“What can I do to help?”

“What can I do to help?”

This is a question I have asked myself many times in my life.

This question floods my mind when I find myself glued to media coverage after disaster strikes.

What could I do as I sat in my college dorm room in Arkansas in 1995 when my home state faced the tragedy of the Oklahoma Federal building bombing?  I remember tears streaming down my face as my heart wanted to race home to help, yet I knew I had to stay at school.

How could I possibly help my fellow Americans in the Northeast, when I was an 8th grade teacher sitting in my classroom in Texas listening to radio coverage on the morning of September 11^th, 2001?  Like everyone else in America, my heart longed to do something.  I longed to help someone that was affected, yet I knew I had a class to teach and 8th graders to influence on that fateful day.

Was there anything I could do in 2005 as a mother of two children under the age of two when an earthquake devastated Pakistan leaving over 3 million homeless?  This tragedy only gained media coverage for a few short nights, but with my brother serving as a first responder, mountain climbing to reach villages affected…my heart ached to go help my brother help the people of this country that I had grown to love over the years.

Tornadoes.  Earthquakes.  Bombings.  Hurricanes.  Wildfires.  School shootings.

These tragedies stop us in the tracks of our fast paced American lives, and for a moment we take time to sit quietly and feel the pain of others.  For a moment we sit still long enough to ask ourselves, “What can I do to help?”

Monday night, as I watched the media coverage of the devastation of the tornadoes that hit my home state of Oklahoma, again with tears in my eyes my heart ached with the question “what can I do to help?”

Though my heart was breaking,  I could find a glimmer of peace in the answer to that question.

“I am already helping these people I am watching on TV.  The first responders.  The parents.  The children.   The teachers.  The families of those who lost loved ones.”

You see.  . .  each month our family gives money to an organization that is always among the first to show up when tragedy strikes.  A group that has been highlighted numerous times on national news.

The organization that our family financially supports is my local church who gives a portion of my monthly tithe to the Cooperative Program of the Southern Baptist Convention.

This Cooperative Program is the mission support organization that funds the Baptist General Convention’s Disaster Relief teams.  Many in the media often call this group ‘the Baptist men.’

Tears welled up in my eyes last night as I watched the evening news and Brian Williams interviewed Harry Smith with the backdrop of tornado devastated Moore, Oklahoma.

Brian Williams, “They have here FEMA and then they have almost a faith based FEMA.”

Harry Smith, “And as you and I have seen in so many different places, in this country if you are waiting for the government, you are going to be in for an awful long wait.  The Baptist men… they’re gonna get it done tomorrow.”

My generation has been quick to criticize the local church.  Many do not see a need to attend church, and sure don’t see the importance of giving money regularly to support the ministries of their local church.

Believe me, there are some things in the history of the Church that make me cringe.  Mistakes have been made.  Leaders have fallen from grace.  Our family has personally been wounded by some within the church.

Several times Joe and I (who both grew up in church and have degrees from seminary) have looked at each other and entertained the thought of giving up on the idea of church.

Maybe we could do more good on our own?  Do we really need the church to help people?  We both have giving hearts.  We both have a love for other people.  Surely we could do a lot of good on our own.

However, on a day like today as I watched Harry Smith and Brian Williams talk on the nightly news, I was reminded of the importance of my giving each week to my local church that gives money to the Cooperative Program of the Southern Baptist Convention.

My offering seems small compared to some, but combined with those around the world who give regularly to this program…the impact is enormous.

This morning in my prayer time I asked God, “What do I need to do to help?”

Will I give extra money to the Disaster Relief Fund?  Absolutely.

Will I sign up to go with volunteer groups that are being mobilized from my church?  I hope to.

Will I collect water bottles and food to send?  I might.

To my surprise as I prayed, I felt a strong urgency to simply do the next thing I needed to do today.  That did not include hopping in a car to drive the hour and a half to the Oklahoma City area to help.

Instead, my heart felt a greater desire to ‘help’ the people whom I would brush shoulders with on an ‘ordinary’ Tuesday.

When images and stories of disaster are fresh on our minds, the ‘ordinary ways to show love’ become some of the most important.

Kissing my kids good-bye before they leave for school.

Telling my husband ‘I love you.’

Stopping to talk to the coworker who walks into work with tears in her eyes and taking the time to pray for her.

Smiling and saying a kind word to the QT cashier as he rings up my 69 cent tea.

Some days I find myself caught up in the rush of this life and miss opportunities to help people in the most ordinary ways.

But on a day like today, when the feeling of tragedy is raw, I am reminded that I shouldn’t wait until the next disaster to ask myself…

“What can I do to help?”

Every day people around me face heartache.

Jobs are lost.  Family members die.  Children disappoint.  Spouses betray.

May the disaster of the recent Oklahoma tornadoes propel us to give regularly and generously to our local churches and to slow down enough to reach out in love every day to those in our sphere of influence who need our help.

If you are looking for a way to help the victims of the Oklahoma tornadoes directly, please consider supporting Oklahoma Disaster Relief.

Making room for one more at our table….

Finally told the last of the family last night, we are ready to share with the ‘world.’

The Buxton family will be making room for another little one at our dinner table.

That’s right…Joe and I are expecting number three.  I am in my 11^th week.

This means I have totally ruined my sister’s favorite time of the year….dragging me around stores on Black Friday.  I found a drastic way of getting out of it this year!

The question we have gotten most…well…not everyone is brave enough to ask, but we can tell by the look on faces and tone of their voices that they are dying to ask this question….

“Wow.  Were you guys planning on this?”

Well the answer to that question is complicated.

As some of you reading this know, Joe and I got pregnant one year after we had been married.  We were surprised, yet thrilled.  Most of our married friends had babies or were pregnant so we embraced the idea of becoming pregnant.

Unfortunately, that pregnancy ended in miscarriage.

We were both devastated, but it was that sweet baby in my womb that let us both know that we indeed wanted to begin having little Buxton’s around our home.

Over the course of two years, Joe and I walked through three miscarriages.

During this time of our lives our faith was tested.  There we were following God’s call on our lives at seminary and crying out to Him to protect the babies in my womb.

Still…the pregnancies ended in miscarriage.

Those who miscarry children walk a tough road of quiet grief that most people in the world do not understand.

