Remembering that my son is much more than a test score

April.  A month full of beautiful blooming trees, refreshing showers of rain, and anxiety associated with State mandated testing.

Today is the day in April that we have been talking to my son about for months now.  As a third grader, he will take a standardized test that states and districts will use to compare his performance to others his age.  Based on the scores, he will be put in a category of either ‘above average,’ ‘average,’ or ‘falling behind.’  (these are my own labels)

I have seen the impact of standardized testing from all sides.  Each year of my childhood, I took standardized achievement tests in school.  For five years, I administered the standardized tests as a public school teacher.  And this year, for the very first time I am a parent of a child who is taking a standardized test that the state and district will use to put my son in a category.

Though I am not interested in getting into the heated debate about the importance of standardized testing, I would like to stand on a mountaintop and tell every lawmaker, every school administrator, every teacher, and every parent this . . .

“Every child that will take these tests is much more than a score in a set of data that you will look at in a few weeks.  They are creations of the God Most High who knew them before they were knit together in their mothers’ wombs.  Each one is a child of the King.  They are princes and princesses, and their Father wants them to know He has a purpose for their lives.”

Through tears and frustration, I had to tell myself this growing up.  My competitive spirit propelled me to never be satisfied with a score any less than perfect on a standardized test.   Whether it was a state achievement test in elementary school or the ACT in high school, I often found my self-worth in the percentile ranking I would look at on those test result summaries.

As a public school teacher, I was given a different perspective.  I taught in public school in Texas during the “No Child Left Behind” era.   There was always a conflict in my heart as I taught my middle school science classes.  I struggled to not find my value as a teacher and the value of my students in the test data I would receive after my students took standardized tests.

There was one part of me that wanted to work as hard as I could to give my students every tool possible to be ‘successful’ on the end of the year standardized science test.  Then there was the other part of me, that wanted to sit each child down, wrap my arms around them and tell them, “In the grand scheme of life, these tests that you will take in April really don’t mean anything.  You mean much more to God and to me than any science test score.”

And if I am honest I must confess this:  (and this is where I ask my former principal, Mr. Allie…the best principal in the world …..to close his ears)  I did hug many of my students and tell them those words.

I hugged the overachievers like me who often found their only worth in a percentile ranking.  I hugged the ‘falling behind’ students who had given up at ever being able to score a passing grade on a standardized test, no matter how many review guides they completed or test tutoring sessions they attended.

Yep. I gave hugs to these 8th grade girls and boys…turn me in if you want.  In those test tutoring classes I taught, I tried to find a point to look each child in the eye and tell them, “Just do your best.   The score on this test does not determine your value to God and does not determine where you will be in 10 years.  I will be praying for you.”

Yes.  I know my words and actions make me a criminal in the eyes of some, and I don’t care.  I am not sure that God would consider my law breaking words and actions sin.

Today, I wear a new hat in this world of standardized testing.  I am a mom.  I am a mom of a child who struggles in math.  It is not because my child is in public school.  He has had incredible public school teachers.  It is not because he doesn’t try hard.   And it is not because my child doesn’t  have parents who care about his success in education.

My son can read just about anything you can put in his hands, but put a math problem in front of him and you can literally see the fear and uncertainty radiate from his face.  No matter how many flashcards we’ve made.  No matter how many different methods teachers have used.  Caleb struggles in math.

What was easy for me as a teacher to tell children who were not my own, has not come as naturally for to me to tell my own child.

I, the certified school teacher, have found it a greater challenge to successfully teach my own child who struggles with math than to teach a classroom full of 8th graders who struggle in science.   It has been more difficult for me to ignore the ‘data’ and see through to the heart of my own child and trust that he will be ‘okay’ no matter what the test scores say.

This overachiever has found it extremely difficult to parent a child that loves school, not because he makes top grades, but because he loves learning and loves being around his friends despite the difficulty he faces when he does math.

Many math homework sessions in the past two years have ended with both of us in tears.  Words and actions that I would never have said or done in my classroom, I would find myself doing and saying to my own child in our home.

Too many times in the past couple of years I found myself next to Caleb’s bed at night asking for his forgiveness and letting him know that I am proud of him because of who he is and not because of his performance on his math test or homework.

And then I would pray Colossians 3:23 over him “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters”

April is here.  All around this great nation children will sit in classrooms taking standardized tests then parents and teachers will anxiously await the pending scores.

Somewhere in that massive amount of data that ranks states, districts, teachers, and students, is the score of a precious gift from God Joe and I named Caleb.

Some voices will tell us Caleb’s future is determined by the scores he makes on standardized tests.

Just as I chose to be honest with my science students, I choose to be honest with my own child.

“Caleb.  Tests are a part of life and a tool that can be used to see if we know the things we have been taught.  They are not the only tool.  Though we expect you to ‘work at it with all your heart,’ your worth to us is much more than a test score.  My son remember the words of Jeremiah 29:11

‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. ‘

Your life is in the hands of your Creator.   Put your trust in The God Most High not in a set of test score data.  Find your value in being the child of a King, and not in labels that this world will stick on you.”

As we all await the scores, may we all remember that this April will come and go just like it did last year.  May students, teachers, and parents find their value in the timeless words of our Father, instead of a set of data that changes each April.

Caleb on his first day of Kindergarten. This picture hides my swollen eyes and cannot capture my proud heart.

First day of third grade. Just as proud with my arms around two blessings that are much more than test scores.

My science classroom...full of children of the Father who were entrusted to me to teach that they were much more valuable than any test score could reveal.

Some of the many teachers that I have had the honor of knowing over my lifetime. Teachers who see their job as a mission in life...a mission to touch the hearts of each of their students.

Some pictures are monuments….

This week on Facebook my mom posted this picture.  

I know.  Those of you who know the three Higle kids can look at this picture and agree that the picture portrays us perfectly.  My sister, the trendy one, with the feathered hair, heels, and lady-like stance.  If I were to bet she is thinking about all the cute boys she is about to meet at our new church.

My brother, with the freshly trimmed hair that I am sure my mom had just cut the night before.  I mean doesn’t he just look like he is planning something adventurous in his mind, and I wonder if that morning there had been World War 3 to get him to tuck in his shirt and wear socks to church.

And then there is the precious one in the middle wearing the adorable hand sewn Easter dress made by the hands of my beloved grandmother, Ma-Ma.  Take a closer look.  Look beyond the cuteness of my foam roller curled hair accessorized with ribbons.  Is the discomfort as obvious to you as it is to me?  Look at that expression.  Look at that stance.  I am certain that in my mind I am thinking, I cannot wait to get off these uncomfortable tights and this dress and win the egg hunt this afternoon.

This picture is much more than an ordinary family Easter picture.  It is like a monument to me.

