This is a blog written by a Gen-Xer, which means it’s sure to irritate many in the Boomer generation and, subsequently, in the generations below me in equal parts which is always a good time.

Though I come from a generation that gets mostly ignored, I do have a unique perspective as I’m caught in the in-between: The in-between being the revolt of the Boomer generation and the counter-revolt of some in the Millennial and Gen-Zer generations with regards to women.

You see, back in the bygone days of the 80s, I was immersed in a culture that was really flexing its second-generation feminist muscles. I grew up in a time when most kids came home to an empty house because their mom worked. My mom was a working mom and she balanced work and home life with monumental strength and I’ve always admired her.

I knew very few moms that didn’t work and those that didn’t seemed, well…weird to me. You see, in my day the messaging was, “Girls can do anything. Get out in the man’s world! Show what we can do! Free yourself from the shackles of staying at home! GIRL POWER! YOU ARE SHE-RA–Princess of Power!”

And I was like, “Darn, right, I am.”

However, amidst all this second-wave feminism, I was, and still remain, a tradition-loving, conservative gal. The 1940s are my favorite era. I love chivalry and the complementary nature of the sexes. I don’t want to be a girl-boss. I know there are differences between the sexes and that’s okay. I like my man to be confident and strong–a protector and provider through-and-through.

Because of my beliefs, I was, as you can imagine, a “joy” to have in my Women’s Studies classes in college. While I wasn’t exactly given the Teacher’s Pet Award, I feel confident in saying that my professors thought about me a lot. While I fought against the rabid abortion-loving liberal professors and I questioned literally everything they said–which I know they appreciated for debate’s sake–I still picked up some residual feminist beliefs during my time in college.

The main belief was this: My life would only matter if I got out there and got a career and made it in a man’s world. So, you can imagine my dilemma, when I got pregnant with my oldest at 21 and hadn’t even graduated college yet. “No matter,” I thought. “I will be Super Mom! I will work AND I will be there for my daughter all the time.” I mean, after all, I had a great example in my mother.

To make a long story short, I spent years of my life fretting over feeling the obligation to work so as not to let all women down and feeling the desire to stay home with my children. I couldn’t shake the imbedded idea that my life would amount to nothing if I just (whispers) stayed at home…shhhhhh.

But, then, in a moment of clarity and a pinch of maturity, I realized that feminism had boxed me in. For modern-day feminists, there is only one avenue a woman can take and that’s to “make it” in the working world.

They yelled in my face, “Don’t you dare desire to stay home with those snotty-nosed kids clinging to your prairie skirt all day while you churn butter and feed the chickens. If you do this, you will end up having 20 children and you will DIE of boredom. Look at me, look at me, girl, I’m in my tight pants and high heels smashing glass ceilings. I answer to no one, except my boss and five other managers, but NO ONE ELSE and…I drink my $15 mocha-choca latte frappe Americano…in peace.”

Enticing as it was, I said, “I’m out,” and went on to live the life that was best for me and my family. I’ve stayed home for 14 years now, homeschooling, volunteering and enjoying the freedom I provide for my family by giving us time that I could not provide when I was working.

But now, a new wind blows through them thar sails and it brings the smell of counter-revolt which is always inevitable when people push too far and go too extreme.

The counter-revolt is the radical tradwife movement. Just as I can get on board with the first-wave of feminism with its push for voting rights and property rights for women, I can get on board with much of the tradwife movement. I’m for the nuclear-family unit, I’m for Biblical principles when it comes to marriage: You know, “the submit to your husbands” part and all the pearl-clutching supposed “patriarchal controversies” the Bible can dish out. I’m for valuing the work of the stay-at-home mom and for acknowledging that she gives her family a great gift.

Lately, though, some in the tradwife movement are tipping towards the extreme. Recently, I was told that women shouldn’t vote because women vote wrongly sometimes and they are too emotional. As if no man on planet earth has never errored in his decision-making. It was a majority group of Supreme Court men, after all, that handed us Roe vs. Wade. It was then explained to me that only men should vote and a woman should submit her vote to her husband or her father because laws directly impact men more–meaning war and such. This is to ignore the countless wives and mothers that have sent their husbands and sons off to war, helpless to watch them go. Last time I checked, I am subjected to the laws of the land just like any man and I would like a say. Ultimately, though, this thinking says that women are not equal to men in dignity, worth, and intelligence because we can’t be trusted to vote and vote well.

Not long ago, I was forwarded a post detailing a vent by a man that was upset that his stay-at-home wife refused to get a job. Apparently, they are a family that lives paycheck-to-paycheck and …

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I was asked a few weeks ago to blog on the topic of having a good relationship with your teenager. I’m certainly no expert, but I’ve given this topic a lot of brain activity over the past few weeks. I currently have a 21-year old, a 17-year old and an eight-year old. I would say–and I think they would, too–that their father and I have maintained a good relationship with them.

Initially, when I started to think about this, I thought of very practical things to foster a good relationship, like no phone until a certain age, meal times together as a family, etc. Yet, none of these things quite hit the mark for me. There was something about the practical things that had a hint of the answer, but I wasn’t fully satisfied. I even tried to parse it out with my husband and we were left searching for words.

And then…like a lightbulb…it hit me. The answer is sacrifice. If you want to have a good relationship with your kids, at any age really, you must sacrifice. In fact, if you want to have a good relationship with anyone–God, your spouse, kids, your parents, friends–you must be willing to sacrifice.