How can you mourn a child that you never knew?  A baby that is only in your body for a few weeks?

Anyone who has ever had a positive pregnancy test knows that from the moment you see that double line, you start planning and dreaming about life with a baby.  You mark the due date on your calendar.  You start going through the list of names that you might use.

After two years of disappointment, we finally held our sweet baby boy Caleb in our arms.

In the joy of the moment of holding him, the bitter sweetness hit me.  My heart was bursting with joy, but at the same time my heart ached to get to hold the other three I lost.  At that moment of holding Caleb for the first time, I fully understood the lifetime of joys I would miss out on by not getting to be a momma here on earth to my first three babies.

The same mixed emotions hit two years later when I held our sweet Brooklynn in my arms for the first time.

A few months after Brooklynn was born, our family embarked on a huge transition.  We decided to sell most everything we owned so that Joe could go back to school full-time to get a masters in Family and Marriage Counseling.  To get him on the fast track, I became a full-time working mother of two babies and Joe was a full-time student, full-time stay at home daddy.

Exhaustion is the only word that I can think of to describe those 2 and a half years of our lives.  We have so many sweet memories of that time in our family, but much of it is a blur.

By the time Joe graduated we were both in our mid-thirties.  We had grown contented with being what the world calls “the million dollar family” (having one boy and one girl).

In the years following Joe’s graduation, our hearts began to turn towards something we had talked about since day one of our marriage.  . .the desire to adopt some older children.

We are a part of an amazing church with an amazing adoption ministry, and we knew we would have amazing support to embark on the adoption process.

Though we cannot explain it fully, we never felt the green light to begin on the adoption journey.

Joe works every day with children and teenagers who come from unbelievable family circumstances.  He spends his days dealing with traumas in these families.  For the past few years, I have felt a strong urgency to create a safe haven in our home for my husband.  A place where he can step away from the daily traumas he helps resolve and be rejuvenated to continue to do the amazing things he does each day at work.

All the while, my heart longed to have a bigger family under our roof.  I often daydreamed about having all 5 of our kids sitting around our dinner table.  These day dreams usually ended in tears and a jolt back to the precious family of four that I get to cook dinner for each night.

So, were we planning to have more kids?  Always.  Were we surprised that our family is going to get bigger with the addition of a biological Buxton?  Absolutely.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day.

Always bittersweet for anyone who has lost a child.

In one moment of the worship service at church, I was worshipping God thanking God for the life growing in my womb and in the next moment tears streamed down my face as I remember the three sweet babies I never got to hold.

In one moment in the service, I was smiling from ear to ear as I watched friends dedicate their baby to the Lord, and in the next moment my heart began breaking for another sweet friend who was in that same service who had given birth to a premature baby last year that did not survive.

With excitement yesterday we hit the road to go celebrate Mother’s Day with Joe’s family, and to tell them our news.   But all the while I was holding back tears as we told them, knowing Joe’s amazing sister and husband have been trying for 11 years to get pregnant.

God’s blessings are a true mystery to me

I have a difficult time calling myself blessed, because in my mind that means that the same cannot be said of my precious sister-in-law who seeks the Lord with her whole heart and desires nothing more than to grow a baby in her womb.  And if I am blessed then this just might mean that my sweet friend who held her lifeless baby in her arms last summer isn’t blessed.

And then there are all my single friends who are following the Lord with their whole hearts, and yet they haven’t even had the chance to know the joy of marriage much less being a parent.  Where is God’s blessing for them?

Though I have not figured out all the mysteries of God’s blessings, I do know that it is the difficult things in life that have taught me to count each moment as precious.

God has used all of the bittersweet to help me embrace each moment I have here on earth.  It is because of the miscarriages that I embrace my two kids a little tighter at night.

Because I have walked the road of infertility with my sister-in-law, I can find joy in the hard days of parenting.

And it is because we have walked the road of life and death, that we embrace this little life growing in my womb and cannot wait to hold him or her in our arms. . .

…even at the ages of (clears throat)  38 and 41….I will let you guess who is older.  Let’s just say now you know why Joe decided to shave the gray beard…to cut down on the grandpa comments!

Because we love sitting around the dinner table as a family, we told the kids by having a baby chair at the dinner table last week.

We love my mom’s wildflower garden. It reminds us of my sweet niece Daisy that went to be with Jesus before any of us got to meet her here on Earth.

Being a mom to this guys has caused me to ALMOST embrace the game of baseball…a sport I used to detest.

I’ve learned to embrace each moment as I have watched Joe’s brave sister walk through infertility. Her deepest desire is to have a baby in her womb yet yesterday she chose to worship, smile, and love on my kids on her 44th birthday (which is always on or around Mother’s Day)…

Abercrombie and Fitch: To boycott or not boycott?

I have never been one to jump onto the bandwagon of ‘boycotting’ stores when Christian organizations tell me I should.

Half of my kid’s video library just might be produced by Walt Disney.

I may or may not be drinking a cup of Starbucks coffee as I type this.

And Target…oh Target…I have never parted ways with you.

I respect people who boycott companies that do not line up with their religious or moral standards.

Good for them.

My attitude of being seemingly apathetic about supporting or not supporting businesses is likely a result of the fact that I have always had a disdain for spending money anyway.

For some shopping is like therapy.

When I go to a mall, I need to take blood pressure medicine because I get so frustrated with what stores want to charge me for a new pair of sandals when I just got a like new pair at Salvation Army for a dollar.

To be honest, there are some stores in the mall that I have avoided all together.

One of those stores is Abercrombie & Fitch.

After reading an article today…..now I know why I never felt comfortable in their store.

I thought it was just because of the large images of kids scantily dressed in sexual poses.

I remember some years ago the Christian world pushing a ban of Abercrombie and Fitch because of these images that the company even plasters  on their bags.  I didn’t really have to boycott them…I had never really wanted to buy anything in there.

The few times I dared to go behind the scary barricaded entrance of Abercrombie, I felt as if I did not belong.   I could never really put my finger on it, but it was obvious that that place was not for me.

Honestly, when I did dare to go inside, I think I never purchased anything there for fear of having to carry one of those ridiculous bags around the mall.

This morning I read an article that caused me to connect the dots of my relationship history with Abercrombie and Fitch.