Thirty years ago this Easter, my parents followed the Lord’s direction to uproot their young family of five and move to a small, rural central Oklahoma town, Marietta.    This picture was taken on that monumental Sunday.  When I saw it this week for the first time in years, I think I likely had the same emotions that the children of Abraham would have had if they had seen pictures of themselves taken along their family’s journey from Ur to the land God promised them in Canaan.

At the time of this picture, my parents were in their thirties and had been married and ministering together for 13 years in small town churches.

Someday I want to put the story of their lives in writing.  I have asked my dad several times if he would let me write his biography.  The humble author who has self-published and sold over a million books to churches all over the world, always replies, “No one would want to read that book.”

Believe me; he has a story that would encourage any believer who feels that they are too ‘ordinary’ for God to use them to reach the world for His kingdom.

A few months back I really wanted to plan a special service to celebrate the 30 years of ministry of my parents in Marietta.  I just know in my heart that if I got the word out to all those who have ever lived in that tiny community of just over 2000 people who have been impacted by the ministry of Tommy and Virginia Higle that the town could not hold all who would want to be there to honor them.

And if we included all the people around the world who have been encouraged by the writing and work they do through the Journey Series   ….well the only venue within driving distance that could possibly come close to holding all the people would be the Dallas Cowboys Stadium.

However, if you know my dad….a special service like that would really not be his thing.

Instead, I know the greatest gift I can give my parents this very special 30^th anniversary Easter weekend, is my absence.

I know they would both love to see their beautiful grandchildren’s faces in the crowd this Sunday in Marietta as my mom sings in the choir and my dad preaches. I am sure it would thrill them to have my family of four sitting around the big table to enjoy the weekly home cooked Sunday lunch my mom always prepares.

But…we won’t be there.   Though I know that mom and dad will miss us, I know that they are proud of what Joe and I and the kids will be doing this Easter Sunday and that they are more than willing to sacrifice in order for us to follow God’s call on our lives.

Six weeks ago, my church asked me if I would consider being a part of the staff of their first satellite campus.  Though it was a huge honor, I spent many days praying, fasting, and seeking the wisdom of trusted mentors and friends.

The first phone call was to my Dad.  I honestly knew what he would say before we talked.  But with every one of my major life’s decisions, I call my Daddy to get the reassurance that I am making the right choice and hearing the voice of the Lord correctly.  “Holly, it is an incredible ministry opportunity.  I think you should do it.  You will be great at it.  I am so proud of you.”

After another week or so of searching the Bible for wisdom and praying with Joe, I concluded that indeed my Dad was once again directing me in my life to take a huge faith step for the sake of the Kingdom.

I am writing this through tears.  The tears are partly because my heart longs to be home this weekend. …home being Marietta’s First Baptist Church where they will be celebrating 30 years of my Dad being their pastor.  Some of the tears are because I am humbled that God chose me to have parents who though they made many mistakes and got discouraged along the way, chose to “press on for the prize” that is promised to those who remain faithful.

Because of their example, I have claimed Philippians 3:11-14 as my life’s passage.

¹⁰ I want to know Christ and experience the mighty power that raised him from the dead. I want to suffer with him, sharing in his death, ¹¹ so that one way or another I will experience the resurrection from the dead!¹² I don’t mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection. But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus first possessed me. ¹³ No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, ¹⁴ I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us.

And if I am honest, some of the tears are because I am exhausted and am battling the thought, “how will I ever get done all that I need to do before people walk through the doors of our new church this Easter Sunday morning.”

But then I look at the picture above.  I am sure the week before that first Sunday at Marietta, my dad did not sleep a wink as his first sermon notes raced through his head.  I am sure that my mom’s heart longed to be with her mom and the rest of her family in Caddo, Oklahoma where she grew up.

This Sunday, I pray that I will remember the camera as I race out the door to put the finishing touches on the pipe and drape classrooms we will set up today for all the children of the families that come to worship with us this Sunday at The Church at Midtown.

Thirty years from now, I pray that if my kids are not able to come home to worship with Joe and I on Easter Sunday that it will be because they have followed the precious voice of their Lord to do something huge for the sake of His kingdom that will bring salvation to the lost souls of the world.

I hope they will look at a picture from Easter Sunday 2012 and be reminded to press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us.

Giving Good Gifts

I love to journal during my morning quiet times.  I used to get excited when I was about to fill up a journal book thinking of getting to go to the store and pick out a new one.  Beside my Bible always set my favorite journaling pen.  However, after I was diagnosed with a rare muscle/nerve disorder about 15 years ago, I stopped my habit of journaling every day, because I could no longer hand-write journals and typing them just was not the same to me.

 This year I have made a commitment to myself to journal more as I read the Word of God….even though it must be done with a keyboard and screen instead of those journals and pens that I love. 

 This morning I journaled and felt that it might be something that other moms need today on Valentine’s Day.  I am always tempted to spend way too much money on my children for holidays.   There is always that struggle in my heart and mind of wanting to teach them to treasure things that are eternal and wanting to give them the earthly desires of their hearts.

 Here’s is what I wrote in my ‘virtual journal’ this morning in my quiet time.  Enjoy and feast on the goodness of the Lord this Valentine’s Day.

 Psalm 34:10 Even strong young lions sometimes go hungry, but those who trust in the LORD will lack no good thing.

Do I believe this promise? This verse is a promise that those who seek the Lord will not be in want of any good thing. God so many times in my life I have asked you for good to come and really not expected it with my whole heart.  Yesterday You taught me that I can be this promise in other people’s lives and that You define ‘good’ and not me.

I was standing in line at the Dollar Tree and behind me was a lady holding at least twenty pairs of earbuds.  I only had two little one dollar valentine treats to buy for my kids, so I picked up the two things and made room for her to empty her items out of her full arms and onto the conveyer belt.

I was in a hurry to get home and tempted not to ask the question I already knew the answer to, “Are you a school teacher?”  Having been a public school teacher for five years,  I can spot a school teacher in a store with great accuracy.

When I posed the question to her, she looked at me a little strange and proceeded to tell me that she was a librarian in one of Tulsa’s high schools.   She explained that many of her students tell her they do not have earbuds, so it is something that she buys to have on hand to give to a student when they need one.   I explained to her that I used to do the same thing when I was teacher.  We shared a mutual laugh about how much of their own money teachers spend on their students.

As we were talking I heard the Holy Spirit say, ‘pay for her things.’   My spirit was excited at first but quickly went to the long list of reasons I shouldn’t.   Our family’s budget is very tight and I wanted to use the 30 dollars left in the gift budget to buy them a new Wii game.  It was obvious to me that there were over 20 earbuds on that conveyer belt and that would use all the money that I wanted to spend on my kids.    I was busy talking to her when the cashier began ringing up the earbuds while I was still holding my two unpurchased items in my hands. The librarian stopped the cashier and said, “Oh those are mine not hers.”

