Being a mother is hard. I’ve been at this mothering thing for many years and I’m still no child expert. Even with four grown children I’m still learning.

But I believe in being real, and real wins over being a super-achiever in my book. Call off the bragging rights (well, we can brag some).Cancel the comparisons, moms! We all have different struggles. Some children are harder to raise than others. When I meet a mother of two compliant kids who gloats about her successes…Oops, I mean her children’s’ successes… I just smile and think, “Wait ‘til you have the third child.”

And on the flip side, I am amazed at what giftedness and wisdom some mothers have just to survived raising a difficult child. I just read the book, In the Belly of the Whale. by Jacob Alexander. It’s a heart-wrenching, true account of parents, especially a mother who goes to bat for their Asperger (highly-functioning autistic) child.

Near genius in many ways, Joseph’s social skills and ability to keep up with written assignments found him plunked down in special ed classes. Even though tested as gifted, the public school district wanted to push Joseph off in a corner and brand him a troublemaker. Ann fought for her son’s education. What she received was rejection and humiliation from her fellow teachers because of her son’s behavior. “Why does he ask so many questions? Why is he so stubborn?” The school administration lacked any understand of Aspies so as a mother who knew her child, she plowed up many roads by herself. Today she has the last laugh as her son is in law school and is serving God as he finds solace and encouragement in the bible.

So, if you don’t feel like your photo will ever be sprawled over Parent Magazine’s cover, relax. As I tell my daughters (who are in the trenches with the two-year old and newborn stages of parenting), “God sent a particular child to you.” That package of personality quirks, talents, and spiritual bends fell into the correct mother’s lap. Your college roommate or next-door neighbor didn’t get your child. You did, and He felt you were up to the challenge.

Take comfort in the knowledge that God planned your family even before you thought about diapers, Little League baseball and separate car keys for a teenage driver. It sure helps us back off from keeping up with the Joans of this world.

Now that’s a confidence builder.

The exciting news is Beth has graciously offered a give away. Yahoo!!! If you leave a comment, you have a chance of winning her yet-to-be-released book, Catch a Falling Star. (released in April)  You can be one of the first to read it. Just sign up for my blog and leave a comment.

After eight years living in Niceville, FL (yes, Niceville), my roots ran deep into Florida’s sandy soil. My kids were happy. My husband was happy with his job at Eglin Air Force Base. And me? I was happy too.

I treasured a wonderful circle of friends, taught women’s Bible studies and helped lead the women’s ministry at my church. My phone rang constantly – one of my kids labeled my pantry with a sign that read “Phone Booth” because I often retreated there to enjoy uninterrupted conversations.

If God had pushed the pause button on my life, I wouldn’t have complained.

But I know there’s no pause button—especially for a military family. The time came for us to PCS, military slang for move.

“I want you . . . to go to Colorado,” the military, aka “Uncle Sam,” declared.

What? Move from the land of white sand and emerald waters to a landlocked state with not a drop of humidity?

Several months later, we pulled out of our driveway. I drove one of our cars, suitcases in the back, my two young daughters in the middle seat. My husband drove our van, with our son riding “shotgun.” I cried for an hour—all the way to the Florida and Alabama border. The only reason I pulled myself together was the alarm on my daughters’ faces—and their anxious chorus of “Mom, are you going to be okay?”

My car may have been pointed west, but my heart’s compass did not budge off of south. I burned emotional heel marks all the way from Florida to Colorado.

After telling my husband, “I can’t live in base housing again,” our Florida home didn’t sell. Not wanting to juggle two mortgages, we chose to live on base. As I clambered over my bed to get to the miniscule bathroom, I tried to banish images of my large, comfortable still-on-the-market Florida home. Only two people could fit in the galley kitchen at one time. Colorado weather assaulted my body—in mid-July I crawled into bed wearing sweats and socks. July!

Most of the family settled into Colorado easier than I did. My husband had a job to go to—a reason for being there. And once my kids started school and began making friends, they had a reason to be there too.

I struggled to adjust.

One morning at the base gym, I pounded out my loneliness and frustration on the stair-stepper. I also prayed. I’d never been much of a “Could you send me a sign” kind of pray-er, but I was desperate for a tangible bit of hope.

