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Noisy trash trucks disturbed my peace in the country

I’m enjoying a glorious morning in New Bern today. The sun is shining through the tall oak trees, the birds are happily waking up to a new day, and the wind is gently whispering in the woods. I spoke to a group of ladies in New Bern last night and I spent the night in a quaint AirBnb cottage in the country. And it came with an amenity that I love: a front porch.

All last night I looked forward to my morning on the porch. I live in an expansive neighborhood in Wilmington on 0.2 of an acre. I love my home and my garden and my neighbors, but to be honest, there is not a lot of peace and quiet there. When I escape to my back porch to enjoy my coffee and the birds and my garden, I’m usually greeted by the sounds of lawn mowers, air conditioners, and lots and lots of cars. So I truly relish a quiet morning in the country.

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These are the 95 Things my Mother did well

Sometimes we take jokes too far and hurt people’s feelings.  I know, because I have done it. My family was sitting around the dinner table in the home of my mother and stepfather, Becky and Howell Pruett.  We were enjoying a holiday meal together at Christmas. I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I know that I was joking about some activity I disliked or mistake of my mother’s when I was a child.

It could have been how she used to drag me to yard sales at six in the morning when I was a sleepyhead teenager. I won’t go to a yard sale to this day! Or I was probably STILL ragging her about when I was in high school and she ate my Bojangles leftovers that I had been thinking about ALL DAY. You know what I’m talking about. My Cajun pintos were gone, and I still haven’t forgiven her.  LOL.

Anyway, I jokingly said something, but it seemed to hit a tender point. My mom replied,

“Children seem to remember the five things you did wrong as a parent and forget the ninety-five things you did right.”

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A true friend is one who chooses you

She has every reason not to like me. She’s known me for almost 30 years so I’ve given her LOTS of reasons. When she was my college roommate in the early 90s, I left her corrective Post-it notes when the dishes weren’t done and when the tea pitcher left brown stains on the counter. As my friend, she has to tolerate my need to plan and schedule and feel in control. She eats where I want to eat and meets when I want to meet and she has to bend to my OCD-like whims and boundaries.

But since I’ve been 18, my best friend Nicole has chosen me. Recently when we met for lunch, she reminded me, “I choose you.”

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Surprisingly, I survived my mid-life crisis

I remember some sage advice given to me in a Target checkout line many years ago. I was a young mother, with an energetic two-year-old daughter and a precocious four-year-old son with autism. My life was crazy, with birthday parties and T-ball games and lots of therapy appointments. As I was frantically trying to hold it all together in line until we could pay for our purchases, an older, wiser woman who was behind me in line uttered something that is a familiar platitude:

“Enjoy it, honey. These are the best years of your life.”

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I want to live more than I want to be in heaven

This story begins, like many of my blog posts, with me worshiping on my knees. My early morning prayer on that Sunday morning was that I would encounter God during our church service, so I was intently worshiping and praying.  I was not thinking about where I would eat lunch!  I did not have any particular prayer requests or pressing needs, so I focused my mind and simply praised God.

And then, out of nowhere, a thought bubbled up in my spirit. It caught me by surprise. From deep within my spirit, this desire voiced itself:

“I want to live.”

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Do you ever feel misunderstood?

I slowly maneuvered the minivan into the driveway, glad to be home. I was in the middle of a conversation with my four year old daughter, Hannah. She was boisterous and fun around me and her friends but but reticent among strangers, especially adults. I wanted her to be bold and confident, like me, so I told her,

“Hannah, you’re NOT shy.”

Barely a second passed before she made her emphatic reply.

But mom, I AM shy. You just don’t understand me.

Do you ever feel misunderstood?

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Why we should stop “lack of faith” shaming

It was a beautiful summer morning and I was walking on cloud 9! The previous evening I had spoken to a women’s group, debuting my new message, “Beautiful Messes: Discovering Hope and Peace for an Imperfect Life.” I had shared a message of God’s grace for us as struggling humans who are not yet made like Jesus.

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Lessons I learned from a neighborhood tragedy

I heard a loud knocking at my door. “Have you seen Bill and Jane?” my neighbor frantically asked. “No,” I replied.  She explained,”They didn’t show up for lunch with their children today and they aren’t coming to the door or answering their phones. We’ve called 911.”

I slowly shut the door while a chill went down my spine. I started to pray.

Soon, a group of concerned neighbors had gathered on the driveway of Bill and Jane’s home, my husband among them. Looking through the upstairs window, I saw the unfamiliar van of Bill and Jane’s son in the driveway. And soon, I saw the Sheriff arrive. I prayed even harder. And then I saw my husband walking home.

Standing in our kitchen, he relayed to me the tragic news. Jane was found dead in the home. Bill was alive, but he had fallen and was unable to get up. An ambulance was on its way to transport him to the hospital.

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Do you ever pray “Jesus, take me now?”

“Jesus, take me now” I uttered as I slowly pulled the covers up and over my head.  There in the darkness, in the despair of my soul, I told my Savior that I was ready to be with Him.  I was ready to leave this earth and be translated into heavenly glory.  I selfishly didn’t care about anything else at the moment – my family, my calling, my responsibilities.   I only cared about escaping this present world and to immediately be in the perfection of the next.  “Oh God, take me to heaven” was my hopeless cry.

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I’m no longer afraid of the Ravenel Bridge

I’ve always been afraid of being trapped in a car under water. I’m not sure when I developed this phobia, but it probably began when I was a little girl going on adventures with my dad, brother, and uncles. We were driving out in the country in Anson County, NC.  Deep in the woods, we began driving driving over a swamp.  But we weren’t driving on a DOT-constructed bridge, we were on a man-made, rickety one lane bridge that looked like it was simply some  2×4’s nailed together. I was beyond scared.

I was terrified.

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