Sometimes we pray for signs….if this were not a sign of God showing me His will for that moment I do not know what would have been.  In that second I had a choice.  I could agree with the librarian and save myself the 20 plus dollars by letting the cashier proceed to cancel the transaction, so I could pay for my two items.  Nothing bad about that.    I could be polite and let the librarian continue with her transaction and then wait to pay out my 2 dollars after the librarian paid for her earbuds.  Surely God would be just as pleased with my idea of a good deed.

Or I could agree with the Holy Spirit and pay for her entire purchase.

This is what some would call a crisis of belief. Do I truly believe the Holy Spirit breathes God’s will into my spirit?  Do I believe that God orders my each step…even to the point where I would be placed in front of this librarian at this moment, so that I could share His goodness with her by purchasing her items and so that I may have an opportunity to learn a little more deeply what it means to be Holy Spirit led?

Many times in life I blow these opportunities. I convince myself that a lesser good deed that I come up with is as good as the greater good work that God wants to use me to accomplish.  In turn, I pass up the good gift of God’s joy and peace that I receive when I follow His Word and His Spirit.

This verse promises that those who seek the Lord will not be in want for any good thing. Before I walked into that Dollar Tree I might have said that I was not in want because I had the money in hand to go buy my kids a new Wii game for Valentine’s day.  I adore being able to surprise my children with ‘good’ gifts and have been blessed to always be able to give them something ‘good’ that they were wanting at each holiday that comes around.

Instead this Valentine Day, my kids will have to sacrifice the good of a Wii game (which they didn’t know about anyways) and find goodness in a Dollar tree goody and new basketballs I had already purchased to give to them.

But the greatest gift my kids will have this Valentine’s Day is a mom whose heart looks a little more like Jesus because she listened to the voice of the Holy Spirit and she can help to focus their little minds on the good things that are eternal instead of the good things that become dust.

This Valentine’s day my kids will get new basketballs and a mom who is filled with peace and joy.  Perhaps they will get a Wii game at Easter.

The kid's Valentine treats waiting for them outside their bedroom doors this morning.

Somehow I have missed out on the 'make a Valentine box' note each year for school. My sweet kids never mentioned it to me until this year. Evidently my kids have been the only ones going to school each year without a handcrafted box. This is Brooklynn's creation. Girl knows what she wants and gets it done.

This is what happens when you put Daddy in charge of a third grade boy's Valentine box. No hearts. Just Duck Tape and duck jokes.

Happy Valentine's Day 2012~

So Much More Than a Game

I really can’t pinpoint when my love for the game of basketball began. Maybe the love began during one of those Saturday afternoons spent at the school playground with my parents and siblings playing endless games of H-O-R-S-E and knockout. Being the youngest, the family usually agreed to give me a second chance after each shot I missed. I didn’t want that second chance. I wanted to make it on the first try like everyone else was required to do.

I can remember coming home from school and practicing everyday simply so my family wouldn’t think I needed extra chances to make shots. Eventually the family realized they had better stop giving me second tries, or I would end up winning every game.

Perhaps the love began in the driveway of the parsonage where we lived. I remember watching my dad put up our first basketball goal and thinking that my life would never be the same. In that driveway, my brother, Jeremy, took it upon himself to be my first personal coach. There were consequences for me for each missed shot and reprimands when I took too long to learn a new move. I often had bruises on my arms because he refused to take it easy on me even though I was a girl.

On that driveway, Jeremy convinced me that I needed to shoot at least 100 free throws a day so that I could be a superior free throw shooter like Larry Bird. Hours and hours were spent on that driveway with Jeremy teaching me my high school signature ‘James Worthy’ drop step move.

When I went off to college, one of my parent’s neighbors told them that she sure missed listening to the bouncing ball each night. I’m sure there were other neighbors who were very excited to experience quiet evenings on Circle Drive for the first time since the Higle’s moved in twelve years prior.

Maybe my love for basketball began when high school basketball coaches started taking interest in me when I was in elementary school. I would go watch my sister’s high school practices after school and sneak over to one of the side goals to shoot. Eventually I was even invited to help out in practices and it was a dream come true.

I know those coaches were praying that that fifth grader would get the height of her 6’4″ dad, and grow into her size 11 shoes. That little girl was praying the exact same prayer…..for some reason God thought she only needed to reach 5’7½” (which translates to 5’9” on basketball rosters).

No matter where the love began, I was surrounded with people who believed in my abilities and passion and encouraged me to continue to work to be the best player I could be.

Some see sports as something that causes families to be entirely too busy. Indeed that can be true. Some see sports as harmful to the bodies of young people. Heaven knows my knees and shoulders remind me every day of how I overworked them in my childhood.

I don’t know how my parents did it at times. Getting us to practices. Making it to every game. Nursing the countless injuries. I am just beginning my journey of being the parent of athletes and I am already exhausted after only a year.

However, recently I was reminded that the sacrifice is worth all the cost. For a couple of months former high school teammates had been asking me to play in an alumni basketball game. I had some really good excuses for saying no. I have a knee that needs a surgeon’s attention. I hadn’t played a game of basketball since I stepped off the court after my final college game. My son had his own games I didn’t want to miss. I came up with a lot of really good excuses.

However, the night before the alumni game I caved to the pressure and decided to miss my son’s game and make the four-hour trip to my hometown to watch my high school friends play.

The next day, pulling into the parking lot of my high school gym caused childhood memories to flood my mind. In high school I had a ritual that I never told anyone until now. I would pull into the parking lot of the gym and close my eyes visualizing the game ahead as I listened to Michael English sing the song “In Christ Alone.”

As I walked into that gym and heard the crowds cheering, I was overtaken with the lure of the game. I sat and watched my brother Jeremy play and was in awe of how twenty years later he still looked like a gazelle running and leaping across the court. My old teammates must have known that if they could just get me into that gym, that I would not be able to pass up the opportunity to run up and down that court one more time.

Needless to say that afternoon I found myself once again setting screens, diving for loose balls, posting up down low, and taking a few wild shots here and there. Though I think I only made one basket and our team did not win, I do not believe I have ever enjoyed a basketball game quite as much as I did that day.

Driving home the next day, I found myself smiling from ear to ear recounting childhood memories of playing basketball. It was as if for a day I got to step back in time and visit my childhood.

You see, my childhood revolved around pretty much two things: Jesus and basketball.

While other girls filled their minds with thoughts of boys, my mind was consumed with a game. Though it may seem absurd, I felt that boys were simply a huge distraction to my goal of being the best basketball player I could be.

As I drove, I began realizing that basketball was much more than a game to me. God used the game of basketball to teach me to focus my mind on my gifts and talents and using them to bring glory to Him.

Because of my passion for a simple game, I didn’t have the desire to attend parties with friends. It was because of basketball that I didn’t feel lonely when other girls were wearing their boyfriend’s jackets or dreaming about their Friday night date.

