Let's pray for all those littles who are back in school for Day Two. Day two, without all the excitement and anticipation of day one, was met with a little trepidation and fear by my littles. They did not bound out of the house today like yesterday. They clung a little, tried not to cry, and asked if they could just stay home today.

I sat them down on the living room floor and we talked about how new things are sometimes scary. I told them I was going to be doing something new tomorrow, and I was scared, too. I reminded them that we are almost always a little scared when we start something different. And then, I reminded us all that things are almost never how we fear. Once we try, we find that it's actually fun.

We talked about being brave and we remembered that the only time you ever get to be brave is when you are scared. Today, we agreed, was a great day for bravery.


By the time it was time to go, they were talking, giggling, and guessing about some of the fun things they might get to do today. They had found their little resolve, their brave hearts, and they were ready to go.

I called Daddy to see how it had went and there were no tears at the door. They each walked in, ready to face the day. Grace did remind her daddy, “I have to get in in time to go see Mrs. Woods.” Mrs. Woods was Grace's kindergarten teacher last year, and her class is right across the hall from Grace's new 1st grade class. We had to stop their yesterday, too. As a matter of fact the first thing Grace said when she woke up yesterday is, “I get to see Mrs. Woods today!” Thinking she had forgotten, I reminded her that Mrs. Kramer was her new teacher. She said, “I know, but I get to see Mrs. Woods before I go to class.” And we did. She pulled me into Mrs. Woods class yesterday and stood there until she was noticed. Mrs. Woods said, “Hi Grace! You're going to have such a great first day in 1st grade!” Grace quietly smiled, nodded her head, and then walked over to her class.

I suspect this morning was similar. Just a little touchstone of the familiar before facing the lesser known. A moment to remember that she had conquered this before, and she could again.

That is probably why we are encouraged to read a bit of scripture each day. Just a touchstone of the familiar that allows us to face the day.


What I did not tell those trusting little faces today, is that I also felt a little fearful about their second day. I didn't tell them that what I really wanted to say was, “Sure, you can stay home with me.” I also dug inside and found my bravery this morning to encourage them. And after they left I went and sat with my Abba, just as they had come to me. I ask him to protect them, encourage them, send sweet children and loving teachers into their lives. Help them to be helpers. Remind them of their bravery when I cannot.
And just like them, I left my touchstone encouraged, bolstered, and excited to face the day.




There is so much going on and the darkening clouds seem to portend that an ominous presence has been laid over all things. I’ve awoken this week gripped by fear and unable to breath with the weight of responsibility that I feel for all things. I’ve struggled with where to lay my worry and where to settle my focus between the darkness that is Iraq and the darkness that is suicide and the darkness that seems to be a part of all things.

I cried over Robin William’s death. I cried over his death while children were being murdered for their faith. I believe that my grief for a beloved entertainer is simply a safe landing place for my grief over those children, over the shooting near St.Louis, over all things. It was a tangible loss of something that was impactful to my life. Great artists impact our lives. And the loss, via suicide, leaves in it’s wake a feeling of shock, disbelief, and horror. It is tragic, but it is sadly fathomable. These children’s deaths are unfathomable. This very moment those attrocities are being committed. In both instances I am helpless but in only one am I safe to grieve. In only one of these instances am I safe to simply sit in my grief. And I needed that permission this week to simply mourn. I could ask my God, “Why?” about one man’s suicide. I struggle though to even mention the children – I don’t even know how to ask of them.

These are the things that the unbeliever points to when they say we are wrong. When they say we make no sense. This killing in the name of Allah, is exactly what they use to discredit my God. But in this darkness is not my God.

I have no answers, no platitudes, no understanding. Just a simple faith and a shaky hope. I will not argue and I will not plea, but I will simply sit. I will sit in wild contemplation and with plaintive pleas for more hope. Just a bit more hope. I will offer my mustard seed of faith and trust that it is sufficient.

