Question. What’s the one thing you wish about your family that feels like it would make everything better? That finally, your parenting could really sing?
What’s your “if only”?
Question. What’s the one thing you wish about your family that feels like it would make everything better? That finally, your parenting could really sing?
What’s your “if only”?
Four years ago, my husband and I squinted through snow flurries as we wound our way to Denver.
We were driving my 13-year-old to an MRI screening for cancer.
Lymphoma is a primary consideration, the radiologist had said, goading us toward the test that day.
I paused on the stairs today, peering at this photo of my sons eating hot dogs in Halloween costumes at a Trunk or Treat.
The one on the left, in the fireman costume, is now a Marine in infantry training, rucking five kilometers this week with about forty pounds on his back.
So–a lot of women I know are in that window of life where one’s body starts needing repair from growing, then expelling a human.
If you’re not there? Hey, super-fun stuff.
Something beautiful happened in my family last weekend.
This is me, in San Diego, with my husband–and my oldest son, who has your back. He is one of the United States’ newest marines.
Dear readers–I’m pulling this one from the archives today for you…mostly because it was what I needed. -J.
Do you remember the first time you wondered if God really was good?
It’s become legend in my family–the night I went to see Hedda Gabler at my university as a freshman.
Somewhere in Act II, I think, my friend Paul came on stage wearing a painted-on black eye. And that’s when I promptly began to feel lightheaded. I was thinking, Janel. It’s makeup.
This is one of those posts where I’m not an expert, just a mom. (Um, most of my posts?!)
But maybe these small ideas will help. And if I’m smart, I’ll keep this short, right?
It was a conversation in my cubicle more than a decade ago, but my friend’s words remain seared in my mind: “You know, I think God loves strugglers.”
You know? I see it.
May all your kids come home, and may they get along with each other. Or at least fake it.
May you have a white Christmas to the point that you feel Christmas-y and can say no to an activity you didn’t really want to go to, but don’t lose electricity and heat. May everyone wipe their boots.
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