Category Archives: Childhood

Insane Courage


He walks up sidewalk through barely familiar doors. I pray for Holy Spirit to wash peace over my soul. New buildings, new routines, new teachers, new classmates. Will he find his classes okay? Will he learn to change for P.E. quickly? Will he lose his things? Will he adjust to 7 classes and 7 new teachers? Will he remember to bring home the right books and what the homework assignments are? I do not worry about him meeting and forming new friendships. He is at ease meeting new people. Confident.

Amidst all the new, though, I know he will be fine. Even knowing this is where God has led, this mother’s heart still feels a bit anxious. Because when those months of prayer and confirmation and direction become living, breathing, and real, there is still a moment of taking deep breaths and dismissing voices that want to steal trust. Voices that want to blur the direction God led.

I see courage as he walks through barely familiar doors.

“All it takes is 20 seconds of insane courage.”

I see insane courage in my son, my little artist, now only a few inches shorter than I and not so little anymore. At twelve years old, realizing something is not working for you and choosing to leave familiar is nothing less than courageous. His heart found courage and chose to be brave.

Knowing God was leading this direction, I prayed He would open his heart even in the smallest way, not wanting to force. Not wanting resentment, I prayed for a pinhole. God opened a dam.

More confirmation of His plan. Manna in the desert.

So I sit, about to have breakfast with a friend, while I wait to pick him up from his first day filled with changes. I wonder how his day will go. Will he remember the new routines tomorrow?

Yes, it takes insane courage to leave behind what feels safe and familiar.

And those with insane courage? Those are the ones God uses to make a difference.

Life: Unmasked

Childhood Remembered

I remember Saturdays going to town with him. Town was a six mile trek and riding along with Pawpaw was a treat. I am sure he brought along other of the grandchildren on occasion. But I think he had this way of making each of us feel special so I only remember it being just him and me. I remember him buying me a chic-o-stick at a store. The store vague in my memory. A hardware store perhaps. The remainder of the Saturday trips unclear in my memory now thirty years later. Odd the things we remember. I rarely see chic-o-sticks in the candy section now, but when I do I always remember these trips to town as a little girl.

I remember sitting beside him at his old upright piano. Listening. Pecking at keys. Discovering. Roots of my love for music found with him. The music was woven into his being. A God given gift. For me it was a talent, but one requiring more work. Not as easy as it was for him.

I remember my fingers gliding over the keys. A child’s version of Beethoven’s Fur Elise I was learning. Him listening and encouraging.

I remember other things too that I would rather forget. Like the cancer.

But I’ll choose to remember the other things. The pleasant things more. The chick-o-sticks, the piano and a pawpaw that might not have hung the moon, but in a granddaughter’s eyes helped God set it in its place.

What are some things you remember from your childhood? Do you have special memories of your grandparents?

I’m linking up with Peter Pollock for the One Word at a Time blog carnival and also 3 From Here & There.

As Seasons Change

I'm joining in for 5 Minute Friday at The Gypsy Mama where you stop and write for just 5 minutes where you just write, for 5 minutes, without the pressure of getting it just right. 

Our son, also known as Squirt here on the blog, is growing up on me. I don’t blog too much these days about him. He’d rather me not. He’s living his own story to tell and I’m trying to find the balance in sharing the part that is mine while allowing him to write his own. But these preteen years are turning my premature gray hair even grayer. In all honesty I’m not exactly ready for it but I guess it will happen whether I'm ready or not. 

Conversations about girls creep up with more and more regularity. This mama's heart feels uneasy. He slips during a conversation telling me he asked one to be his girlfriend which thankfully at this age doesn't mean much but still. She told him no, that he was too good of a friend. So while part of my spirit sighs relief the other breaks for him. He struggles to deal with bullies and wanting to fit in, but wanting to be his own person. 

Yes the seasons are changing. I'm no longer the twenty something mama to a sweet strawberry blond bundle of energy and endless questions. Instead this 30 something mama is adjusting to the sight of a preteen edging closer to looking me eye to eye as he grasps at the teen years while clinging to childhood just a little longer. 

Piano Practice

Five afternoons a week I sit down with Squirt to help him with his piano and guitar practice. We have lessons one afternoon for an hour each week and we take one day a week off usually. As tough as it is some days it is one of my favorite parts of the day. That and listening to him sing while he gets a bath each night.

It’s not always his favorite part of the day. He doesn’t understand why I push him with the music. I know one day he will so I gently push. I don’t pressure him to do anything else, but I digress. I have another blog post started with all God is teaching me through that, but we’ll leave that for another day.

He doesn’t like it when I video him. Says it makes him nervous and he messes up, but today I insisted. I need a freakin’ psychology degree to understand this child of mine most days.

So this is mainly for the grandparents and an aunt and other family members. And if those family members could do me a favor and NOT mention to the Squirt that you’ve seen this? (In other words, Pop, do not tell him you saw this video.) That’d be great. It would save me some drama and hopefully a few less gray hairs on this 37 year old head of mine. Thanks.


As the children work quietly at their desks I notice him. The quietest among in the room of sixteen little souls. I search for his name on the roll. Forgotten amidst the chaos of the morning. His movements timid. Almost fearful. Eyes darting up and around. Avoidance of being called upon? Perhaps.

I wonder. What experiences has his little life seen? What is home for him? Who is home for him? What makes a child almost cower like this one in front of my eyes?

So many possible reasons. Reasons I will never know. We may never know how or why someone is hurting.

How do you infuse a fearfully timid child with confidence? How do you show them how precious they are? How they have gifts and abilities? That they are fearfully and wonderfully made?

How do you speak truth into their little spirits? Make them believe in their abilities? How do you encourage them?

Just by loving them.

I will never know the background or home life of the little guy whose path I crossed. Most likely our paths will cross again, but my role is not meant to be a daily one.

Outside that sphere I will remain. Wondering. And when I pass him in the hall I’ll simply say a prayer. Not only a prayer for him, but also a prayer of thanks. Thanks for what God taught me through a timid little boy.