God, I need some encouragement. I need to know You love me, even though You let my life turn upside down. Could You give me a sign? Nothing big. How about a hummingbird? Would You send one to show me that You love me?

 With my hope set on a small, fleet-winged bird, I gathered up my water bottle, gym bag, and car keys and headed home.

Several days later, I visited a nearby nail salon for a manicure. Gail, the nail technician, introduced herself, and directed me to her work area. Walking down a narrow hallway, I rounded a corner—and stopped short.

At her worktable she had set up an adjustable, white architect-style lamp—and dangling from the arm of the lamp was a crystal hummingbird.

My sign!

That wasn’t all. On the wall behind her table hung a hummingbird calendar.  Next to the calendar was a stained glass image of yet another tiny, ruby-throated bird. The final touch? Taped to the wall beneath the picture were the words: God loves you. I think God wrote his answer to my prayer in black and white so I didn’t miss it.

Since my hummingbird encounter at Gail’s shop, I’ve scattered reminders of God’s love throughout my house. A crystal hummingbird adorns a vase in my dining room. Another dangles from the lamp in my office, and yet another handcrafted hummingbird hangs from my car’s rearview mirror. Whenever my family hikes in the Colorado mountains in the early spring, my ears tune to the sounds of hummingbirds in flight. And whenever I hear the whir of hummingbird wings, I hear God whispering, “I love you.”

Beth K. Vogt is a non-fiction author and editor who said she’d never write fiction. She’s the wife of an Air Force family physician (now in solo practice) who said she’d never marry a doctor—or anyone in the military. She’s a mom of four who said she’d never have kids. She’s discovered that God’s best often waits behind the doors marked “Never.” Her contemporary romance novel, Wish You Were Here, debuted in May 2012 (Howard Books), and Catch a Falling Star, releases May 2013

Dropping the box of books down on the first step of the stairs going to the second floor, I slid down next to it. I couldn’t lift another item. Every muscle ached and my

stomach growled for lack of food. Even if we had the refrigerator off the truck and plugged in we still wouldn’t have any food and who knew where the closest grocery store

was. It’s time like this that I unpack my favorite verses and apply them to my weary bones.

I think of the verse: “Isaiah 40:31

New International Version (NIV)

^“…but those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.”

Change is exhausting. Changing houses, changing schools, changing neighbors, changing doctors, changing grocery stores ,changing churches changing Little League teams,

changing youth groups… all these adjustments take the wind out of us. Our natural rhythm of life has scattered and we become weary with the newness of it all. But God

promises to give us back our energy and vitality as we hope in Him.

Not only will we be renewed, we will soar like the king of the birds- the  majestic eagle. If you watch an eagle, you see grace in motion. This bird spends half of his flight time

flapping his wings, but the other half soaring. Soaring means coasting, gliding, and moving to the heights. It speaks of the pleasure of the journey. And life is a journey

whether you move or stay put.
++++++++

NEWSFLASH:

I have a story in a moving anthology book. (Yes, moving books have anthologies). It’s called: Moving Tales: Adventures in Relocation. (Yes, I know you didn’t know moving

could be an adventure….needed to read Changing Zip Codes). Tackling a subject where humor is desperately slim, several authors have contributed their funniest moving

stories. As therapy for surviving another move, I wrote a story about a sliding refrigerator and a back door get-away for a moving manager. Curious? Needing a laugh after a

big relocation? Check out the book. Here are the Amazon links:

http://tinyurl.com/aw8crth  for print version

http://tinyurl.com/bzo6cez  for the ebook version

If you enjoy my blog feel free to sign up on my home page so you won’t miss it.

I love this quote from one of Hollywood’s most captivating actresses from the 1930’s and ‘40’s. Greer Garson had a charm and grace that lifted up all who saw her movies. It’s been said her memorable performance as Mrs. Miniver, a brave British mother whose character encouraged many during WWII, did more for the war morale than any other campaigns or speeches. Such is the power of a story that focuses on the inspiring moments in life.

The Apostle Paul says in the fourth chapter of the book of Phillipians: “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure,whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”( Phillipians 4:8). As humans we love to retell ugly stories, gossip and bad news. It’s just our nature. But, we have limited time on earth. Let us spend it, as Greer and the Apostle Paul who wrote the book of Phillipians suggest, with the mirror pointed upward.