When it was time to choose a college, I decided to ‘give up basketball.’   A season ending knee injury during my junior year caused me to realize that God had bigger plans for my life than just being known a  star-athlete in a small town.  I found myself accepting an academic scholarship to a small private Baptist college five hours from my home where I knew not even one person on campus.

Through a strange course of events, I somehow found myself agreeing to walk on their girl’s basketball team.  I thought God had been calling me to give up basketball, but instead He used it once again to direct me to the ministry He had for me on that campus.  The next four years were spent with teammates who became some of my dearest friends.  I had the privilege of leading them in a Bible study each week in our dorms.   Again God used a game to focus my life on using my talents to bring glory to Him.

As I drove home from that alumni basketball game, tears literally began streaming down my face. I began thinking about how God used a silly ball and a net to preserve my life so that He could lead me to the blessed life that I get to now live.

Perhaps I do have to limp around from time to time because of my basketball knees, but I owe a lot to a 28.5 inch in diameter orange ball. It will always be much more than a game to me.

I took this picture not long after our first basketball goal went up on Circle Drive.

My very first basketball game. Look at those feet. Luckily I have learned that when you wear size 11 shoes, you should never wear white shoes.

That gym where I spent half of my childhood.

A picture snapped after the alumni game. I cannot tell you how much I love the ladies in this picture. There is no greater sisterhood than is built playing small town sports.

Even at 30 something this is so much more than a game.....

My son at one of his games during his first season of basketball. He had just made a shot and I see a familiar passion building in his heart. Oh, and you might want to take a close look at his teammate Damond who is just behind Caleb in this picture. I honestly think Damond is the best third grade basketball player I have ever seen. I am taking lots of pictures of Damond playing thinking they may one day be valuable!

Confessions of a Preacher’s Kid Part 5

Thank you for being patient with my story.  I am humbled by all the text messages, Facebook comments, emails, and conversations at church that I have been bombarded with over the past few days.   Joe came home from church begging me to finish the story because several women came up to him to talk about it at church.   Bless his heart.  He is my biggest cheerleader and has begged me for years to write a book.  Some day.  Some day.  For now, I am simply humbled to know that the Holy Spirit has used my writing to encourage others.

Here’s is the ‘rest of the story’ that I wrote back in February of this year.

The next Sunday we did hear the pastor preach.  Though the message was good, we were not as impressed as the majority of people seem to be with our pastor the first time they visit our church.  (Remember Joe and I can be a tough crowd to impress.)

If you ask most people in our church, they will tell you that from the very first Sunday they came to The Church at BattleCreek and heard Pastor Alex preach that they knew they wanted BattleCreek to be their home church.

When someone asks us  why we joined The Church at BattleCreek,  we actually find it fun to jokingly say, “well actually we joined BattleCreek despite Alex’s preaching.  He’s really good but far from the best we have heard.”  When we say that, we sometimes get the response like we have just said Elvis isn’t the king of Rock and Roll.   We go on to tell them the story of him not preaching on our first day and tell them, “What impressed us the most about him was what he DIDN’T say on that first day we came.”

As I write this story it is February of 2011 and it has been almost three years since that day we first visited the church.  Over those three years our hearts have experienced tremendous healing from the scars left by the words and actions of  that pastor years before.  We found places where we could serve in our church and have allowed God to use our gifts to minister.

We have missed very few Sunday morning sermons in the past three years.  Though God has spoken to us many times through the words of Pastor Alex, never has He spoken as clearly as He has this past  Sunday.   For the past few Sundays I have listened to our pastor teach through the book of James and watched and felt the power of the Holy Spirit moving through our church in a way I have never felt before.

On paper I have been considered a part of the Church at BattleCreek’s staff for over a year now.  Joe and I voluntarily took on a position in the children’s ministry and in a few months we were asked to come on staff to run it.  I seriously took out a piece of paper and listed all the reasons I did not want to have a staff position at a church.  God was not convinced by the case I presented.

Though the position is not something that we would consider our ‘sweet spot’ of service, we are confident that God has used the position to reaffirm in our hearts God’s anointing on both of our lives.

Two week ago in the worship service, God told me “you need to go to the church all staff meeting tomorrow.”  I have been able to avoid those my entire time of being ‘on church staff.’    In my heart I know part of it was because I didn’t want to open up an opportunity for me to get closer than an arm’s distance from the leaders of the church.

The next afternoon I found myself sitting in the corner of the room of about thirty staff members.  As I sat in that meeting and listened to the conversations, I felt healing come over my heart.  The wounds that had layers of thick scars were immediately ripped open and healed to be like new.

For several years I had battled the temptation to believe that somewhere in the course of history, churches in America had gotten off course and I had begun doubting that God would ever use churches to bring substantial change to the world.

In that meeting I was reassured that God wants to use His church to reach the lost world.  Something I never expected to happen in a church staff meeting.

The next Monday I went to the staff meeting believing that this time it would likely just be another ordinary meeting.  However once again I had an unexpected encounter with the Holy Spirit in the meeting.  God spoke to my heart and said, “It is time.”  I realized God was saying “it is time to step down from your position at this church.  You are healed.”  I went home to discuss it with Joe and he was in total agreement.

The next day I let my supervisors know that God was calling Joe and me to step down from our positions at the church and take a leap of faith.   Though we had been honored to fill a need of our church and lead in the childcare ministry, we knew that God was calling us to give up the positions so that we could use our time, talents, and gifts to serve Him in another capacity and pursue the dream that God placed on our hearts for at-risk children and families.

Though our dream does not have a clear definition, we know that God has always been faithful to guide our steps after we take leaps of faith.

This preacher’s kid, seminary graduate, and former pastor’s wife must confess that I had almost lost hope that God would use churches to reach the lost world.   The evil one had almost convinced me to believe that God would never allow me to use my gifts and callings on a church staff.

God used a church to convince me otherwise.

That concluded what I wrote back in February of this year.  It is the long answer to the question, “Holly why are you stepping down from your position at church?”  In March, after a month of prayer and several discussions with other staff members, I actually agreed to continue to lead in the ministry for a little longer. 

 Several weeks ago, Joe and I decided that the end of December was God’s timing for me to step down for good from our church’s childcare ministry. 

 I cannot clearly define for you what our leap of faith is.  Oh, how I wish I could.  It is a little clearer than it was back in February when God called us to take it.  What I do know is that God knows what the future holds for our family.  I would ask for you to pray for us over the next few months as we seek Him and His plan.

 Lord willing, this spring Joe will officially have completed all the requirements for his counseling license.  We have not heard from God as to whether He wants us to plant ourselves in Tulsa or pursue our dream of ministering to at-risk children and families elsewhere. 

Until then….maybe I just might get started writing that book.