When kids are little, sacrifice is forced upon us as parents. We lose sleep to get up with a crying baby. We miss out on nice things to provide for their welfare. As mothers, we can sit for hours a day feeding a nursing child. We can barely take a moment for ourselves because we have to be constantly vigilant for their safety. We do these things because we love them and it’s worth it.

As kids move into the teen years, there is a tendency for parents to kick up their heels and shift into cruise control. Teens are more self-sufficient than a toddler, more independent than a one-year old, and less needy with regards to time and attention. But….and it’s a big but…parents can’t check out. A parent’s role in the teen years is one of guidance and, to be honest, a lot of teaching. Teens still have much to learn. As parents, though, we must continue to find ways to sacrifice for our teens. If you check out, they will see that and, even though they may not express it verbally, they will be hurt by it. Checking out equals not caring in their eyes and if the only time you do care is when they mess up, well, that doesn’t foster closeness.

When my husband commissioned in the Air Force, I knew that I was going to sacrifice my career for the sake of him and our family. To a certain extent, the sacrifice is for my country, as well. I knew, without a doubt, he would get all the awards, respect, and monetary rewards that are elusive to a stay-at-home mom. Some have scoffed at my sacrifice saying that it has inhibited my success, but they are wrong. My sacrifice has enabled our family to stay together through every move. There is no job I cling to over my husband. My sacrifice allowed us to move for one year to Turkey where we created memories that will last forever. I sacrifice for my husband for love of him. He sacrifices for me in his own way, as well.

My mom was a working mother. Some may argue that working moms don’t have as many opportunities to sacrifice, especially if they don’t need to work. However, this isn’t true. I saw my mom sacrifice for me and my siblings all the time. After a hard day at work, she came home and always prepared a delicious home-cooked meal. Family meals were important to her and so, tired as she was, she mustered up the energy to provide for our family. She, also, took time off for class parties and she came to many sporting events. I’d always known that she wanted to get her degree, but she held off until all three of her kids were not in need of her constant attention anymore. She sacrificed for us and though I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, I do now. We had a tense patch in my teen years because of my poor choices in boys. Deep down, though, I knew her constant lectures were because she loved me and I’m glad she cared enough to speak up. Turns out she was right on everything she lectured me on.

I’m not a perfect parent. I can be a bit of a hot head, I’m impatient, and I’m not always the most empathetic mother. For all my faults, I have always desired to sacrifice for my family. I have not desired this in order to win a martyr’s badge, but because it seems like the best way to show love to my family. It’s the way Christ showed us His immeasurable love. Trust me when I say that I do this most imperfectly, but I hope my family sees my effort. My sacrifice for my children, like my husband, has been to forgo a career. In place of a career, I have instead homeschooled my kids for going-on thirteen years. I’m not saying you can’t work or that you need to quit your job in order to have a good relationship with your teens. You will, however, have to find some other way to sacrifice for them.

Sacrificing may mean fixing meals so that the family can eat together. It may require setting boundaries on phones, dating, and clothing that potentially could make your teen hate your guts. It may mean setting aside scrolling through social media in order to play a game. It may mean taking an interest in your teens hobbies even if they aren’t really something you’re keen on. It may mean having uncomfortable conversations with them in order to give them the truth about pornography, sex, and drugs. It may, also, mean sacrificing your pride by sharing with them stories …

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I was married at twenty-two which for many, in this day and age, seems wildly young. Not only did I marry young, but when my husband and I married, we were already parents. It basically went something like this: I graduated from college, took off my cap and gown, got into a hospital gown to give birth, and then turned around and slipped into a beautiful wedding gown–gown, to gown, to gown. Obviously, I’m not here to condone getting pregnant out of wedlock, but such was the reality of my life. 

Anyway, I was married very young and while I had graduated, my husband still had one more year to go until he graduated and was commissioned in the Air Force. As you can imagine, we had little money. We seriously lived off Dustin’s student loan and the $400 a month that ROTC gave us. We lived off of very little and, yet, not for one second were we unhappy.

I love our beginning. There we were just young newlyweds trying to navigate our way. Everything in our house was mismatched. We had particle board everything–and it all was leaning and on the verge of collapse. We had no curtains, no pictures on the wall. Every single thing we owned was a hand-me-down. There was no nursery to decorate because we didn’t have the money. Not to mention, our daughter’s room was also her dad’s “office.” Thankfully, family members pitched in and we were gifted with everything we needed for our daughter. To say the least, they were humble beginnings, but they were good beginnings.

We didn’t have the money to spend on elaborate entertainment back then. Our entertainment consisted of long, evening walks, visits to parks, and going to the free zoo in town. We rarely had a date. We rarely ate out for dinner. I laugh now when I think back to our grocery bill at the time. It was somewhere along the lines of maybe $40.00. We ate well, but not extravagantly; our meals were very simple. Our Friday and Saturday nights consisted of taking our daughter on a walk and then coming home to watch TV. One day, it was blazing hot outside and we couldn’t afford admission into the city pool. The apartment complex across the street had a pool, so we snuck across and pretended that we were residents. We must have played it off well because nobody said anything.

I was very content at that time in my life. Granted, I did want to improve our situation but I was quite happy even with fewer things. During all that time, God provided and we were never want for any necessity. 

Bishop Sheen once wrote:

“Contentment is based on the idea that ‘our sufficiency is not from ourselves but from God.’ The soul does not desire or lack more than what God has supplied him.” 