No Distance Too Great

I have the privilege of hosting Jocelyn Green who has a wonderfully helpful website to encourage military wives.  Please check it out at: http://www.faithdeployed.com/ She has also written a book with Karen Whiting called Stories of Courage and Faith from the Homefront.

It is available on Amazon.com

Here’s an excerpt from the book:

Is he in pain? Is he hungry or cold? Who else would care for him like I would? Thoughts like these must have swirled in the minds of family members who wondered about their suffering soldiers during the Civil War. Many traded the tedium of the home front for the dangers of the battlefield for a chance of finding their loved ones and caring for them personally.

Poet Walt Whitman left his New York City home in December 1862 after seeing his brother’s name in a newspaper casualty list. He finally found his brother George on the Fredericksburg, Virginia, battlefield with only a superficial wound, but was so stricken by the mass of casualties, particularly a heap of amputated limbs, that he became a representative of the Christian Commission, handing out small gifts and changing wound dressings. He then nursed in Washington hospitals for a couple of years, and published Drum-Taps based on his interactions with patients.

Confederate woman Hannah Lide Coker had three sons in the war. To reach her son James after the battle of Missionary Ridge in 1863, she covered 402 miles from Darlington, South Carolina, into Union territory near Chattanooga—and ended up living as a prisoner of war for the next six months. Similarly, after finding her husband after First Manassas, Union wife Fanny Rickets shared his cell for five months at Richmond’s notorious Libby Prison.

No distance proved to be too great for these family members to cross in order to reach and care for their soldiers. Likewise, the distance between heaven and earth was not so wide it could prevent God the Father from sending God the Son to reach the rest of His children here   on earth. The crucifixion was not too great a price to pay for Him to save us from our own sin, and from eternity without Him. Nothing can separate us from His love.

Prayer: Lord, thank you for crossing the chasm between holy and unholy through your Son Jesus Christ so that I might be saved.

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” ~Romans 8:38-39

*The above is an excerpt from Stories of Faith and Courage from the Home Front, by Karen Whiting and Jocelyn Green.

One of my writer friends, Teena Stewart,has graciously offered to share her thoughts on moving. A busy lady, she and her husband run a coffee house/church for those disenfranchised from the traditional church. In addition, she has several books out. Please check them out on Amazon.com

*****

My husband is a pastor so we have moved numerous times. Our last move was during the Christmas season (definitely not recommended). We drove country from California to North Carolina after loading all of our worldly possessions into a movable storage POD. Though we are what you might call seasoned movers, it can still be very stressful.

Every family member copes with moving in their own way and this has a lot to do with their age and personality. Here are some tips to help ease your relocation.

Call a family pow-wow:   If you have children, call a family meeting, tell them what is going to happen. Encourage them to ask questions.

Research the new are.  Check with travel clubs such as AAA for information. Search the Internet for jobs, volunteer and recreational opportunities.  Send for brochures of fun places to go and then share them with your kids

Get family members involved. For instance, one friend of mine had their children help pack their toys and label those boxes. Another friend encouraged her children to pick out school supplies and set up meetings so they could meet their teachers ahead of time.

Pray.  Family members, even husbands and wives can have a lot of anxiety and fear. Ask God to help you as you work through this difficult time.

 Make a task list.  Notify doctors, dentists, insurance companies, employers, banks and creditors of your upcoming relocation.  Most post offices carry a free mover’s guide, which includes moving tips and change of address cards.  Create “business cards” with your new address and e-mail address so family members can hand them out to friends.  Blank card sheets are available at most office supply stores and can be printed from your home computer.

Work in manageable segments.  Tackle one room at a time to reduce stress. 

Keep a positive attitude. Stress can turn even the most congenial family members into grumps.  Point out positive aspects of your new place.  For instance, if your new house is smaller, you might stress that it’s easier to keep clean.  If your move drained your finances take “free” excursions.  Look up park and recreation services to find out what free activities might be scheduled.  Visit the library.  Review the newspaper inserts and magazines for free local activities.