This is why I love my church so much. I spent countless hours making preparations for our childcare ministry to watch the children of 1000 volunteers for two days during our annual Toys for Tots weekend. I also got to slip away from the childcare to help with the decision counseling. My favorite moment of the weekend came in the last 30 minutes of the event at 7 pm on Sunday night when I met this family. A mom who thought she was just coming to get a toy she could give to her 11 year old daughter for Christmas. Not only did she take home toys, she got to watch her 11 year old and 19 year old daughters receive the eternal gift of Jesus. What a joy to get to walk with them on the journey and see them all be baptized together!

Confessions of a Preacher’s Kid Part 4

Did anyone really believe I would finish it up today? I really did. But then, I sat down again at the computer to read the ‘rest of the story’ that I wrote back in February and decided that I needed to rewrite some of it to make it flow better.

It is Friday, December 9^th and I still have not decorated my house for Christmas. I will not be home all weekend because I will be busy helping at my church as we give out 6000 toys to Hispanic children, foster children, and other children in need.

Joe and I will be child counselors this weekend, and so I want to ask you to pray that many of these children’s hearts will be open to the Gospel and that God can use us to lead them into a forever relationship with Jesus.

So, those are my excuses for only taking the time to edit about half of ‘the rest of the story.’ I need to decorate and I need to spend time alone with the Lord preparing my heart for this weekend. If I don’t find the time today or the rest of the weekend to edit the rest, please forgive me, and I will do my best to get it wrapped up and posted on here by early next week.

So here is a little more of the story…..

We got everything moved into our new rental home that evening. Surrounded by a maze of boxes, tears once again welled up in my eyes. We had a new place to live, but I was all too familiar with what the scene meant: months of work of unpacking boxes and endless lonely nights in a city where no one even knew we existed. I got overwhelmed in that moment and even though it was only seven o’clock, my wise mother told me to ‘go take a shower and crawl in bed. ‘

We had moved enough to know the first thing you do when you move into a home is set up the beds and put up the shower curtain. So I took a shower and crawled into bed. Instead of sleeping, for two hours I buried my head in my pillow and soaked it with tears.

The next morning was Sunday morning. I woke up to a completely unpacked kitchen and an invitation from my mother to take me to ‘find a Wal-Mart’ so she could take me shopping for essentials. That morning we spent two hours in Wal-Mart. It was the perfect distraction from the fact that it was Sunday morning, and we did not have a church family to go worship with that morning. Well, almost perfect. If I had known at that time Tulsa had a Target…that would have made it perfect!

Over the next few weeks, I spent my days unpacking the boxes one by one. Joe came home every day pleasantly surprised that he loved the boys at the facility and felt that indeed God would use him to minister to them through his counseling.

We started attending a church near our house, and after a month of attending signed up for the membership class with every intention of joining the church. We kept thanking God that we didn’t have to ‘church shop,’ and that the very first church we visited was beginning to feel like home. To top it off, one sweet girl had called me several times to check on me and invited me to a party she was having at her house. It looked like I even had a potential friend.

We went to the membership class after church one Sunday. After the class, we got in the car and looked at each other. It was obvious that each of us wanted to say something but we really didn’t have to say anything. For no specific reason, we both knew that the Holy Spirit had separately told us that we were not supposed to join that church. The thought of starting all over visiting a church was sickening but we knew that was what we were supposed to do.

A friend from my hometown had been to church in Tulsa once with some friends of hers, and she had written down the name of the church on a little piece of paper that I had shoved into my wallet before we moved. My friend had recommended we at least go visit that church once because it was ‘cool.’ Joe and I have never been ‘into’ cool, but now that we weren’t going to be committed to a church, we decided we would go visit the ‘cool’ church before we started looking for a church home again.

The very next Sunday morning, we drove 20 minutes to the ‘cool’ church and slipped into the back row. The music was good. The people were nice. However, we had been in churches with fabulous musicians. Both of us grew up in churches with the nicest people in the world. We weren’t particularly impressed.

Then it happened. The pastor took the ‘stage.’ We knew he was a former student pastor and now ‘topical series’ style teacher, so we did not have high expectations for his preaching abilities. Joe and I both spent our childhoods learning under pastors who are known all over the state of Oklahoma and even the world for their preaching/teaching abilities. Both of us have Masters in Theology and have studied Biblical languages. We are always a tough audience for preachers.

Much to our surprise, when the pastor began to speak, it was if God reached out His healing hand from heaven that morning and wrapped it around the hearts of the Buxton’s. So what was the sermon?

There was no sermon. The pastor walked up to the stage and announced that there would be no sermon that morning. He told the congregation that there was a sermon on paper that he had prepared to preach. However, the pastor went on to explain that he felt that he could not preach it that morning because he was too broken and felt like he was under attack. Immediately the church responded.

Instead of the church members hearing a sermon that morning, they surrounded their pastor and prayed for him. I had been in hundreds if not thousands of church services in my life, but never has a service spoke to me and healed my spirit like that service.

We left that day knowing that God had led us to our new church home. I remember thinking to myself, “God how will we ever fit in at this church? Joe and I are the farthest thing from ‘cool.’ Some of my favorite songs are old church hymns. We don’t even use our cell phone, and we drive a Grand Marquis.”

Over the next few months we attended membership classes, joined Bible studies, and volunteered for different service opportunities. In those months, it was confirmed in our hearts over and over that God had led us to this church. We began to see that the vision of the church lined up with the vision that God gave Joe and I for our family.

To be continued and hopefully completed soon! Now it is off to take boxes out of the attic. Shhh don’t tell Joe I am doing this, he wants me to wait on him to get home. He doesn’t trust me walking up and down stairs with heavy boxes. I have no idea why. . . .he will be so excited that it is all done when he gets home…Right? Just pray my size 11 and a half feet cooperate with the ladder steps!

Confessions of a Preacher’s Kid Part 3

Okay, I know I said that I would finish the story today…I lied.  I sat down this morning to copy and paste the remainder of what I wrote back in February onto my blog.  But I remembered an incredible part of the story that I didn’t include back in February.  So the portion of the story below is something I wrote today, December 8, 2011.  Sorry if I got your hopes up that you would have the full story today and you could stop coming to my blog.

Please forgive me.  God wanted ME to remember this part of the story because I really needed to be reminded today that He hears my prayers.  Writing the story below caused me to revisit the day that I drove into Tulsa for the very first time in 2008.  

So instead of wrapping up the story today, I felt like I should encourage you to read the words of a Brandon Heath song.  I have included a YouTube link if you would rather listen to it.  This morning listening to this song took me back to a moment when God reached His hand down from Heaven and used my hand to turn a radio dial so I could hear His voice.

 So I plan to wrap this story up tomorrow.  But….I can’t promise you. 

With our Uhaul packed, we once again left seminary with the excitement that comes from starting a new adventure.  However, anyone who has every moved knows that in the back of your mind is this fear that lingers.  Fear of the unknown.