At the dawn of our marriage, we were stripped of most things and we, as a couple, had to fight to improve our situation. We had to make goals, we had to learn how to be frugal, we had to plan, budget, save, and sacrifice. We are better for it and we did it together. We worked as a team to build a life. Starting out this way, I think, sets the stage for a greater appreciation when you do get to have nicer things. You have the contrasting lifestyles. You’ve gone without and you know what that feels like.

“Contentment is not inconsistent with our endeavor to have our condition improved. We do everything we can, as if all depended on us, but we trust in God as if everything depended on Him.”

When you do work your way to something better, you really appreciate it. We love to reminisce about our early years together because they are so different from where we are now. We can see the growth in our relationship. We can see the progress we have made and I think that it has made us closer and stronger.

I don’t pretend that we were dirt poor. I know that there are others with much less. I am grateful that every night we had food in our bellies, a roof over our head, and our needs were met. We didn’t have much of what we wanted, but we had everything we needed. What I think is important is that at nearly every stage of our marriage we have been happy. (Moving to Las Vegas threw us for a loop as a family, but that’s another story.) It’s never been about the stuff: The car, the big house, the brand name this-or-that, the fancy vacations. It’s always been about us–our family.

I often think back on those early years of our marriage and smile. I smile because we thought a Dairy Queen treat was a big deal. I smile because we had a 1985 powder blue Buick Century that was anything but cool. I smile because our idea of a good time was going to a park with a camera and taking goofy pictures of each other. I smile because I had to work three nights a week as a waitress at a smokey steakhouse. Some nights, Dustin and Rhianna would come down to see me and I loved the visits. I smile because I remember how Rhianna and I would meet her dad on campus to have lunch with him. We were the only people with a kid and a stroller. But, mostly I smile, because it was a young us, trying to find our way. We didn’t have all the answers, but we loved each other enough to trust that we could build a good life together.

I love our humble beginnings. It’s our story. It’s a good story. I love our now and all the in-between, because, no matter poor or well-off, this family growing in faith together is all the matters.

To listen to this week’s podcast where Bishop Sheen talks about …

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I wrote last week about how I learned to love and forgive a family member that was completely different than me. Here’s that blog if you’d like to read it. From that blog, a question was posed to me. I’d like to take this blog to answer it. 

Question: How do you navigate a relationship with someone who is so vastly different in every single belief, behavior, action etc?

I think the answer lies in degrees. Different relationships will require different navigation. I don’t have experience in all these situation, but for the ones I do, I’ll try to give some examples.

Acquaintances

When I first moved to Vegas, I needed to find a hairdresser. I read reviews online for a great place and called and made my appointment. When I got to the salon, I saw my hairdresser for the first time and, inside, I was like, “Hmmmm…this could be interesting.” She’s very Vegas and I’m very….uh…Kansas and we’ll just leave it at that. I quickly discovered, though, that she’s awesome. I love chatting with her. Unless she’s blow drying my hair, we laugh and talk like good buddies. I know from small remarks she’s made that our belief sets are completely different. I think she understands this, too, and so we never venture into religion, politics, or anything controversial. I’m so glad that she’s my hairdresser and I always look forward to seeing her. Our relationship is very limited, given the nature of it, and that makes it easy to just skim over the more hot-button topics. So often in life, we get so caught up in “our side” that we miss just the human experience of getting to know people that have different stories, different up-bringings, and different thoughts. With co-workers, acquaintances, and friends that aren’t extremely close, navigating those relationships isn’t or shouldn’t be too hard. Just enjoy the person. Learn to listen without having a debate about everything and get to know them.

Close Friends

When you are trying to navigate the area of friendship, things get a little more complicated. If you ever want to truly be close with someone you are going to have to go a little deeper than coffee break room chit-chat. The best thing to remember about friends is that you want to surround yourself with people of virtue and those that truly want to help you grow into a great person. Friends that encourage you to do things that aren’t becoming of you or that try to steer you down paths that you know are against your core beliefs are ones to walk away from. Our friends influence our thoughts and behaviors quite a bit, so if they stand for things we know are seriously wrong, stepping away from them is usually best.

I had a friend in college that engaged in some very questionable behavior. She was a blast to be around and she was always the life of the party, but I completely disagreed with certain things that she thought were okay. After awhile, she started encouraging me to engage in her same lifestyle choices and, sadly, I had to walk away. I still missed her for the good things about her, but her negative influence was weighing on me.

Parents and other family members

I can’t say it any better than this. Rocker Andrew W. K. gives some great advice that works for anyone.

Boyfriends/Girlfriends

When I was a senior in high school, I fell for one of the school bad boys. Deep down he wasn’t really a bad person, but he played the part very well: He smoked, drank, had tattoos, dropped out of school, and lived for working on cars, fishing, and hanging with his buddies. I was drawn in by his looks and his looks held me for awhile. Slowly, though, our differences began to seep out, but I ignored them because 1. I thought I could change him and 2. I was young.

We got engaged, but I never felt gleeful about it. In fact, it sort of weighed on my heart like a heavy brick. I knew I wasn’t supposed to feel this way about being engaged and, if I did, that was a bad sign. I pressed on, though, determined to see us through. What bothered me most was that we were just so different on all fronts. Our beliefs were opposites, our lifestyles were opposites, and there was so little that we saw eye-to-eye on. We fought a lot and I was super frustrated with him most of the time. It came to a point where my initial attraction to his looks could not prop up our relationship anymore.