This past week a 2006 interview of Abercrombie and Fitch CEO Mike Jefferies hit the internet.

The internet has exploded with shock at his statement.

“In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes]. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely.”

I wasn’t really shocked.  I think it was something I knew all the time about the store but could not really put my finger on.  While everyone else lashed out about the sexual images in the store, there was something else about the store that stirred up dislike in my heart…..but I could never really explain it.

Abercrombie and Fitch markets to skinny, cool kids.  These are the kids they want working for them and shopping at their stores..

I have worn size 10 or 12 jeans since high school.  That’s what happens when you have an athletic body and you are a runner and lift weights.  Your backside and your thighs expand and you have to buy jeans to fit your muscles.

As a teenager and college student, I hated shopping for jeans.  While all my ‘skinny’ friends could squeeze into size 4 or 6, I was stuck in the dressing room dreaming of getting a size 8 pulled up passed my thighs.

Funny thing is…no one ever believed me if I told them what size jeans I wore.  I was far from being ‘fat.’

Yet, as a teenager, I would likely have not been able to have found a pair of jeans in Abercrombie and Fitch to fit me.

And cool is something I have never been called or aspired to be.

So, the mystery is solved.

Abercrombie and Fitch is not seeking my business.  I am neither skinny nor cool.

This morning after reading articles on the internet about the CEO’s statement,  my thoughts turned towards my 8-year-old daughter.  She has legs I always dreamed of having.  Long, skinny and not bulging with muscles.

She got her Daddy’s looks, and I won’t be surprised if someday she could be in the Miss Oklahoma pageant like her Daddy’s sister was.

If I am guessing, in a few years Abercrombie and Fitch would love to have her visit their store and parade around in a hoodie that advertises their store’s name.

So…as a parent what will I say when she asks, “Can we go to the mall?  I want to get a pair of jeans from Abercrombie.”

Will I tell her ‘no’ because we don’t shop there?

Will I share with her my story of never feeling like I fit in at that store?

Here is what I hope will happen.

I will sit her down and talk honestly with her about my heart’s convictions.

I will mention her sweet friend who is overweight and how they don’t want her shopping in their store.

Then I will bring up her friend who has Special Needs and by American culture definition would not be considered cool or beautiful.  I will explain to my daughter that this precious friend of hers is not wanted as a shopper in an Abercrombie and Fitch store.

My daughter is full of compassion.  One of my goals for my children has always been to instill in them a desire to be a friend to the friendless.  Both of my kids have blown me away with who they have befriended at school.

There’s the kid my daughter talks about playing with at school that even I have caught myself calling ‘weird.’

And then there’s the precious special needs child that always gets put in my son’s group because of how kind my son is to her.

Am I angry at Abercrombie and Fitch?

Not really.

Mr. Jefferies is a business man.   He is living out ‘his American dream’ of being rich and successful.

Honestly my heart breaks for him.

He finds his happiness in his pocketbook and in the numbers he sees in the Wall Street journal.

This kind of happiness is fleeting.

I want to teach my children to find happiness in things that don’t change when the economy hits rock bottom.

I don’t want to raise children who hinge their self-worth on the classifications of beautiful and cool.

Up until today, if I had found an Abercrombie and Fitch shirt at a yard sale or Goodwill, I might have considered buying it if I could have purchased it for a dollar.

But after reading the statements that I read today, I think I will likely pass up the bargain next time I see it.

Not out of some bold desire to boycott a company.  They really don’t want me in their store anyhow.

I will continue to choose to walk past the wonderful smelling scent that pours out of an Abercrombie and Fitch store, because I want to teach my son and daughter that this store is teaching a distorted definition of beautiful and cool.

True ‘coolness’ is sitting by the chunky, unpopular kid at lunch. (which my son told me he did)

True ‘beauty’ is telling the girl who dresses in old worn out clothes that you like her shirt. (which this girl’s mom with tears in her eyes told me my daughter said to her daughter one day at school)

Though boycotting stores no doubt can shift a company’s marketing strategies, I think there is a bigger way to impact the world.

Before we point a finger at Mr.  Jefferies  and begin blaming him for the bullying problem in America, maybe we each need to examine our own hearts.

When is the last time I have intentionally hung out with the ‘uncool’ or ‘unlovely?’

Do I secretly desire for my kids to be ‘cool’ by the world’s standards?

Am I teaching my kids to befriend the kids that Mr. Jefferies doesn’t want to work at or shop in his stores?

For me…this is the action point after reading the article.  Examining my own heart by asking these questions.

If we all joined together and asked ourselves these questions, I think it would have a greater impact on the children of America than any store boycott ever could.

“I’d Rather Have Cheese Sauce” an ode to George Beverly Shea

Last night I saw on Twitter that George Beverly Shea had passed away. In the 20^th century church music world, Mr. Shea is the equivalent of Elvis to rock and roll.

When I heard of Mr. Shea’s passing, I did what everyone does these days….I clicked over to Facebook to see if there were any good news links posted by my friends. I wanted to read about this 104 year old man that was now singing in heaven.

I realized that it is likely that most of my friends on Facebook would lean more towards followers of articles on Chris Tomlin than George Beverly Shea.

So, I tapped over to trusty Mr. Google and found an inspiring article to read and learned that George Beverly Shea had earned a Lifetime Achievement Grammy award in 2011…wow…didn’t know that.

Reading the article brought back memories from my childhood of watching Billy Graham crusades on TV and seeing George Beverly Shea lead stadiums full of people in singing “How Great Thou Art.”

I wanted to hear that famous voice sing a great hymn of my childhood. I tapped over to YouTube and started playing a video I found of Mr. Shea singing at a crusade.

From the recliner, Joe burst into laughter….inappropriate I know.

No, Joe wasn’t laughing for the same reason that some people of our generation might laugh at the musical style of George Beverly Shea.

Mr. Shea is the polar opposite of this generation’s hipster, skinny jeans, tight t-shirt wearing worship leaders that you find at many contemporary churches. (just to cover my bases…I love me many a skinny jeans wearing worship leaders…and suit and tie wearing worship leaders)

Joe was laughing because the song George Beverly Shea was singing on the video was “I’d Rather Have Jesus.”

Then, I remembered and joined in his laughing.