I drove the entire trip alone to Tulsa, leading the caravan of the vehicles carrying all of our life’s possessions.  The entire trip I cried.  Though the previous months had been tough financially and spiritually, on that drive I cried buckets of tears from the sadness that comes from leaving dear friends and a city I considered home behind.

Our entire marriage we had been either seminary students or on church staff.  The vast majority of our friends and family had been supportive of our decision for Joe to accept a position in the ‘secular counseling world.’   There were a couple of naysayers who made us feel like we were ‘leaving the ministry,’ joining the ranks of thousands of others who couldn’t not take the heat of serving on a church staff.

On that trip, I cried out to God begging Him to calm my fears when the voices of the naysayers would fill my head.  I remember asking Him to overwhelm us with the joy that comes from living each day in faith and to give us signs and miracles along that way in the next few months that let us know we have heard His voice correctly and have indeed moved our family to where He is working and wanted to use our gifts to minister for Him.

When I prayed that prayer, we were just minutes outside of Tulsa.  I began scanning the radio to see if Tulsa had any Christian radio stations.  I stopped scanning when I heard the familiar voice of Brandon Heath singing “Na Na Na Na Na.”

I started singing along with the radio as I was gazing at the hills that greet you as you enter Tulsa from the west.    I looked out over those hills and thought about the fact that this was going to be our new home and that I knew not even one soul who lived in this city.

It took me to the chorus of the song to realize that God had just sent me my first sign.  The song I was singing was “Don’t Get Comfortable.”  I had heard it a hundred times before but never felt what I felt that day.  I knew that God had reached His hand down from Heaven and used my hand to turn a radio dial so I could hear His voice.

Comfortable, don’t get comfortable
I’m gonna move this mountain
Then I’m gonna move you in

Yesterday, this is not yesterday
You were standing on my shoulders
Now you’re standing on the edge
You were lookin’ for a sign all this time

I am gonna show you what I mean
I am gonna love like you’ve never seen
You are gonna live like you used to dream
This is your new song

So afraid that you don’t have to be afraid
Even if you make mistakes
You know that I’ll remain

You were lookin’ for a sign all this time
If you seek you find me every time

So I am gonna show you what I mean
I am gonna love like you’ve never seen
You are gonna live like you used to dream
This is your new song

Can you feel the call of love?
Is it moving you?
To be a child of God? Of love?
Is it reaching you?
It’s everywhere, the call of love

I just wanna show you what I mean
I just wanna love like you’ve never seen
Do you wanna live like you used to dream?
Then I got a song for you

‘Cause I am gonna show you what I mean
I am gonna love like you’ve never seen
You are gonna live like you used to dream
This is your new song, you got a new song

I will stop there for today.  Go listen to this song on YouTube and I will post more of the story tomorrow.   I hope to wrap it up…but I have been known to lie.

Confessions of a Preacher’s Kid Part 2

This is part 2 of what I wrote back in February of this year.

But, that was not how the story went.  After only a year of serving with our whole hearts at that church, Joe and I were both personally wounded by the words and actions of one of the pastors.    It was as if God had led us into ministry just to see us be wounded and be made to feel like failures at our first church to serve full-time as a part of a church staff.

Though we knew the vast majority of the people of that church and on that staff loved us, the words and actions of that pastor left us feeling all alone and like God would never be able to use either of our gifts on a church staff.   We immediately began crying out to God, and asking Him if we had misunderstood what we felt was His call on our lives to serve Him in ministry full-time.

For the first time in our pain, Joe and I had honest conversations of ‘is it worth this?’  ‘Are the rewards here on earth and in heaven, worth all the pain it seems to have brought us throughout our marriage?  Do we really believe that God sees us in our pain and that He will rescue us?’

Those conversations ended always ended with a confident, “Yes, we believe.  Help us when we lose sight of our belief.”

When I share my testimony I truly like to focus more on the triumph than the pain.    The great thing about God being the Author of your life’s story is that eventually you come to realize that your life story is really God using you to help Him build His Kingdom.

All the pain and heartache we have experienced was a chance for God to reveal His glory through our lives:

The estrangement from Joe’s family has turned into a beautiful story of forgiveness and reconciliation.

Though we still feel the pain of losing three babies to miscarriage, we now get to experience the joy of having two children in our home and have had countless opportunities to reach out to others who have lost babies.

Our bank account still does not overflow with abundance.  I find myself heading to the piggy bank from time to time to be able to splurge on a fancy cup of coffee.  However, we can say very confidently that God has been faithful to meet our every need.  I believe that our commitment to continue to tithe at our church and give to those in need even when we felt our income would not allow us to, opened up God’s mathematical blessing.   Not enough income + tithe + giving =More than enough to meet our needs.

Once again this past week, I experienced the power of God taking my pain and heartache and using it for his glory.

The wounds that were inflicted by that pastor several years ago were very deep.  Pain so deep that Joe and I determined that we would never again let ourselves get too close to leaders in a church.  We would stay at an arm’s distance lest we find out they were more into making a name for themselves than bowing at the name of Jesus .  We have never been ones that needed to be in the spotlight or have a title to serve, so we would volunteer and keep our distance.

Through serving as a children’s pastor at churches for six years, Joe discovered his passion for helping families and children one on one.  Even though we were now both in our thirties, we followed God’s leading to head back to seminary for Joe to get another degree–this time in counseling.  No more church staff dreams for us.  This degree would allow us to do what we felt we now wanted to do:  work in the secular world and volunteer at a church distanced from the church staff.

God worked true miracles to move us back to seminary, which was 12 hours away from where we were living.

At this point, I had been a stay at home mom for three years.  We decided that the quickest way for Joe to get his degree was for me to go back to teaching full-time.   I made one phone call to a former principal, and in less than 24 hours I was offered a teaching job before I had even filled out the application.

We had owned a house for a year, and it sold the first day it was on the market.  We had been warned to expect to lose money.  Instead we found ourselves getting a check in the mail after it sold.

The seminary had one family townhouse left for our little family of four to move into that August.  Not only was it the perfect place for our family, it was right next door to two families who became dear, lifelong friends.

Once we moved, we planted ourselves in a church and continue to be faithful in our attendance, tithing, and service.  However, this was the first time in our marriage that we were ‘regular’ members volunteering our service as teachers of our daughter’s Sunday School class.  It was just what we needed at that time.  We were soaking in Biblical teaching of an incredible preacher, and praying that God would heal our wounded hearts and not allow us to become bitter towards serving in a church.

In two and a half years, Joe was able to complete his Master’s in Marriage and Family Counseling.

The excitement of graduation was tainted by the reality that I had quit my job in faith trusting that the Lord would provide a full-time job for Joe.  Instead, with three seminary master’s degrees between us tucked away in a drawer somewhere, Joe was supporting our family by working in a mechanic shop and driving a trash truck.