One time, after we’d had a dramatic temporary break-up, I was sitting on my parent’s front porch crying. My dad came up and asked me what was going on and I told him. He said, “Amy, if this is who you want to be with, I respect that, but what does he offer to your life? Why do you enjoy being with him?”

“I love him,” was my answer.

To which my dad said, “Okay, but think about being married to him. You are two very different people. What does he offer to you that makes you stay?”

“Well, we teach each other things.”

“Uh huh, like what? What does he teach you?”

“Well, he teaches me about deer and hunting and stuff.” Even as I type this now, I can’t believe I ever uttered that. Deer and stuff? Deer and stuff was supposed to sustain a marriage? My dad didn’t even really say anything because I think he knew he didn’t need to–my answer was embarassingly weak. It wasn’t long after that, that I realized that it was time to walk away from that relationship. He wasn’t a bad person, we just were unequally yoked in nearly every department. I felt so obligated to stay with him because we’d been together for a long time and we …

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I often wonder, “What did we do before all these electronics came into our lives?”  And then I remind myself, that I did live in the pre-historic time period before the IPad, cellphone, and laptop.  What did we do?  Well, we spent a heck of lot more time outside, I do know that.  I realize the importance of each of these gadgets.  I even realize the irony in the fact that I’m writing this on a laptop, while encouraging people and myself to step away from electronic toys.  But, it’s the AMOUNT of time and devotion we give to these items that’s the problem.  But, why?  What is it about these things that causes us to miss the world around us?

Let me preface this next paragraph with a statement:  I do not think TV is the devil (0r debil if you are the Waterboy’s momma).  Our family currently has a TV, but we have no cable.  We haven’t really watched TV for months.  Recently, we were back in Kansas to visit family and we watched TV.  I have to tell you, it felt foreign to me.  Watching it made me feel like I had teleported into 2014 from the year 1750.  I know, it was weird.  Now that I’m back at home, I don’t miss it.  I’m actually thankful that we don’t have cable.  EXCEPT, I know I’m gonna want it come football season.

I live near Thomas Jefferson’s house, Monticello.  I’ve taken the tour there many times now and every time I come away amazed at all the stuff Thomas Jefferson did.  He studied EVERYTHING.  And when I say everything, I mean EVERYTHING.  He knew like seven languages.  He studied architecture written in Italian and then designed his house.  He was a politician, a farmer, a botanist, and a weatherman.  He even built a really cool clock in his house.  I mean, who does this?  But, he was not alone.  I’ve been to Washington’s house and James Madison’s house and these guys all did the same things.  I used to think that people who lived before the electronic age were probably bored out of their minds, but I stand corrected.  With no electronics these guys were able to teach themselves anything and everything and then applied it to their lives.  Granted, these were men that were afforded more freedom and ability to do these things over the “common” man, but still.  They put many of us to shame.  When you have time on your hands, you either squander it or dive into it and squeeze every last drop of goodness out of it that you can.

It’s amazing what you can do with your life when you let go of electronics.  This week’s reading in the “Hands Free Momma” book was about “sunset moments”.  Sunset moments are those moments in life that are precious, memorable, and cherished, like the most beautiful sunset you can remember seeing.  They all happen without the aid of an electronic gadget.  The author stresses that we are missing these moments because our eyes are glued to our screens.  These moments are going on around us, but we miss them because of the devotion we give to the almighty phone/computer/TV.  Once she decided to put these items down for significant times of the day, she became more and more aware of the sunset moments in her life.  She made a list of things that she noticed in a period of time that she would have otherwise missed due to electronic addiction.  I decided to do the same thing.

In this past week, some of my sunset moments were:

–I took an evening walk with my family.  We went slow and the girls found blackberry bushes along the way.  We stopped and picked as many as we could and then came home and had them over homemade vanilla ice cream.

–While shopping at the store, Sydney grabbed my hand and held it.  My hand was free to hold, cause there was no phone there.

–I sat in my hubby’s lap and tucked my face into his neck, just breathing him in.

–I worked out in the yard with my husband.  He planted a little garden, I weeded my flower beds.  Our son, Jeremiah, slept peacefully in his stroller in the shade.

–I crawled into bed one morning with my Rhianna and just held her for a moment before getting her up for breakfast.

–I sat on the couch and played with Jeremiah.  He coo’d and smiled at me for a good long time.  It’s so cute watching him learn to use his voice.

–I sat out on the front porch with my friends and watched the kids shoot off fireworks.  We boo’d the dud fireworks, clapped at the good ones, and enjoyed each other’s company.

These are just a few things and my week feels so much fuller.  More rich.  More fulfilling.  More joyful.  These things have given me something that electronics never could–contentment, peace, and love.  I will always remember these things, but I won’t remember 30 minutes from now what I just saw on my phone or watched in a TV sitcom.  Without the distractions, my time has become more open and free and I can fill it with things that matter.  This is what people did before the electronics age.  They got creative, they got together as friends and family, they learned, they explored, they challenged themselves and they grew as people.

 …

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Spontaneity is NOT my middle name.  It might be my husband’s, though.  My husband is very spontaneous and when we were first together, believe it or not, it was a source of contention for us.  He would spring on me a last minute trip and I would freak.  What about a plan?  I didn’t have time to plan!  Plan, plan, plan.

“Did you plan?” I would often ask him.

Casually he would grin and say, “Nope.”  This response would send me into a downward spiral and many times put me in a bad mood.  How sad is that?  I just didn’t operate like him.  We needed to pack and plan and make lists and…basically be a kill-joy.  In an effort to make myself feel better about my personality, when I first met Dustin, his room…OH MY WORD!  An organizer’s nightmare.  It was bad, very bad.  We needed each other in more ways than one.