One of Joe’s favorite childhood memories is sitting in the pew of his church listening to a lady from his church sing the song “I’d Rather Have Jesus.” However, the lady had a beautifully trained vibrato voice and to a child sometimes the words were a little difficult to understand.

As this lady sang, eight year old Joe would hear these words, “I’d Rather Have Cheese Sauce, than silver or gold…..I’d Rather Have Cheese Sauce than riches untold”.

As I watched Mr. Shea singing this famous hymn to which he composed the music, I couldn’t help but wish that I had shared this story with him. I wish I knew a loved one of his who would be able to smile today because of the precious and hilarious memory that Joe has of his song.

I woke up this morning thinking about George Beverly Shea’s song. (and perhaps thinking that I really want to have some cheese sauce for lunch)

As I was praying this morning my mind was flooded with my own childhood memories of sitting in the church pew listening to people singing the beautiful hymns of old.

Last week I went to the funeral of a man who is in some of those childhood memories from church. He was the father of two of my dearest childhood friends.

My friends’ dad had one of the most powerful and beautiful voices that I have ever heard. I can close my eyes and picture him holding the microphone and singing those beautiful hymns.

Last week at the graveside ceremony,  I stood behind my friends sitting in front of their Daddy’s casket draped with an American flag for his service to our country.  My eyes were fixated on my friend’s one year old daughter wiggling in her momma’s arms, and I was overcome with a sense of the beauty of the grace of God and the redemption of Christ.

You see, my friends’ Daddy made some choices in life that negatively impacted them. Because of those choices my friends spent a large portion of their childhood being raised by a single mom picking up the pieces of the mistakes their dad had made.

Their story is not mine to tell.

But as I stood watching them cry over the passing of their daddy, I saw a picture of the gospel. As I listened to my friends stand around their Daddy’s casket and sing “It is Well with My Soul,” I was reminded of the purpose of the life of our Savior, to redeem a lost and dying world.

I saw my friends clinging to the love they had for the man that their Daddy had become in his last years of life and not to the mistakes of his past.

No doubt, this is a life lesson that my friend will be able to pass down to her own one year old daughter.  You see, my friend adopted her daughter last year from a mother who was not going to be able to provide for the child that she was carrying in her womb.  I am sure there will be many mother/daughter conversations about grace and redemption.

On that cool spring morning, I was humbled by the grace and redemption being lived out in the lives of my friends.

This morning as I drank my coffee and read my Bible, I couldn’t help but think that the worship choir in heaven just hit the jackpot this past week with George Beverly Shea and my friends’ Daddy joining them.

Thank you Mr. Shea for your testimony in song that is the truth of my heart

I’d rather have Jesus than silver or gold;
I’d rather be His than have riches untold;
I’d rather have Jesus than houses or lands;
I’d rather be led by His nail-pierced hand

Than to be the king of a vast domain
And be held in sin’s dread sway;
I’d rather have Jesus than anything
This world affords today.

I’d rather have Jesus than men’s applause;
I’d rather be faithful to His dear cause;
I’d rather have Jesus than worldwide fame;
I’d rather be true to His holy name

He’s fairer than lilies of rarest bloom;
He’s sweeter than honey from out the comb;
He’s all that my hungering spirit needs;
I’d rather have Jesus and let Him lead

Now….is it lunch time? I am dying for some chips and cheese sauce.

You’re welcome.  Now you will never be able to eat cheese sauce without singing that song and smiling.

A humbling picture I took at the Ft. Smith National Cemetery last week. Thankful I live in a country where I can worship freely and there is plenty of cheese sauce…a debt I have to all those who are buried here.

I must confess…I watched “Preacher’s Daughters”

I knew I probably shouldn’t have watched it.  But when Joe told me a few weeks ago that there was a new reality series called “Preacher’s Daughters”…my curiosity was too powerful.

“Don’t do it!” Joe said.  “You know it will just make you mad.”

Let’s just say that being a submissive wife is not one of my strong points in married life.   I will be working on that one until the day I die.   I find myself returning to Joe quite often with “You were right.  I should have listened.”

So there I was.  One morning when I should have been planning a month of organic meals or making homemade laundry soap or planning my garden or praying for the hungry kids around the world…..you know all the things a good stay at home mom does…I scoured the Internet to find out about the preacher’s daughters show.

As I assumed there were a lot of critics out there ready to chime in their voices.

After 20 minutes of internet ‘research’, I was in too deep.

To my surprise the pilot episode was free for the watching on the Internet.

The temptation was too strong and I caved.

Since I met Joe 14 years ago, he has been telling me to write a book.  A book about the real life of a preacher’s kid.

We even have a name for the book….which will likely always remain in my head, but Joe and I refer to it as if it actually is on the racks at Barnes and Noble.

Over the past 14 years we have added a sequel as both Joe and I have served on staff at different sizes of churches in three different states.  Let me tell you….if you want an endless supply of material for reality TV drama or a sarcastically funny comedy series, apply to work at a church for a year.

I can see it now ‘The Office:  Church Edition’

The book in my head includes stories that are probably of no shock….

Like the time when I was 8 and my mom and dad were in the living room talking to a woman crying her eyes out.  At the time I had no idea that this lady’s husband had left her for another woman….

I just knew that my best friend was waiting on me to go ride bikes, and I had no way out but through my window…

I had a healthy holy fear of my parents and knew I didn’t dare come out of my room….or …..well…I really didn’t even want to test that one.

So I figured out how to break out the window screen.

I may or may not have done that more than once in my life.

And of course the book will have to include the story of the day my parents found out my brother got a tattoo.

He was in college and had showed it to me when he first got it.

He was able to keep it from mom and daddy for a while…

I remember that day on the lake in our boat like it was yesterday.  There is no hiding a deltoid tattoo on a ski boat.

We all lived through that day on the lake and no one drowned.  Though there may be a few beach towels at the bottom of Lake Murray from the speed at which Daddy took off in the boat after Jeremy took off his T-shirt to ski.

As I watched the episode of Preacher’s Daughters, a flood of memories like the ones above flooded my mind.

So what was my opinion of the show?

Of course Joe was right and I got pretty aggravated at the show a few times.  The parents.  The girls.  I found myself talking to each of them though the computer.