After 7 months of searching for a full-time counseling job that would support our family, God opened up a less than dream job at a maximum security boys correctional facility outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma.  Once again we loaded the Uhaul and were excited to once again uproot and plant ourselves in a city where we knew not even one person.

As we prayed about the move, we prayed for God to lead us to the church where He was working and where He wanted to use our gifts to minister.

I will stop there for today and post the remainder of the story tomorrow.  I warned you it was the long answer to why I am stepping down from my job.  Part three is the most exciting part. . .

Confessions of a Preacher’s Kids Part 1

What I will post below (after the italicized part) is something I wrote back in February of this year when I was stepping down from a staff position at my church.  I only shared it via email with family, a few close friends and a few people at my church that were an instrumental part of the story. 

Writing is a huge part of my relationship with the Lord.  Before I post something on my blog, “for the world to see,” I pray about whether it is something that He wants me to share. 

In February, God did not want me to share this writing.  For one thing, it was way too long for a blog post (my posts are already way too long…I know…but I am not out to attract a huge readership.  My blog is just a place to share my heart with friends)

I only post things on here when I feel the Holy Spirit tell me, ‘Holly, post what you wrote today, because I am going to use it to speak to someone who will read it.’  For whatever reason, the Holy Spirit did not prompt me to post this back in February.

At the end of this month, I will officially be stepping down from a staff position at my church.    I have the privilege of supervising a staff of over 50 childcare workers.  On any given week through my job, I minister to well over 200 families through the childcare ministry I supervise.

In the past week I have had more people than I can count ask me ‘Why are you stepping down?’  My answer has been ‘because it is God’s timing.’  But I really wanted to share with each of them the BIGGER story that answers this question.

 I wanted to make it clear that though I am stepping down, I have loved leading the staff I supervise.  The absolute hardest part of my decision was that I will miss serving with my team each week.  My prayer is that they will continue to work with the same perseverance and excellence that they have in the time that I have been honored to lead them.

I wanted to make it clear to the families I have ministered to, that I have counted it an honor for God to use me to love on their children while they are in Community Groups and serving in other areas of the church.

Finally, I wanted to make it clear that I LOVE my church.  At my church, The Church at BattleCreek, I have finally been able to live out a calling that God placed on my heart when I was a child.  I am very humbled that they would allow me the honor of being a part of their church staff.   God has used people at The Church at BattleCreek to heal my wounded heart, and this leads me to share with you the ‘longer answer’ to the question of ‘Why are you stepping down?’

So now is the time to share the ‘why’ in more detail.

You can thank me in advance.  I will break it into parts or this blog would set records for word length.

The following was written in February of this year….

Hello.  My name is Holly.  And….. I am a PK.  That is easy for me to say these days.  However, there was a time in my life when that was something I was hesitant to admit about myself.   In my childhood to be tagged a ‘PK’ was often an insult.  We all knew the ‘stereotypical’ preacher’s kid. . .the kid who always acted like a wild child in church classes and at school, yet all the adults in the child’s life were too intimidated to let their parents (the preacher and his wife) know about it.  Therefore, the cycle of wildness continued and often ended in moral or spiritual disaster in the teenage or college years.

That is not my story.  I am proud to say that is not the story of either of my siblings either.  Instead our stories are quite the opposite.  Though our parents were by no means perfect, they provided a home filled with love AND boundaries.  Everything that was done and said in our home growing up was expected to line up with the Word of God.  Our home was not guided by the rules, it was guided by love.  . . the love of Jesus which provided rules with grace.

Though I did not grow up in a ‘perfect’ home, when people ask me about my childhood I often respond, “I grew up in a glass house, that was padded inside with lots of love.”  On top of that, I grew up in the absolute most loving and supportive church family who partnered with my parents to use the Word of God to mold me and my siblings into children and eventually adults who follow after Christ with every ounce of our beings.

In fact, if I were to list the heartaches I experienced as a child, I would be embarrassed because they pale in comparison to the tragedies many children face in their childhoods.  In high school and college I can remember going to conferences and hearing ‘amazing’ sinner to saint testimonies and wishing in the back of my mind that my testimony was more exciting.

What I did not know at the time was that my parents and church family were giving me the solid foundation of the truth of the Bible that would be essential for me to make it through my twenties without turning my back on the God of my childhood.

It was as if, like in the story of Job, Satan went to the throne room of God and said, “Let me have her for a decade.  I think we will find that she is not the God lover that everyone has thought she was her entire life.  Of course she loves You.  You have been protecting her from heartache and trials her entire life”

The scene of my life changed.  No longer was the backdrop a padded glass house.  Those on stage with me were not my loving parents and church family.  It was if those who were so instrumental in writing the story line of my childhood were asked to step off stage and watch my life from a distance.

Enter pain and struggle stage left.  Enter heartache and disappoint stage right.  The storyline took a dramatic turn.  No longer would my life story be one of a small town PK who was protected from the arrows of pain and heartache of the Evil One.

Instead, the next decade of my was filled with life circumstances that brought me to my knees  and for the first times in my life I found myself crying out to God, “Where are you?”  “Why don’t you take this pain away?”  “I have faithfully served you my entire life.  How could this be my reward?”

In those years, my story included being diagnosed at age 20 with an incurable debilitating condition that forced me to change my career plans and even drove me, a straight A student, to the depths of depression to where I almost gave up on college all together.  You can read about that time in my life here.

Then at age 21 I found myself engaged to a man who I thought was my prince charming, the husband I had prayed for my entire life.  However, this too resulted in pain and heartache when just two months before I was supposed to walk down the aisle, it was revealed to me that indeed he was not the man of God he had convinced me he was.  It had all been deception. He had been living a double life and had fooled all my family and friends.   Most wouldn’t even believe the details of the story if I told them.  You can read about that time in my life here.

These two trials caused me to reexamine my life and God led me to follow a call on my life to go to seminary.  At age 24 I found myself once again engaged.  This time to my amazing husband, Joe, who I met the very first day I set foot on the seminary campus.  I wrote about that day here.

In the back of my mind I thought that surely now that my life was on the course of full-time ministry, I would return to the protected life I once knew.

Instead, in the first six years of our marriage, a marriage we offered up to God for his service, it seemed that we were plagued with more pain and more heartache.

A week after our wedding we had family members who severed ties with us for getting married.

We lost our first three babies to miscarriage.

We often found ourselves literally emptying the piggy bank just so we could pay a bill and stay on the path of ministry to which God had called us.

Then it finally happened.  Joe had landed his first full-time job as a children’s pastor.  Surely now that we had been faithful to prepare ourselves educationally and held fast to our faith through the heartache and pain, God would bless us with protection.

To be continued …..