Over time, I learned to be more flexible when my husband sprung a surprise on me.  In fact, now, I look forward to what he has in store and I don’t fret or get bent out of shape.  Dustin gave me a great gift when he taught me that all of life isn’t meant to be planned and organized.  Often times it’s the spontaneous moments that are most memorable.

In this week’s reading in the “Hands Free Mama” book, Rachel Stafford talks about the day she spontaneously played in the rain with her girls.  They were cleaning the garage and it started to rain.  She decided right there to create a moment with her girls and she encouraged them to join her in the rain.  At first, they looked at her as if to say, “Are you sure?  We might get our clothes wet.  Or we might get dirty.  Is this planned?  Should we take her seriously?”  But, soon the girls joined her in the rain and they danced and played.  They even saw a picture perfect rainbow together.

I realized while reading this that my children would probably have a similar response.  Often times we don’t let our kids be the children that they are.  We force them to act in very grown up ways and it snuffs the creative wonder and playfulness out of them.  Obviously, it’s important to teach our kids about boundaries and appropriate behavior in certain situations. But, why am I always telling them, “No, we can’t do that”?  Every time I play with my children, I enjoy myself.  So, why am I so hesitant to let loose in an unstructured way?  Why is it hard to step away from the adult things that aren’t that enjoyable?

I think it boils down to the fact I forget that, as an adult, I need to sometimes be a little free and let loose like a child.  My children need to see me having fun and being a little unorthodox for an adult.  Life simply cannot be all chores, to-do lists, and errands.  God gave us this great big playground and we need to relish in it.  Playing in life gets us back to center, I think, and keeps life from getting too serious, too bogged down with the details.

“Only the childlike retain the child’s gift of wonder.  Wondering, we forget ourselves entirely, lost in what has provoked our awe.”  Psalm 8

(By the way, I read the above verse in my daily readings just before posting this blog.  It fit so perfectly I had to add it.  And I had to smile at the subtle ways God reinforces what we are learning when we grow.)

Traveling back from Kansas this past week, my family spent the night at a hotel.  The next morning, my girls were piling up four pillows at a time, then launching themselves from one bed onto the pillow tower on the other bed.  I was just about to tell them to stop when I caught myself and told myself to let them be.  They weren’t hurting anything and they were giggling and having a great time.  I couldn’t blame them for doing it, it did look like fun.  I glanced over at my husband and noticed a look of contemplation on his face.  Mr. Spontaneity wanted to join in, but, sadly, he was delegated to loading up the suitcases.  But, I let the girls leap with unbinding joy until it was time to hit the road.  I was proud of myself for allowing them to just be kids.

I’ve decided the next time it rains (and it’s not lightening, of course) I will grab my girls and play in the rain.  It sounds like a lot of fun and ever since reading the author’s story, I’ve desired to do that with my kids.  I will also make an effort to let them be and enjoy the moments they create for themselves.  As for myself, I will continue to give myself permission to play, whether with my kids, my husband, or both at the same time.

What spontaneous thing have you done with your kids that created a great memory?

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The other day I was at the Christian book store looking for a gift.  I walked past the clearance books and I saw one titled, “Hands Free Mama.”  I was drawn to it, so I picked it up, didn’t even read the back, and decided I wanted to read it.  I had an idea of what it was going to be about and for some reason it called to me.  Back at home, I sat down for one of Jeremiah’s nursing times and started reading it.  The book is meant to be read slow.  You read a little bit each week and reflect on what it says, journal about it, and work to change negative habits.  This really appeals to me.  I thought I’d reflect and journal on here about what I’m learning and changing about myself in hopes of becoming a better version of me.

The author, Rachel Macy Stafford, starts out by talking about how we spend too much time being busy.  Too much time on our gadgets.  Too much time disconnected from our present lives.  I have to agree.  Life is just zooming by.  My firstborn is about to be 13 and I have to sit and wonder where the time has gone.  She was just my little Babina Baby and now she is entering her teenage years.  I look around and I see us all on our phones, our iPads, our whatever and I know that we are missing out on life.

This first section of the book got me thinking about my childhood.  I remember my mom setting up sheet tents over the clothes line out in the backyard of our house when I was five.  I would play with my Care Bears under it in the summer sunshine.  Or how she’d take me to the library and instilled in me a love of reading.  I remember my dad taking me to the park all the time.  We’d make up silly songs together and share a grape Mr. Misty from Dairy Queen.  I remember having tea parties with my Grandma Shirley.  She’d get out her fancy cups and we’d have tea and goodies by candlelight.  I remember playing cards with my Grandma Luedke and how she’d serve my cousins and me Dr. Pepper in shot glasses.  I remember my Grandpa Luedke taking my cousins and me driving out on the back roads of Kansas.  He’d let us sit on his lap and drive and we always thought we were cooler than cool.

So many good memories.  These times spent with my loved ones are precious to me.  And I realized something while I was thinking about all these memories; none of them cost hardly anything, if anything at all.  I loved these times because these people were giving me one-on-one time.  They weren’t distracted by gadgets.  We were doing simple things together, nothing extravagant.  But, I can draw up these simple times in my mind better than even my high school graduation.