But then my frustration turned to thankfulness.

Here’s the reality of this reality show.

Unfortunately it is true for some preacher’s families.

I have known countless church staff families in my 35 plus years of life.

I have seen staff kids who leave home and turn from the faith of their parents never to return to church again.

When someone finds out that I grew up a Preacher’s kid and still love the church…and on top of that both my siblings still choose to serve in churches. …they usually follow up with ‘Wow.  That’s unusual’

Maybe so.

They usually say, “Your parents must have done something right.”

Here’s the honest truth.

Looking in hindsight now that I am a parent myself, I can say that indeed my parents did a lot right.

One thing for sure that they did was make our house a place all our friends wanted to be.   To this day, I think any of my childhood friends would feel comfortable showing up on my parent’s porch (even if I wasn’t there) and know they would be welcomed with a hug, a cup of coffee, and a long conversation.

Another important thing they did right was that every Thursday of my life my dad took off of work and spent it with mom and in the summer took us kids out on the lake…..and in the eighties there were no phones to distract us from each other (which is a whole ‘nother discussion).

As far as rules…I am still trying to figure out which ones of my parent’s rules were ‘right’ and which were ‘wrong.’

My parents set pretty strict boundaries….but in my keepsake box from my middle school years you will find a Cyndi Lauper tape my mom bought me and pictures of Kirk Cameron that my Dad didn’t mind hanging on my wall.

But we weren’t allowed to watch  ‘R’ rated movies or wear miniskirts or get our ears pierced or go to dances.

Somehow they were able to create boundaries that worked for us.

Funny thing is….my boundaries for my own kids are not exactly the same boundaries my parents used.  I would never buy a Cyndi Lauper tape for my 8 year old, but have told her that she can get her ears pierced at age 10.

But the whole truth is….my parents and us kids would agree that they didn’t get it right in parenting 100% of the time.  Maybe not even 75% of the time.

Each of us kids could tell you stories about the times they messed up.

Don’t worry I plan to include a few of these stories if I ever get around to that book Joe is telling me to write.

So what made the difference for me and my siblings?

We are all looking for some sort of formula that we can use on our own kids to assure that they will not end up like the scantily clad daughters on that TV series who obviously are struggling to accept the faith of their parents.

Don’t listen to Justin Bieber.  (I survived a huge crush on NKOTB)

Only watch ‘G’ rated movies (My siblings and I were allowed to watch some PG movies I will never let my own kids watch).

Avoid public school.  (Yep…we survived that too)

Do family devotions (You might be surprised that family devotions weren’t a regular part of my childhood.)

I wish I had a formula to offer those people who ask me how my faith survived living in a preacher’s house.

Truth is . . .I desperately wish there was a guaranteed formula because I would sure be writing it on the wall in my own house and could make a lot of money writing a book about it.

All I know is what has worked in my home growing up and what is working in the home that I am building for my kids.

Grace.

If I am going to raise kids that come out on the other side loving Jesus, I better model for them the grace that Jesus so loving poured out to me on the cross.

My kids need to see me extend grace to myself as I look in the mirror and my jeans fit a little tighter after I have indulged in one too many late night chips and guacamole binges.  After all…guacamole just might be worth having tight jeans.

My kids need to hear me extend grace to my sweet husband when he doesn’t fill up the Brita water pitcher for the millionth time in my marriage, even though he knows how important cold water is to my mental state.  After all…when was the last time I pulled out the marching band for him.  (Joe’s love language is affirmation and early in my marriage I jokingly said “What do you want…me to bring in a marching band every time you do something good.”  He replied, “That would be awesome.”  So now,  I do a trombone playing motion in loving fun every time that I think he is going a little overboard in needing my affirmation.)

My kids need to watch me extend grace to the cashier who seems to hate his job and has not learned the phrase ‘the customer is always right.’  After all….maybe that cashier just had a parent die or was up all night with a newborn baby.   Amazing how an intentional positive comment can change the way people serve you and breathe a breath of hope into the other person’s life.

And of course. . .

My kids need to feel me extend grace to them.

Sometimes grace means going to my kids and telling them I was wrong.

Sometimes grace means setting stricter boundaries with love as to protect them.

Sometimes grace means loosening the boundaries with love to show I trust them.

And everyday grace means remembering that they are kids not adults.

Grace.

After watching the episode of “Preacher’s Daughters,” I couldn’t help but wonder…

“Is a TV reality series, the best way to create a home that abounds in grace?  When the sins of the daughters are being watched by a curious stay at home mom in Oklahoma whom you will never meet, do your daughter’s feel the power of grace….the same grace that was poured out the first Easter?  When the cameras stop rolling, do your daughters feel the overwhelming freedom that comes from laying their sins at the feet of the cross and not being bound to them? “

As a former preacher’s daughter, I am so thankful that when I sinned growing up, my parents allowed my sins to be quietly  left at the foot of the cross.

Amazing Grace, my chains are gone.

Listening to the voice that calls me Beautiful.

I have never been a movie buff.

When the Academy Awards roll around each year, I always feel like an outsider because I usually have not seen even one of the films that are nominated for awards.

This morning I was on the treadmill at the gym and on most of the TVs the headline news was the red carpet from the Academy Awards that were on last night.

Movie stars walking the red carpet with their gleaming white teeth,  elegant updos and gorgeous designer gowns.

I may be a tomboy at heart, but I am always intrigued by the beauty on the red carpet.

As I listened to the podcast and ran off my late night popcorn, my eyes shifted from the TVs to the people in the room working out with me.

Reality hit.

Not a single lady in that room was a size 2 like most of the movie stars walking that carpet.

As I glanced around the room, I felt my thighs jiggle as I ran and I caught myself comparing my body to the ladies in the room and those on the TV screens.

Then the inner voices began,

“Why were you so lazy this past week?  You probably gained five pounds from not working out.”

“If you hadn’t eaten the rice krispy treat at Community Group last night, your legs wouldn’t be so jiggly.”

“See that girl over there on the elliptical?  You should be more disciplined like her.”

“Don’t you dare go over to the free weights and lift. . .remember how lifting weights makes you look like a boy.”

Thankfully, years ago I learned to nip the voices in the bud.   Those were all real thoughts that ran through my head this morning.  I fended them off with one of the weapons in my arsenal.