Don’t think about what you are giving up, but rather what you are gaining. As you gear up for your move, think of it as an adventure. Get out the boxes and packing tape and look forward to what’s next on your life journey.

Teena Stewart is an author, ministry leader, and artist with hundreds of published articles to her credit in the secular and Christian realm as well as numerous books. Her current focus reflects the spiritual message of brokenness, restoration, and a vibrant relationship with God and others.

When she isn’t writing, she is creating artwork and jewelry treasures (often from discarded and found objects) or leading ministry for Java Journey, an innovative coffee shop ministry in Hickory, NC. Java’s mission is provide hope and restoration to the hurting and broken by sharing Christ’s story, showing His love and by empowering the restored to serve others.

Her two most recent books include The Treasure Seeker: Finding Value and Love in the Arms of Your Loving Heavenly Father (Wine Press) and Mothers and Daughters: Mending a Strained Relationship (Beacon Hill).

Teena understands firsthand what it means to go from something of seemingly little value to a beautiful and valuable treasure in God’s eyes. Visit Teena at www.teenastewart.com, www.serendipitini.com, and www.javajourney.org.

The Treasure Seeker is available through www.teenastewart.com, www.winepress.com, www.amazon.com and by order through most bookstores.

Social network connections include: Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/teena.stewart

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Teena-M-Stewart/216334111720519

Twitter  @TeenaStewart1

I remember a very poignant Valentine’s Day dinner. About seven years ago my husband and I  had just driven from Michigan to Palo Alto, California to leave our daughter to live with my mother for a few months. Things were hectic that day so my husband and I  just decided to grab a quick bite of dinner at a neighborhood cafe.

Waiting for our table in a small neighborhood bistro, we shared a bench with an elderly Chinese lady also anticipating to be seated. No more than ninety-two pounds, I noticed she had a detached air about her. Her  black hair had wisps that scattered across a forehead as thin as parchment. Making conversation, we asked if she was expecting someone. A melancholy look passed her face as she told us, no, her husband had died a year ago and she now lived with her daughter’s family. Her daughter, a doctor worked late so she decided to come to the restaurant to have dinner. My husband, John, and I commented on how alone she seemed on the day designated for lovers.

When we finished the meal, John motioned to the waiter to come to our table. He pointed discreetly to the frail woman sitting at a small table up against the wall and whispered, “Please add her check to ours.”

What a pleasure  for me to savor how surprised this little widow lady would be when when she realized her bill had been paid. That  night I felt proud he was not only my Valentine but made another lady’s Valentine’s Day a little less lonely. I know he’d kill me if he knew I‘d posted this because he never makes a big deal out of his big-hearted actions, but more than a large box of chocolates or a shiny pair of earrings, his  kind gesture really made my day.

Do you have a Valentines Day story? I’d love for you to share it.

-Carol

Newlyweds. One in grad school, one working a job that barely paid the rent. Saturday night entertainment consisted of walking around the mall and window shopping. Minnesota is cold in the winter, people.

That first Valentine’s Day sneaked up on us. Generally speaking, we didn’t spend money on anything unrelated to food and shelter. But we planned to splurge and go out to dinner and we decided to buy something “small” for each other.

Autumn had delivered a strenuous adjustment period for both of us. I joined the workforce for the first time (straight out of college) in a new city and new state. We were still learning how to be married. My hubby entered medical school in the fall and learned it’s an entirely different ball game from college. And for the first time in our lives, we were paying all the bills ourselves.

The only thing I really remember about our first Valentine’s Day as a married couple is the gift my husband gave me. It was a spoon rest in the shape of a carrot. Wow. RO. MAN. TIC. I know that’s what you’re thinking.

But this gift is pretty much, my favorite gift of all time aside from the ring my husband gave me when he proposed. You see, as a girl setting up house for the first time, feeling a little homesick, and feeling the pinch of a very small income and the weight of responsibility from being the only breadwinner, I was a little stressed. And I wanted desperately to make our little condo feel like home.

Home centered around the kitchen and I loved cooking. The large gaping hole amidst all the lovely wedding gifts we received–to me–was a spoon rest. My mom owned several. At home there was always a place to gently rest the ladle or spoon with which I was cooking. And every time I cooked in my new little kitchen, I would lift the spoon from my cooking pot and look around . . . but nary a spoon rest was in sight!