We have gotten away from simple.  We have gotten away from just being.  We have gotten away from connection.  I don’t want to lose that.  The book challenges you to find a way to give up gadget time, busy time, stressed-out time a little each day.  Obviously, we have to do our chores, go to work, and take care of responsibilities, but we also busy ourselves with unnecessary activities.  She challenges us to put down the phone, step away from the T.V., unplug the computers, readers, and iPads.  Then we need to think about how this impacts our life.  Here are my thoughts.

In this first week, I freed myself from my phone and computer for long stretches of the day.  I, instead, danced with my kids, read books with them, read books for myself, sat on the porch swing and just enjoyed listening to the birds while holding my son, scrapbooked with my kids (and I didn’t even care about mistakes for once), and played card games with them.

What emotions do you experience when you step away from your devices to spend time with loved ones?

IT WAS AWESOME!  I enjoyed myself and my family tremendously.  It was very freeing and I feel like the days have been full of more important activities even if they aren’t necessarily “productive.”

Do you notice anything special about your loved ones that you failed to notice before?

Not really.  I have always paid close attention to people.  However, I did notice lots of laughing and smiling, which I love seeing.  It has been especially funny teaching my oldest how to dance.

Are you beginning to notice more opportunities to connect to what matters to you?

Yes.  I’m not worried about the chores and instead spend an hour laying on the bed talking to my son while he coos at me.  And amazingly, the laundry and dishes still get done, but I’m not stressing about it anymore.  The other night, I just sat on the couch and held Sydney in my arms and we made funny faces at each other for like 15 minutes.  Normally, I would pick up the house or do dishes, but I just felt the need to hold her.  So I did.  It was good for my heart.

This has been a good challenge for my type A personality.  I feel more relaxed and free.  Being in the moment helps the days not fly by in a blur to where I lay down my head at night and have no idea what I did.  These have been simple things, but if my childhood is a good indicator, simple is the most memorable.

What are some of your favorite, simple childhood memories?…

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I’ve decided I’m going to have to scale back my blogs a little, while learning to adjust to having a baby in the house again.  So, my blogs will be more like journal entries and shorter, until I can find more time to write more elaborate pieces.  Just writing something down always helps me feel better.

I am Type A.  I’m so much like my mother in this regard.  I don’t look at this character trait as a negative thing, in fact, it’s something I kind of pride myself on.  I can get a lot done in a short amount of time: I can finish projects, I goal set, I multi-task, I do the impossible somedays.  Or maybe that’s just called being a mom.  Either way, I have a hard time staying put.  My mother is exactly the same way and I’m always amazed the amount of things she can accomplish while still carrying around a smile.

For the past seven or so years, I have been accustomed to doing things in my Type A manner.  Enter baby number three.  It’s different now, because I homeschool my two oldest, cart them around to gymnastics and piano, and do a myriad of other things.  My life has gotten more full since having my first child when I could just sort of chill about the house after having her.  The day I brought our third child home from the hospital, I was resolved to not miss a beat.  I would still be supermom.  And…

I realized quickly I needed to be a little less Type A, but I couldn’t stop myself.  I about killed myself in those first few weeks of my son being home.  When he was sleeping, I was doing laundry, cleaning cat litter, vacuuming, dusting, making elaborate meals, paying bills, etc.  Make no mistake, I have plenty of help, I just wasn’t asking for it.  I had this vision that I could still do it all and it was kicking me in the butt.  It goes against my very nature to just sit and be still.  Dustin was noticing my over-production and realized it was time to step in and intervene.

“You need to take a nap today,” my husband said to me one day.

“No, there is no time for a nap.  There is too much to do!”  (Mind you, I’m also getting rid of pregnancy hormones, which can leave one irrational and irritable.)

“You need to take a nap today, Amy,” he said with more firmness.

“Well, things around the house aren’t going to get done by themselves.  There is no time.”

“Amy, you are taking a nap today.”

Sighing in frustration, I conceded and answered, “Fine.”

I took a nap and it did wonders for my sanity.  But, I still needed something more to relieve me of myself and my tendencies to overdue it.  One night when I woke up to feed my son, I sat in the rocking chair and looked out at the sky.  My stress overwhelmed me and I broke down in prayer.  I talked to God for a long, long time.  I shared with Him my frustration at not being able to relax and just enjoy these moments with my son.  I talked to Him about how I felt I was failing.  I asked Him to help me ease up on this part of who I am for now.  I begged Him for some relief.  And in those quiet hours of the night, there in the dark talking to my Father, I felt Him say, “I’ve been waiting for you to come to me for help.  You can’t do this all on your own.”

The next day everything changed.  I allowed myself downtime, I took a nap without being ordered, I worried less, and relaxed my expectations.  I started asking for more help.  Two friends called saying they were bringing over meals for dinner.

That night, back in my rocking chair for another feeding, I talked to God again and thanked Him for His love and guidance.  I thanked Him for being there to share my feelings to without judgement and I thanked Him for all His many blessings.  One of those blessings being that He never ceases to be there for us.  He is always waiting for us to realize that we need to come to Him and find peace in His arms.

My days are much better now.  I will always be Type A, but I’m learning to be okay with giving that up a little for the time being.  Every night now, I talk to God while nursing my son and I ask every night for the patience and strength to make the next day wonderful.  And every new day, my prayer is answered.

 …

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“The laborious steps to the Kingdom of Motherhood are not always so beautiful, but today they are for you!”

A dear friend of mine sent me these words along with a gorgeous picture on Mother’s Day one year. I’ve pondered upon the words my friend wrote and I realize that her words are full of grace and wisdom.