1 Corinthians 6:19 & 20   Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own;  you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.

The battle begins at an early age.  Voices telling us girls that our bodies are not good enough.  That we have failed and that we are not as beautiful as the girl on TV or the lady across the room.

I was always a muscular girl with big feet.

Really big feet.   When someone comments that they have big feet and hold up their tiny size 9 shoes, I always make them feel better when I point to my size 11 sometimes 12 foot.

The last time I put on a size 5/6 jean was in 6^th grade.   The muscles in my thighs and rear end expand at just the thought of lifting a weight, keeping me from squeezing into my ‘ideal’ sized jeans.

I once did a 40 day water/juice fast and my ending weight was 140.

Some ladies claim to be ‘big boned’ as an excuse to carry a few extra pounds.  And then there are those of us who look like skin and bones and still weigh 140 pounds.

I think if you asked most people who know me, they would consider me a disciplined person.

As I scanned the gym this morning comparing myself to others, I realized that out of 30 ladies, I was definitely one of the most fit looking.

Still there were voices to fight off.

Still I despised it when I looked down at the roll on my tummy and felt the jiggle in my thighs.

I learned it does no good to ignore the thoughts.

It is tragic to listen to and believe the thoughts.

Instead I have learned that the only way to win the battle is to replace the thoughts.

My body is indeed a temple and  my Savior died a cruel death so that He could live inside of me.   The God of the universe has entrusted me with His Spirit and wants to use my body to share His love and His truth to a lost world.

I must steward my body and take care of what has been entrusted to me

However….

Is the temple desecrated if I eat one rice krispy treat?  Of course not.

Am I worthless in the Kingdom if I miss an entire week of workouts?  Absolutely not.

For the past couple of years, I have been helping with a ministry that my sister and some of her friends began in rural Oklahoma.   This amazing group of ladies began collecting prom dresses for girls in their community who could not afford to buy an expensive dress.

Through donations, they were able to fill a closet with dresses, jewelry, and shoes for girls and pants, shoes, vests and ties for boys.

Others in the community jumped on board.  Dry cleaners.  Hairdressers.  Photographers.  Nail Technicians.

The community came together to make sure that every girl and boy who wanted to attend prom could.  A couple of years later, these women have helped other communities launch similar ministries to girls in their communities.

It is a beautiful thing to watch.

Girls putting on gorgeous dresses and looking in the mirror and smiling.

Ladies doing the girls make-up and telling the girls how beautiful they are and what a treasure they are to God.

The world we live in is full of voices that will make these girls feel inadequate and ugly.

These girls are no different than me.  They battle the voices every time they look in the mirror, turn on the TV, eat an extra cookie, skip a workout, or see a beautiful girl sitting across the room.

The battle rages for us all.  We must fight.  Fight for ourselves.  Fight for our daughters.  And fight for the fatherless, who have no one to tell them they are beautiful in the eyes of their Maker.

If you are interested in donating items to a prom ministry, I would love to get you connected to one.

Here’s some of they items they need:

Prom Dresses, black men’s dress pants, ladies and men’s dress shoes, jewelry, vests, white shirts

Dresses in large sizes are difficult to find and are treasures to these ministries.  I have found a few in thrift stores before…if you ever find one why don’t you snag it for one of these ministries!

To all my Arkansas friends, this year my cousin Anna started a prom ministry called Bloom  and it is based in Murfreesboro.   Please go like their Facebook page and spread the word.

Or…better yet…start one in your community.  There are thousands of girls that need to hear the words, “You are beautiful.”

A memorable moment at our Senior prom…as a joke (all in good fun) my classmates voted me Prom Queen. I was the Baptist preacher’s daughter who had never been to a single dance. My size 11/12 feet were stumbling all over the place.

Awkward. I didn’t know how to stand in heels. I had never used so much hairspray in my whole life. But I remember how that night I was not embarrassed of my muscly arms (this was long before crossfit made muscles beautiful) and my size 10 dress and size 11 shoes.  I truly felt beautiful.

My sister and her friend helping a beautiful girl get ready for the prom.

Though I could never rock the red carpet like size 2 Jennifer Garner, I do feel a bit like I am walking around on the arm of a movie star now that Joe has his ‘distinguished’ beard. In fact, I turned on the TV last night and saw George Clooney on stage and hollared for Joe to come quickly. He would have fit right in last night…except I am not sure if tennis shoes are allowed on the red carpet!

Top 10 things teaching in the Public School system taught me.

This post is dedicated to all my teacher friends out there who have to go to work and deal with rowdy kids on cold, snowy days….may all those who have never worked in a public school system be moved to turn an ‘ordinary, thankless day’ into a blessed day for you!

10.  A school’s strength is a reflection of its leadership.  Quality teachers are molded by quality administration.

9.  Most teachers hate items that have apples on them.  **revision…unless it is a product of the Apple company!  If you can afford that kind of ‘apple’ for your child’s teacher….GO FOR IT!

8.  Teachers wish they didn’t have to test your child either!

7.  When a 6’6 8^th grader says, “Step back Ms B.  I don’t want to hit you too.  But I will if you get in the way of me hitting ‘Marcus’”…..get out of the way QUICK!

6.  There are more hardworking teachers than lazy teachers.  The hardworking teachers wish the lazy ones could be ‘untenured’ as much as the parents and administration do.

5.  Jeans on Friday make all things tolerable.

4.  Every school has workaholic teachers who sacrifice their families for the students (don’t get me started on why I didn’t like the acclaimed movie Freedom  Writers…seen too many teacher’s families fall apart). Pray for teachers and their families

3.  Honesty blended with a healthy dose of sarcasm is the best teaching method.  In the past twenty years since learning how to use the quadratic formula and to balance chemical equations, I have never used either in ‘real’ life.  Teachers have a difficult job.

2.  Thank you for the handmade facial scrub (yep…I got that once!), but teachers prefer gift cards.

1.  Teachers want to sleep in on cold snowy days as much as kids.

On this wet, snowy day school was not cancelled.  I still had to take my son in early for his tutoring before school.  His teacher met us with a smile.  Amongst getting ready to administrate a National standardized test, she took time out of her morning to help my son.