I read and read about all of these tragedies and the people who are broken by them. I soak up these stories as if the knowledge will allow me to glean a path forward. I read the stories of those who have survied the suicides of ones they love. I read the stories of one’s who have survived their own attempts at suicide, and I have no guilt over my grief for this sad loss of one person. For every suicide is a tragic loss worthy of grief. Every suicide is a peek into a malicious and dangerous misfire in the mind and we pray that it spares those we know who are in the grips of depression. How many of us, upon learning that Robin – that being of laughter and light – committed suicide. How many of us immediately thought of someone we know who battles depression? We grieve not only the loss of a distant artist, but we fear the loss of someone we know to this hurtful and painful disease of depression. Our grief is acceptable. Our grief is not a dismissal of any other atrocity, but simply an acknowledgement of this one.


The persecution and murder that is occurring in the name of a misguided and deranged religion is enough to mourn. If that were all we had to mourn, it is enough. Powerless and content, air-conditioned and overfed, I don’t even know what to do with the information that I am privy to. I can’t reconcile the stress I struggle with daily over the abundance in my life – I do not have enough time to take care of my abundance – and the fact that children are dying. I cannot reconcile this. I cannot. I selfishly long for the ignorance that we had before 24 hours media overtook our lives. I selfishly long for the days when I was simply unaware. Can I admit that? I do not know what to do with all of the information of the horrors that are occurring in this very minute. I do not know what to do.


St. Louis is on fire and neither side has any compassion for the blindness of the other. All long to be seen and use verbal grenades and actual fire bomb’s to do so. Creating a smoke screen of violence and ignorance that insures not only will this situation not illuminate, but it will only drive each side further apart. My own instinctual bias’ born of a life of privilege must be contained and tamped down. I must constantly remind myself that because I’ve never been so frustrated that I wanted to burn the world down, does not mean that people who are should not be heard. My inability to understand is not proof of my being right, but only of my limited exposure. There is wrong and there is right on both sides and it is in the middle where people stand with the answers, but cannot be heard. Reason is silenced and overlooked in the face of such anger and vitriol.


And while I am toiling through these attrocities in mind, I will also post pictures later tonight of my little one starting pre-school. I write of this insanity from a beautiful home overlooking lush woods and a beautiful sky. There is so much work to be done at work each day. I’m preparing for a party this weekend to debut my new side job that I’ve started to help make ends meet and meet new women, make new friends. I look forward to working with our kids this weekend at church where they will jump in bounce houses and learn about a God who loves them. My actual life is a picture of tranquility, beauty, and abundance.

And even these things, I am fearful of. Worried over how to meet all the demands of my career. Scared that my children are growing so fast and I’m unable to process a world that I’m supposed to be preparing them for. Scared to start something new, outside my comfort zone. What if I fail? Struggling to find the time to prepare the lesson and give those young ones my best Sunday morning.


I don’t understand how to live in this world with it’s suicides, murder, human trafficking and racism. I don’t understand how to breath under the weight of such horrific happenings.

But when I leave this room I will go play with my daughter and I will laugh. I will go collect precious stories of my son’s first day of preschool and my heart will burst with joy at the sparkle in his eyes when he talks.

And in the dead of night I will wake burdened by my comforts and guilty over my day-to-day worries. Fearful for those who are battling depression, and in mourning for the lives lost across the world. Frightened by the violence mere hours away. Occupied by my mundane daily concerns and fears.

Somehow I must find a path back to balance and sanity. My overburdened heart and mind is of no good to anyone. I am of two minds and the verse about a house divided has never felt so real. I can barely stand.

“Dear friends, if God loved us this way, we also ought to love each other. No one has ever seen God. If we love each other, God remains in us and his love is made perfect in us.” 1 John 4:11-12

I will love those closest to me. I will strive to understand those with different perspectives. I will not turn my back on the darkness but instead I will shine my light upon it. I will cling to the hope that this is not the end and this is not our final chapter. I will remember where my hope lies and I will do as I have learned to do. I will love. This is my mantra. This is my hope. This is my only hope.