I first became a mother when I was 22-years old. When they laid my daughter on my chest I knew that my heart would never be the same. Here was this tiny, little person totally dependent on me to care and love her. I’d never held such responsibility and I sure didn’t want to mess up. But, as motherhood will go, we tend to make a lot of mistakes. It’s a learning experience, not just at the beginning, but every single day.

The steps of motherhood (in my mind) are each a characteristic, a virtue if you will, that children will teach you if you open your heart to their lessons and love. Undoubtedly, the first step is shedding our natural instinct towards selfishness. I believe the word “selfish” is an antonym of the word “mother.” The two words just don’t jive together. From never being able to go to the bathroom in peace, to never finishing a sentence in a book before being interrupted, to sharing every single thing you have, motherhood does a fine job of shedding our skin of selfishness. This can be hard and the first step is not the last time you will see a step with selfishness labeled on the front of it. It’s a constant climb to learn that true happiness comes from giving yourself to others–the art of focusing outwards and not inwards. Maybe that’s why grandmothers are so giving, so patient, so tolerant. They have years of practice climbing the steps and they are masters in their own right.

There are steps of motherhood that, quite frankly, I wish I could have jumped over. Those times when I climb a flight and stand with hands on hips in confident triumph, only to go toppling down and being forced to start all over again. Some steps have taught me lessons that sting, some have been so difficult to climb I feel my legs can’t go on, and some steps have left scars that burn like fire. Those are the times that I just sit on the steps and feel the waves of failure and defeat wash over me. Yet, in those times, my children always find a way to speak to my heart and they grab my hand and pull me over the hump. Guided by their love and innocence, I feel the wind in my sails again.

More often than not, though, climbing my steps of motherhood are taken in joyful strides. When I see my oldest daughter, Rhianna, becoming the intelligent, independent, hard-working young lady that she is, my heart swells with pride. I realize that I must be doing something right. When my Sydney amazes me, yet again, with an understanding of others guided by her heart of compassion, I am inspired to continually better myself. I look forward to what my little man, Jeremiah, will bring to this world. He already adds so much light and joy. He will have his own set of gifts, his own way of teaching me and I can’t wait to discover all he has in store.

I imagine each step is an event, a joy, a memory, or a lesson that I have experienced with my children as their mother. When I look down my steps, I am reminded that I have come a long way and I will continue to climb towards a more virtuous, more compassionate, more patient woman. Children can drawn out negative traits within us if we give them the chance. There will be other falls and scraped knees as I continue to climb, but I am blessed because I get to climb it with my three treasures.

 …

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I was a hard-core criminal when I was six-years old.  Hard to believe, I know, but it’s true.  I was on my way to a life of thievery.

“Oh, come on, Amy.  What did you steal?  A lollipop at the grocery store?”

No, ladies purses were more my thing.  Initially, I got caught a couple of times stealing toys from our church.  How low can you get?  Afterward, my parents reprimanded me and attempted to impress upon me how stealing was wrong.  But, I didn’t really care.  I wanted what I wanted.  So, I moved on to a bigger, more serious item, like a woman’s purse.  While at a friend’s house, I saw the mom take a tube of lipstick out of her purse, and I decided that the purse would soon be mine.  Somehow (I don’t remember how) I relieved the owner of her purse.  I knew it was wrong.  I remember thinking that it was wrong, but my desire for the purse and the things inside outweighed my Jimmy-Cricket conscience.

I hid it under my Smurf 3-wheeler.  This was not an ideal hiding spot.  Hardly inconspicuous, I know, but give me a break.  I was six.

Not surprisingly, my mom found it and I immediately saw the disappointment in her eyes.  Here I was, yet again, stealing stuff.  The fact that I hid it proved that I knew I did wrong.  When my dad came home, she told on me.  Calmly, my dad told me to go get in the car.  I had no idea what I was in for, but I remember being somewhat nervous about his calm disposition.  Shouldn’t he be yelling at me?  Shouldn’t he be disciplining me?  A car-ride?  I was confused.

I got in the passenger seat and my dad started driving.  I asked him where we were going.  Again, calmly, he said, “I’m taking you to the police station and you are going to turn yourself in.”

At those words, I…freaked…out.  Tears immediately sprang from my eyes.  I begged.  I pleaded.  I promised him I would never do it again.  He simply said, “Amy, your mother and I have already punished you and told you that stealing is wrong.  You obviously did not want to listen and I can’t let you go on stealing.  People who steal in life get caught by the police and go to jail.  This is what happens when you steal.”

He pulled in front of the police station and said, “Go and turn yourself in.”

“Please no, Daddy!  I promise I won’t do it again!” I begged.

“Amy, go into the police station and turn yourself in.”  I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was not kidding.  He wasn’t yelling or screaming at me, but he was firm and resolute.  I slowly opened the car door and, sobbing, walked up to the door of the police station.  I remember thinking that I didn’t want to go to jail, that jail was not the place for me.  Right before I opened the door, my dad got out of the car and halted my confession.  He knelt down to look me in the eye and proceeded to explain that this behavior had to stop.  I realized in that moment that jail was the consequence for stealing and I WAS NOT comfortable with it AT ALL.  After a good long talk, he hugged me, told me he loved me, and we got back in the car and went home.  I had to take the purse back to it’s owner and apologize for stealing it, which was humiliating, as well.  After that day, I never stole another thing in my life.