When I came back to drop off my daughter, the amazing counselor and PE teacher directed traffic in the freezing rain with the precision of a General directing troops for battle.

On days like these, I think of all the ‘thankless’ days in the life of a teacher.

Today was one of those days for the teachers at my kid’s school.

Joe and I decided early on that instead of giving extravagant holiday gifts to the employees at our kid’s school, we would give them small tokens of appreciation on “thankless days” like today.

A bagel for a teacher on testing days can turn a dreadful day into a blessed day. Thank you Mrs. S!

$5 gift cards to Starbucks, Sonic, or McAlister’s can show those teachers that you see doing extra duties each day that they are a blessing! Thank you Ms. O and Ms. S for keeping us all safe on a yucky day!

Snow. Finally.

Two years ago Tulsans were tired of snow.  After two weeks most people had had enough.

Joe and I secretly wanted it to last longer.  Sure we felt sorry for those hourly workers who weren’t getting income.  Yes, we realized the kids wouldn’t get out of school til mid June or so.

Besides the treacherous adventure I sent Joe out on because I ran out of coffee, Joe and I will always remember those two weeks of being trapped in the house as being some of the most fun our family has ever had together.

I had to get creative in cooking.  Joe carved his first duck decoy.  We built an igloo (thank you YouTube).

So when the following winter rolled around, we secretly wished for another (shorter of course) blizzard to keep up trapped in the house for a few days.

It didn’t happen.

In fact, Tulsa didn’t get any snow last winter.  The snow boots and ski pants I bought on clearance never got used.  The sleds I bought at a consignment sale stayed tucked away in the attic.

And  it seemed that this year, too, we would once again have to wave another winter goodbye without a single snow.

Joe and I have been quite jealous of all of our Southern Oklahoma and Texas friends who have seen more snow this year than in the history of Texas.

No fair!  We only saw two good snows in our 8 years of living in Texas.

One of the snows was during my first year as an 8th grade teacher.  Many of my students had NEVER seen snow.  Being the young whipper snapper 23 year old teacher….I snuck my students out to play….I am sure all the veteran teachers were rolling their eyes at me. 

The principal just looked out and smiled.  I mean I was a science teacher and snow is definitely a great lesson in science.

Today it came.  The forecasters were finally right.  It didn’t start snowing until morning, so the kids had to go to school.

The snow accumulated all day long.

I counted down the minutes until the kids were out of school.  I got hot cocoa ready.  The sleds were finally gonna get to be used.

I’ve wondered what it is about snow that I love so much.

I think that it is simply the fact that when it snows, the otherwise dreary winter is turned into something miraculously beautiful.

Snow brings out the fun in winter.  The snowmen.  The sleds.  The smiles. The laughter.

Perhaps I love that snow brings us out of our homes to meet the neighbors we have never met.

Today we met a sweet Thai family who just moved in down the street.  They had never seen snow.  They were using a box lid to sled and were grateful that our kids wanted to share their ‘new’ sleds.

What are the chances that I had something to talk to them about since my brother just happens to be in Thailand right now..hmmmm…as Joe would say 100% God.

As I look at all the wet clothes and boots piled on the floor, I realize that it will all be gone tomorrow.

Likely, we won’t have another snow this year.

Now…if only it will freeze over tonight and we get that fun call from the school…”No classes today.”  Every child’s dream.

I went to put my camera up in the car and Brook decided that she wanted a snowman. Smart thang rolled the snow down the hill.

Determination and good accessories make for a great snow man. I bought a snowman kit 10 years ago and it has been one of my best purchases ever.

We had a couple of friends join us…Joe was chompin at the bit to shoot them.

They must have sensed the danger, because they quickly flew away!

Goodness. Snow really brings out the fine lines. Or maybe it is that gray bearded mountain man that makes me look older!

If I could hand write in a journal, I would capture this day.

I used to keep a handwritten journal.   I love going back to my junior high and high school journals and reading about the things that would happen on an ordinary day of my life during those eras.

One of the things in my life that has caused the most grief is the loss of my ability to write with a pen or pencil.  This is not something I talk about much, and even some of my closest friends I have made don’t know this about me until they watch me try to sign my name to something.

Recently I was having lunch with a dear friend I met a few years ago, and my friend took notice of me signing the check to pay for our lunch.

My friend couldn’t believe that we have been friends for several years and she never knew about my condition.   I went on to explain my ‘condition’ to her.

Wikipedia does a better job explaining it:

Writer’s cramp, also called mogigraphia and scrivener’s palsy, causes a cramp or spasm affecting certain muscles of the hand and/or fingers. Writer’s cramp is a task-specific focal dystonia of the hand. ‘Focal’ refers to the symptoms being limited to one location (the hand in this case), and ‘task-specific’ means that symptoms first occur only when the individual engages in a particular activity. Writer’s cramp first affects an individual by inhibiting their ability to write.

I know.  I know.  You didn’t think writer’s cramp was a legit thing.  Well, it is.  And I got it.  I wrote about this condition on a more personal level in this blog entry.

Truth is.  One of the reason I like reading my old handwritten journals is because I used to find such joy in filling the pages of those journals with prayers and recounting the moments of my life that I wanted to cherish in my own words and handwriting.

Tonight, a few tears clouded my eyes as I was wrapping up things in the kitchen and living room and getting ready to head to bed.

Grief.  When you lose something or someone that is dear to you, grief can hit you at the most unexpected moments.

Tonight it hit as I looked at my kid’s valentine boxes.

Silly.  I know.

Deep within my soul I longed to grab a note card and write my kids a love letter to stick in their boxes to find.  I had the strong desire to pick up a journal and capture in handwriting the beauty that I found in making those valentine boxes together.

I managed to scribble through a couple of notes to the kids.

But, when I choose to hand write something, I must also choose to endure.

Endure watching my left hand try to write out what my mind is racing to tell it to do.  (I can’t write anything with my right hand even though I am technically right-handed)

Endure the scolding I give to myself because what was once gorgeous penmanship is now legible scribble at best.

Endure the pain in my hand, arm, and shoulder that always follows when I choose to hand write something.

Instead of picking up a journal, I headed to the computer.

I want to remember days like these.

Days when I pick my son up from school for a doctor’s appointment and we get to have lunch together.  Just the two of us.  I want to remember how he bowed his head in the restaurant and prayed loudly for all to hear.