We must not give in to anger and darkness. We must fight the madness of this world with gentle words and peace-filled hearts. Remembering, if we love each other, God remains in us and his love is made perfect. There is nothing that love cannot overcome. We will fight our anger and nurture our love. In all matters, we nurture the light that is Love.

Sometimes I am really satisfied with my progress in photography.
Sometimes I see another fantastic photographer and I consider selling my gear.
Sometimes I'm really satisfied with my writing.
Sometimes I read what someone else writes and I am so profoundly moved that I promise to never write again.
Sometimes I am exactly the mom, wife, and friend I hope to be.
Sometimes I wonder why anyone spends a moment of time with me.
At all times I am working to remember
every beautiful image,
every moving piece written,
every touching engagement with someone,
is a victory.
And they are not all my personal victories.
And this does not diminish me.
Another's talent increases me, and any feeling other than that increase is a lie.
Comparison is death – no matter what side you come out on.
The world needs your contribution.
No limits. No comparisons. I root for your victory.
Your victory raises us all – and your victory is in the effort.
Never stop.





I’ve waited to write about this until we made it through the process and now I’m so excited to share with you the amazing experience our family has had over the last few months!

Sometime last year I was sharing with another mom the frustrations of raise 3 year-olds. 3 year-olds are amazing beams of light shedding amazing light on your life that can instantly, and rapidly, transform into lasers boring into the depths of your brain, and then back to beams of light illuminating the beauty of the simplest things, then back to death rays, then back to light….you get it.

I don’t think that Elijah was any more challenging than many other 3 year olds. And after describing our situation to a professional she agreed that he fell well within the ‘normal’ range for 3 year old behavior. The rub there is that ‘normal’ includes the whole beam of radiance, death ray, beam of radiance cycle – that is NORMAL behavior. Not comforting.

In any case, we happen to have a few professional child specialists in our circle of close friends and family and one of them mentioned that there was a great program available at Burrell Health Center here in Springfield – a parenting class of sorts for your family. I admit my first gut reaction was, “I don’t need no parenting class.” (My grammar takes a back seat when I feel threatened.) But over the next few weeks/months our spiral of joy and agony continued, and one day having exhausted every good and bad parenting tool I had at my disposal I thought, “You know what? I REALLY need a parenting class!”

Actually – it was the weekend after Christmas and we were on our way to see my family when a tantrum ensued that ended in me threathening to cancel…yes, I did, I threatened to cancel Christmas. Once the entire car got quiet, I got my phone out and dialed Burrell and made our first appointment. It was a relief.

It was a relief because it’s hard to parent and admitting that and asking for help, rather than making me feel like a failure, made me feel like a parent. Like a grown parent who realizes that there are streams of research and case studies available on how to parent and it is not a failure to say, “Yes, please. I’ll take a listen to that.” And so we did.

When we first met our sweet counselor she gave us the standard professional introduction explaining that if she bumps into us at WalMart she won’t really acknowledge that she knows us, you know, so we aren’t embarrassed. To which I replied that she could hug me and yell, “How’s the parenting going? Are the exercises we talked about helping?” Because, in all likelihood, if this works out, I’d be blogging about it. No shame. That’s my mantra. I need help and I’m not afraid to admit it.

And then the work began. It was really easy at first, and it made no difference at all – but that’s how it’s designed. We started out by just intentionally building our relationship with our little ones. We intentionally made time to play, and we stopped giving orders all the time, and it all just felt crazy. At first I thought I had fell down the rabbit hole and was in some toddler wonderland. I felt this way because we started out making sure that Elijah had a lot of control. But a humbling thing happened in this process. We realized that we had lost a bit of our joy over the last year or so. We had gotten so pre-occupied with Parenting that we had lost some of the joys of parenting. It’s kind of hard to explain. We always loved our kids. We have always had lots of snuggles and laughter, but we had also gotten into a habit of expecting misbehavior. That makes me so sad to write, but it’s true. And the first part of the parenting classes was a sweet gentle revealing of that skew in our thinking. Through play and praise, the exercises we were given just broke us all open. It reminded Greg and I what amazing kids we have, and it showed the kids how fun we can be.