One of my favorite parts of my job…encouraging my staff and the children to ‘give to others.’ This is our childcare ministry ‘Share the Warmth’ tree. Our staff and children in the ministry brought hats and gloves to give to Safe Harbor, our church’s food/clothing pantry.

My team. I love them all. I have made lifelong friends with many incredible people through my job. Ms. Tami will forever be 'my crazy friend who makes me smile even when life is stressful."

Everyday is a good day. Some days are just better than others.

I know at least 25 people in the past few days asked me this question.  “How was your Thanksgiving, Holly?”

That question is comparable to someone asking the question in passing, “How are you today?”

These are the ‘generic’ questions we ask when we are trying to be polite when we cross the path of an acquaintance.  At some point in our lives we learn to give the answer to those questions that the asker really wants “Good.  And you?”

We all try to avoid ‘THAT’ person who will honestly answer those questions.  You know those people.  The coworker or friend at church you dodge in the hallway because you know that if you smiled and asked those questions, THEY would be honest and you would be stuck listening to all the ‘not so good’ moments of their day.

Negative Nancy.  Debbie Downer.  We all know them.

I think that people who know me best would say that I lean more towards being a Positive Polly.  So, usually when I answer “Good.” to the question, “How was your Thanksgiving?” or “How are you today?” my answer is honest.   Typically even on those ‘bad’ days, I can find something good about the day.

Two of my favorite people I have been blessed to cross paths with in my life was a dear retired couple in Cape Girardeau, Missouri named Mr. Eugene and Mrs. Joyce.   I will never forget the first time we met them.  Joe and I were fresh out of seminary, and had moved twelve hours from family to serve on staff at a church.  Mrs. Joyce and her husband Mr. Eugene walked up to us to introduce themselves and joy literally oozed out of their faces and words into us.

A couple of months later, we ran into this sweet couple at the local fair.   (I mean if you want to get to know the culture of a community, where better than the fair?)  Mr. Eugene in his Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes was walking around holding the hand of one of his grandchildren.  Mrs. Joyce had her hands full of fair treats.    It was evident that they were having as much fun as the kids at the fair.

We stopped and talked to them for a little while.  Joe asked, “How are you guys?”  (Like it wasn’t apparent that they were having the time of their lives at the fair)

Mrs. Joyce’s answer is one I will never forget.  “Joe, every day is a good day.  Some are just better than others.  Today is a really, really good day.”

We went on our way that night and enjoyed pushing our then six month old son around in a stroller taking in all the crazy things that one sees when they go to a fair.

I don’t remember if I ate a corn dog or cotton candy that evening.  I honestly don’t remember much of anything about that trip to the fair.   If I remember correctly, I forgot to take my camera that night.  So I am stuck with the memories that were imprinted on my mind and in my heart.

What I will never forget about that day in September are the images of Mr. Eugene and Mrs. Joyce making memories with their grandchildren and the impactful words that were spoken to us.  That evening on the drive home I remember Joe and I telling ourselves that we want to live our lives with that kind of joy and be the kind of grandparent that count it ‘a really, really good day’ when we get to take our grandchildren to the fair.

We only lived in that community for two years.  For a few years after we moved, Mr. Eugene and Mrs. Joyce sent us a handwritten Christmas letter from Arizona….where they spent the winter months.  I loved reading about the fun things they did during the winter.  It seems the letters always came on a cold winter day when I was stuck inside our tiny seminary townhouse counting down the days until I could take my two little ones outside to play.    Mrs. Joyce’s letter was always a reminder of the joy that I wanted to spill out of my life into others.

One Christmas the letter did not arrive.  When time and distance separate people, the correspondence seems to naturally stop at some point.  I assumed that this was the case.

Early the next year I got the email.  Mrs. Joyce emailed me to apologize for not sending a letter over Christmas, but while in Arizona for the winter months Mr. Eugene had suddenly passed away and she didn’t get a chance to write us.

My prayer for Mrs. Joyce over the coming months was that she would not lose her joy for living and that in the midst of utter pain and sadness, she would still be able to see a glimmer of good in each day that God gave her here on earth.

Romans 8:28 (NIV)   And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

“How was your Thanksgiving, Holly?”

“We had to cancel our plans to go to Joe’s parents because Brooklynn was sick.”

“We didn’t eat turkey because I was holding out until Thursday morning that we would still get to leave, so I didn’t buy one to cook.”

“I cried a few tears of loneliness knowing all my siblings and their children were sitting around tables eating my mom’s turkey and dressing.”

“My heart ached deeply at times because it was the first holiday without Joe’s grandmother.”

“This time of year always seems to bring up some painful memories of the first couple of Thanksgivings Joe and I spent together as a married couple when we were estranged from his family.”

“Instead of using my money to buy gifts on Black Friday, the money had to be spent on a Doctor’s visit and prescriptions.”

“Joe and I had a really big argument.”

“I had a really bad ‘mommy’ moment with one of my kids.”

Lest you tag me a Debbie Downer and start avoiding me in the stores or the hallways at church,  I will refrain from completing the ‘honest’ list of answers I could give to the question, “How was your Thanksgiving, Holly?”

So, can I really say that EVERY day is a good day?

Let’s see.  Amidst all the things that seemed not so good there is another list.

“There was a place to stay and food to eat.  My little family of four got to spend three days together in our cozy, warm home.  Though there wasn’t turkey, my husband smoked some mean chicken for us to eat.”

“I was reminded that my family is loved.  A staff member from our church texted me to let me know she was praying for me. A precious friend named Flea (who’s as fun as her name) offered to bring over an entire Thanksgiving meal spread.  I have loved ones who called me and let me know they were missing me.”

“In my mind there were precious memories of Joe’s grandmother.  Time and prayer have healed the wounds of holidays past and the memories fade a little more each year.” 

“I had the security of knowing a doctor could help me figure our what was wrong with my sick daughter.  There are many mothers around the world who have to live in fear when a fever strikes their child.”

“Even though we argue at times, my husband is committed to me ‘til death do us part.’   And…though I have bad mommy moments each day, if you ask my kids they would tell you that they think they have a really, really good momma.”

“How was your Thanksgiving Holly?”

Thanksgiving was good. It was not one of my really, really good holidays.  It was probably towards the bottom of the list of best Thanksgivings in my thirty six years.

But truly every day is a good day, some are just better than others.

Smoked chicken doing its best to replace Thanksgiving turkey

McAlister's tea...can make any meal look a little better.

Family Zumba danceoffs, Football watching marathons, and into the night crafting...not too shabby of a Thanksgiving agenda

I officially caved and my farmer boy husband was laughing. I always said I would never be one of those city folks who pretend to be country folk by going to Atwoods and buying feed sacks to decorate my city home...if only this burlap Christmas wreath were not so darn perfect for my city front door. Makes me miss Love County Oklahoma upbringing where feed sacks were for feeding animals and jumping in to race friends across the pasture.