I do not want to forget our conversations in the car coming home from the doctor’s office.

Without prompting how he said to me, “Momma, you know how God has a purpose for everything.  Maybe God’s purpose for me having to have these tests run is so that you could meet that nurse that you met and invited to come to church with you.”

I guess he overheard a conversation or two to put all of that together.

I sure don’t want to forget what I was reminded of today after this conversation with my son.  Little ears are listening and little eyes are watching.  Sometimes the greatest lessons we teach (whether good or bad) are unintentional .

And I sure don’t want to forget the evening we spent together as a family making the kid’s Valentine boxes.

Some of the funnest moments in the Buxton household take place when craft supplies are spread all over the place in a huge mess.

One of the kids commented, “Man we sure have a lot of stuff to clean up.”

My natural reaction to messiness is stress.  I want to bring order to the chaos as quickly as possible.

Tonight I gave a response that isn’t quite as natural, but is something I am learning to be truth.

“Sweetheart.  Someone once told your daddy and me, a huge mess simply means that the kids had a great time.  And that makes it all worth it.”

I will never forget learning that lesson.  It was before we had kids of our own.  The words came from a Senior adult man who was the custodian of the church where Joe was working at the time.   As we watched the custodian clean up after a youth event, Joe made the comment,  “Those teenagers sure do make a huge mess.”

The custodian said with a smile, “Yes they do, but I love it.  The mess just means they had a good time and that makes it all worth it.”

So, tonight as I fight back the temptation to grieve over not being able to hand write in a journal and want to get stressed out over the mess, I will choose to smile and stay calm.

Even though I have to type it out instead of hand write it….

It was a day I want to remember.

Though I gave up scrapbooking long ago, I love using my stash of paper for projects like these. And who knew I had a bird and a nest in my craft cabinet?

Pinterest is a humbling booger. I thought I had a creative idea. A basketball goal on a Valentine box. Leave it to Pinterest to let you know that there really aren’t many original ideas out there any more! But this is the only one I have seen that used a Butterfly net. Thank you Dollar Tree. And since Joe and I will be spending Valentine’s Day at the Thunder Game…the box is perfect. And who knew I had orange and blue basketball stickers in all my scrapbooking supplies?

Did you notice in the pictures that the Winter Tree is still up? I actually had taking it down on my list of things to do today…but there was a chance of snow tonight and so I decided I should leave it up for good luck.

What are the chances? 100%

I have been settling into this unfamiliar role rather nicely.

Over the years I have fit into almost all the categories a woman might fit into.

Single full-time professional
Single part-time worker/part-time student
Married full-time professional
Married full-time student
Full time stay-at-home mom with preschoolers
Full time working mom with preschoolers
Part-time working mom with elementary school kids
Full-time working mom with elementary school kids

And now….a new one.

Full-time stay-at-home mom with elementary school kids.

It has been a weird adjustment.  I love working and especially loved working at my church.

When I sat down this week to dream, I asked myself “What shall I fill my time with when the kids are at school?”

I love a list.  And so I started filling my daughter’s easel chalkboard with all the things I need  and want to do this week.  Let’s just say Joe looked at me, rolled his eyes and said, “let’s take it easy…relax for a second would ya?”

When I knew I was going to step down from working at my church, one of the things that I wrestled with was whether or not to say yes to teaching a Bible study at the campus I had helped launch.

I prayed about it a lot.  Honestly, I love teaching Bible studies.  I mean I do have a theology degree somewhere in a box.  I have never shied away from this request of me.

But…I really didn’t want to commit to something  so soon.  I wanted to enjoy my ‘retirement’ for at least a month or two.

Funny how the Holy Spirit is…sometimes He is a quiet whisper in my ear.  Other times He has to use a megaphone of circumstances to get me to hear His voice and jolt me to action.

He had to pull out the megaphone for me to understand that He wanted me to teach the Bible Study.

And then, today I had one of those “what are the chances?” moments where I closed my eyes and immediately said, “Thank you for pulling out the megaphone.  I totally get it now”

This morning Joe asked me to run by my son’s doctor’s office to pick up some forms.  I added it to my chalkboard list.  (Simply so I would have the thrill of checking it off!)

I had an incredible ‘farewell’ luncheon with my coworkers and hurried across town to the doctor’s office.

There was only one car in the parking lot.  Weird for this time of year.  Then it dawned on me that the doctor takes Thursday afternoons off.

I almost didn’t go to the door because the lights seemed to be off.  Something told me to give it a try.

The doors were open.  The waiting room was empty.  There in a dark office sat one receptionist.

I let her know who I was and that I was picking up some of my son’s records.  She went to the back.

Her computer was playing a video of Bible teaching.  In my mind, I heard ‘someone’ say “Talk to her about it.”

My mind replied, “Really?  You can’t mean that.  I am probably an annoyance to her because I made her have to work.  Seriously.  I have places to go.  She has a video to watch.  I think it is best to just be on my way.”

The receptionist returned with the papers and told me “Have a great afternoon!”

“You too,” I said as I turned toward the door.

Then the gentle voice pulled out the megaphone, “TURN BACK AROUND!”

So, I did.  And asked a simple question.

“Who is that you are listening to?”

And the flood gates opened wide.  A simple question turned into a divine appointment.  And then an invitation to the Bible study and an exchange of emails.

What are the chances I would walk into this office at just this moment?  100% God

What are the chances she would live just a mile from the church where I will be teaching the Bible study next week?   100% God

What are the chances that the office would be empty and she would feel the freedom to share her story with me…someone whom she had never seen before?  100% God

What are the chances that the book that I will be teaching is the perfect Word from The Lord that she needs to hear?  100% God

As I drove away I thought, “What if I had ignored the megaphone?”

Chances are 100% that I wouldn’t have gotten to see the miracle of God ordaining my steps for His purposes in that moment.

I came home tonight and recounted it all to Joe and at the end said to him,

“What are the chances?”

My man of few words said, “100% –God”

My over zealous checklist. I only did two of these so far, but added several to the list that I had already done just so I could check them off.

This is what my amazing coworkers gave me today at lunch. This is the verse that I had prayed over the ministry I led. 100% truth and I got to witness more than I could have imagined today!