've got a lot to fix in my life but I am so grateful that He loves me enough TO fix me. I don't like the mirror that motherhood holds up to my face but I love that HE loves me enough to not leave me where I am. Because as I learned over a quarter of century ago in my preschool church choir...

He's still working on me to make me what I ought to be...

I may come out of this journey a few pounds heavier if I keep the Mountain Dew thing up, though.

...But I refuse to come out of it with any extra gray hair. ;)