And in the midst of this beautiful brokenness and illuminating reminders, we still had the death ray, beam of light, death ray, beam of light thing at play. So it was bad. We had been broken open and fell even more madly in love… with a tyrant. Please, we begged, please tell us there is hope. And there was. There was phase two.

The second phase is where you start teaching the tyrant precious child that life is even better if you do the things you’re asked to do. Now during play time we started giving directions to follow, and then having a praise party with hugs and high fives with each compliant response. You would have been terribly confused to see how much praise was heaped onto our children when they handed us the block we had asked for. We were terribly confused, but we were trusting the process.

After a while of practicing giving direction, we started giving directions that had to be followed in real life, and the praise parties felt more genuine – because it really IS like Christmas when your toddler is asked to put on his shoes and he then PUTS ON HIS SHOES. Christmas, 4th of July, and all the birthdays – so good.

Another beautiful awakening happened to us during this phase of the process. We realized that we were also a bit tyrannical. We learned to taper our demands and to give more choices. We were able to better appreciate how frustrating it is to be three and have so many things dictated to you. So humbling.

Soon after we started the second phase, we introduced the only discipline tool we use now. Time out and the time out room. 3 minutes in time out no matter what. If you can’t stay in time out, you go to the time out room for one minute (a bathroom at our house), then back to time out chair and around that goes round and round until 3 mintues in the chair occurs. And we are ‘always’ zen during this process. No reaction, no emotion. (I’m still working on the zen portion of this.)

It was bad. It was so bad. For like 3 weeks it was horribly bad… and then it was good. Once he realized this was it, he stopped going to the time out room, just did his three minutes and then did whatever he’d been asked to do. Not always – but most of the time. And then after another 3-4 weeks or so – he stopped going to time out. He still goes sometimes and we have a few bad days in a row on occasion, but mostly he does what we ask him to do. And we remember to praise him and then he wants to do more of it. It’s like an anti-vicious cycle of good feelings around here. It’s miraculous.

And tomorrow, we expect we are going to graduate. We will be done, and we will walk out of that office with a load of new tools and techniques. Elijah is so much happier now and has a level of self confidence that he didn’t have before. Greg and I are so much happier and we have a level of self confidence in our parenting that we didn’t have before, and Grace is happier because of all of the above.

I’m so glad we took the time to do this. I’m so thankful. Greg and I have different parenting styles – most people do – and this really helped us get on the same page, use the same language, and have the same expectations. That synchronicity has helped Elijah and Grace know what to expect regardless of which one of us is doing the disciplining and direction giving.

If you find yourself reading this and thinking that you are so glad you never needed anything like this…well, I would have felt that way too if I’d only had Miss Grace. Some kids are just more compliant natured than others – congratulations on the lottery if you have more than one of those :). On the other hand, some kids are a bit more strong willed – still incredibly awesome, but they need a different type of parenting. So if you are reading this and thinking that it sounds interesting and maybe your house could use some of that, I totally recommend you go talk with someone. The methodology we were instructed in is called PCIT – and there is so much more to it than I am qualified to explain, but this is at least a layman’s review of the process.

One final note….if you see me out and about and one or more of my children are having a total meltdown in public – it’s not a commentary on the effectiveness of our help. They’re kids and this isn’t a magic fix – but we are pretty certain it’ll happen less often, and we have some ideas about what to do when it does, and that’s pretty much priceless.