Some of you may be gasping in horror at the perceived atrocity of what my father did.  After all, I was only six.  But, let me assure you, I have never required therapy for this punishment, I don’t hate my father, and I’m a pretty well-rounded human being.  I am grateful to my dad did for what he did.  I understand that he did it out of love for me.

Love?  Love, you say?  I know many people would find this act of punishment far from loving.  Here in lies the problem.  We have confused love to mean total tolerance, acceptance, and appeasement.  My dad will tell you to this day, that punishing me like that was immensely difficult and he hated doing it, but he knew he had to find some way to wake me up and purge me of this behavior.  Other punishments were not working.  My dad simply loved me too much to tolerate or accept this behavior.

That is what real, honest-to-goodness love does–it does what is right, not what is just pleasurable.  This is another problem we are facing in our world.  We believe good=pleasure and pain=evil.  This is a fallacy, but one that is causing lots of problems.  If I really and truly love someone, I want them to be the best person they can be.  I’m not very loving if I encourage, deny, or ignore aspects of their life or behavior that is bad for them or others.  My dad allowed me to go through some suffering in order to eradicate potentially devastating, future suffering.  You could argue that I would have outgrown it with age and maturity, but once a habit is established it is very difficult to break.  As Barney Fife would say, “Nip it, nip it in the bud.”  Why would you wait to correct something that could be potentially harmful, destructive, or negatively habitual?

What is good is not always pleasurable.  Christ committed the greatest good every known, but not one bit of it was pleasurable.  He did it because of His love for us.  We discipline our children, not because it is pleasurable for either them or us, but because it is right and good.  I may even let my children experience some suffering in order to teach them a lesson that is for …

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Several months ago, I was speaking with a very nice lady and we were discussing our pre-teen children.  She has a boy, I obviously, have a girl.  We were discussing the life changes they were going through and how to talk to them.  She asked me if I had talked with my daughter about puberty and “the birds and the bees,” to which I replied, “Yes, I have.”  I explained to her that, for girls, there are some great books out there that you can buy.  Reading the books together offers a great way to start the conversation and explain things as you move from subject to subject.

She asked me if I knew of any books that were for boys.  I replied, “Well, I don’t know of many, but a friend of mine uses one that is all about chastity and respecting women.  It’s Catholic, so I don’t know how you feel about that, but she says that it has been a great book to read together.”

Her response, “Hmm..chastity.  That’s a bit extreme.”

I have mulled this conversation over and over in my mind.  Is chastity extreme?  What exactly did she mean by that?  Did she mean a.) it’s extreme because it’s mostly a religious belief that most think is unattainable in the real world or b.) that it’s a bad idea?  Maybe she meant both, I can’t be sure.  Either way, it saddens me that chastity is viewed as something to be avoided.

I’m not sure where the notion that “chastity is extreme” came from.  We attempt to protect our children from EVERYTHING, but not their hearts, minds, and bodies when it comes to sex.  This matter has major consequences, so I’m not quite sure why we just leave it up to our kids to figure out.  I guess chastity is extreme, if by extreme you mean, not the popular road to travel because it’s hard.  The most challenging things in life are usually the most rewarding.

The large majority of people agree that there is an age that is too young for sex.  For instance, most people agree that twelve-years old is too young to engage in sex, but why twelve?  What about thirteen?  If thirteen is too immature, then why not fourteen, fifteen, sixteen?  At what age does chastity become extreme?  Up until a certain point we all agree that chastity is best, but then at some magical age, that wall comes crashing down and then it becomes a bad idea?

So, at what age does sex become OK?  Maybe you could say 18, but why is adulthood the magic transition point?  Why does chastity become extreme once you reach adulthood?  Because you need to gain a lot of experience with many different partners?  Somehow, great quantities of partners enables you to perform magical bedroom gymnastics to wow  future lovers?  Others argue we are sexual by nature and shouldn’t squash that desire.  This is like saying that discipline and self-control are negative traits and should be resisted.  Many would say that adults are mature enough to engage in sex.  But, just because you are “mature” enough to engage in something, does that necessarily mean it’s the best thing to do?

Recently, on the internet, an article started circulating about how some Christian groups are having “Purity Balls.”  At these events, fathers give their daughters a ring that signifies her promise to remain chaste until she is married and the fathers promise to protect her heart, body, and mind.  This is not a new phenomemon, but apparently the “ick” factor has kicked in.  Some churches are saying that the father becomes the daughter’s boyfriend during her pre-martial years.  Yep, that language sounds weird and icky, however we are glomming onto one aspect of these events and ignoring the real intent.  As is typical, we are allowing some very prejudice people to cloud our judgement on an issue.  The anti-chastity crowd found the one thing about these events that seems slightly off and they shine a light on only that; leaving the real meaning and purpose hidden in the shadows.

Speaking of fathers, this topic begs more questions.  When did it become ridiculous for fathers to want to protect their daughters from all the emotional scars that they know come from pre-martial sex?  I took all the classes in college that ranted on men’s eternal quest to control women’s sex lives.  I’ve heard the entire spiel.  Do we honestly think that the majority of fathers are creepsters who desire to control their daughter’s sex life?  I know this is a crazy notion, but could it be possible that these dads are trying to be good, loving fathers who are protecting their daughters?  Maybe, just maybe, these men know boys’ minds and want to shield their daughters from being used, discarded, and left to deal with the pain of finding out that they were only wanted for one thing.  Could it be a possibility?

A few days after the conversation with the lady in the beginning, I read this on Facebook in relation to the anti-chastity article:

“Look Dads, your precious angels wanna …

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