Earlier this year I wrote about a transformational change in my prayer life. You can read about that by clicking here. Then I had a second profound experience in the garden which you can read about here.

In the weeks that have followed my worship time has continued to transform as a direct result of the garden. While the prayer transformation was welcomed and nothing but positive, the worship transformation has sometimes left me feeling a bit vulnerable and awkward. So, I thought I would share with you what's going on in greater detail so that you can either: a. Join me or b. Not commit me if you happen to see me at church.

The time at church where we sing has not always been a time of fulfillment for me. Growing up with the old hymns in a small sanctuary I never really felt moved by the spirit or extremely 'woshipful' during the worship service. Yes, some of the songs were beautiful, and many of them spoke to my heart. I still cannot hear Amazing Grace or The Old Rugged Cross without feeling something deep within me respond, but the fact of the matter is, I am not a great singer. Primarily I spent my time trying to insure that my volume was low enough so as not to offend God or my fellow pew mates. Pepper that with a bit of envy, and trying to track down the voices that were singing out quite beautifully, and I rarely had time to really connect with God during worship.

When I returned to church as an adult, it was to a very large church in Atlanta. Suddenly there was a sound system and dark lighting – both of which freed me to crank up the volume without fearing offense. I could close my eyes, move with the music, and often times I would picture Jesus in front of me and really try to sing at him…to him…with him. This opened up a whole new world where the worship time at church really became about worship. I really was singing the songs to Him – and the songs were different. They were actually reflective of the praise I would give to him about how he had freed me and released me from the bonds that had held me down for so long. I was really feeling it. I thought.

And then I started praying in the garden.

And then I went to church. I closed my eyes to enjoy my worship -and suddenly found myself in my prayer garden with Jesus.

And then Jesus smiled at me.

You want to feel joy? Go sing to Jesus in the garden with a heart full of love and see him see you. You'll look like a blooming idiot to passers by, but you might not ever smile so big in your life.

And then He asked me to dance.

Now listen I grew up in a Baptist church and the movie, Footloose, was one of the run away hits of my youth. Despite that I have danced a lot in life, but I had never even thought about dancing with Jesus. Yet now, if you find me swaying this Sunday with a big goofy grin, be assured me and Jesus are dancing as I pour out my love for him.

It's not always dancing though, sometimes he just listens. I pour out the fear and pain and he just listens with great love. I weep from the tenderness with which he listens.

Greg plays in our church band and occasionally he sings or has a guitar solo and when that happens I get to stand by Jesus and enjoy this incredibly talented man. I lean over and say, “Thank you.” He leans into me and smiles knowingly.

It's a beautiful, fulfilling, amazing thing. And, at times, a little uncomfortable. It has become pretty much involuntary at this point….if I close my eyes and free my mind, I am going to be in the garden. I love it, but at the same time there is a part of me that is very much sitting at church with a bunch of other people and it can get a little awkward.

So God decided to talk to me one day about those who are sitting around me….and anyone who may ever sit around me.

I was in the garden and I was truly worshipping Jesus. I was really there. Then, other people started showing up. Soon I found myself on a very crowded praise floor and to be honest with you I was a bit taken aback. I liked being alone with Jesus and my very pure feelings. Other people intruded on my feeling of safety. Suddenly I was too self aware, too taken out of the moment, and too concerned with how these other people may feel about how I was conducting myself. And it was in that vulnerability that I learned something I now believe to be very, very true.

Jesus said to me –

“You know how purely your praise is of me, and your love is for me?”

“You know how purely I love you, and how unencumbered that love is?”

“One day that is how you all will love each other.”

And I could feel it. I could feel what it would be like to live in that kind of love – for just a moment. And it is my mission, to live in that love as much as I possibly can from now on.

So if ever you find yourself near me at church and it seems as if I'm somewhere else….I probably am.

This is very much a picture of my 'garden'
Actually more an enchanted forest where my heart lives…and where I dance.



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