I know, it’s little over-dramatic. I only mentioned it one time to by husband. But weeks later, he gave me one. Not only had he LISTENED to me. He ACTED on what he heard. He met my FELT need. Sigh.

It may seem silly to almost anyone else, but it was the most romantic gift he could have given me that year. He listened to me. Remembered what I’d said. And met the longing of my heart. The spoon rest was not the point. I needed to be heard and loved. And I was. And I still am, exactly twenty years later.

Give me a birthday present. Yep, you read that right. I’m asking for a gift.

In a few days I will celebrate my birthday. As God’s humor saw fit, I share my big day along with the grungy but charming rodent that hides in the dark of the earth. Not a particularly glamorous animal, nevertheless, he has millions hanging onto the groundhog’s ability to see or not see his shadow every year.  Looking like an overgrown beaver, Phil thrills or annoys many in the North as he predicts either more winter or the onset of spring. We hope every year that he will cut short the blustery season of winter. But we are at his mercy as he crawls out of his dank home every February 2^nd bearing meteorological news.

Lacking the ability to speed spring early arrival, we still can give the hope of an early spring to military families in the way of support. Many are struggling to keep their marriages together as statistics cite a sixty percent increase in the divorce rate in the last few years. The strain of many moves and deployment overseas cause many to throw in the towel.

So, here’s how you can 1) send me a birthday present, 2) give a military couple an early spring, and 3) spread around a lot of hope and love- send a check to Family Life’s A Weekend to Remember.  I love this ministry and have made it a policy to share part of the proceeds of my book, Changing Zip Codes with them.

With the money we donate, this organization is able to offer scholarships to active military personnel and their spouses for a healing weekend. Yes, a wonderful weekend away to restore relationships and learn new skills to grow together. If anyone deserves the best for their marriage, it is those who have sacrificed for our freedom.

Go ahead, send me a birthday present: a note on www.ChangingZipCodes.com  or the Changing Zip Codes FB page saying you’ve sent a donation to help our military families. Make my day! Make my year!

Here’s the contact information:

And here’s the fun part: I will match the final total for donations. If you send $25.00, I will match that. So let’s get at it!

http://shop.familylife.com/p-1880-general-fund.aspx

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Kevin Conor Keller / Birthday Photos / CC BY-NC-ND

Kevin Conor Keller / Birthday Photos / CC BY-NC-ND

With the tragic deaths of the children of Newtown, Connecticut, I wanted to share a wonderful resource for any parent losing a child.  The author, Alice J. Wisler has been through the desolate valley of depression after losing her four-year-old to cancer and is spearheading a project to share her book with the parents of the Sandy Hook shooting.  I’m sharing her information for anyone grieving from a loss, or wanting to help a friend dealing with the death of a child. I know Alice’s writings and workshops will comfort many.
Born and raised in Japan as a missionary kid, author, instructor and speaker, Alice J. Wisler now lives in Durham, North Carolina. She is the author of five inspirational novels (Rain Song, How Sweet It Is, Hatteras Girl, A Wedding Invitation and Still Life in Shadows) and the new devotional, Getting Out of Bed in the Morning: Reflections of Comfort in Heartache (Leafwood Publishers). Since the death of her four-year-old son, Daniel, Alice has been an advocate for writing through heartache. She teaches Writing the Heartache workshops both online and across the country. She writes for Open to Hope, a grief organization, and is affiliated with The Compassionate Friends and Bereaved Parents/USA. Her BlogTalkRadio segments of her own show, Writing the Heartache, are popular with the bereavement community.
Alice graduated from Eastern Mennonite University in 1983 with a B.S. in Social Work and has worked at group homes and taught English-as-a-Second-Language in a refugee camp in the Philippines and at a school in Japan.

Here is her blog:

A weeping willow tree, one flowery journal, two pens (in case one ran out of ink), and a
box of Puffs tissues.  Those objects stayed close beside me.  In my early confusion over
the loss of my son, these items never ignored my grief or told me to “get over it.”•
When it grew too dark to see underneath the stringy weeping willow, I carried my pen
and journal inside a house that seemed too empty, and wrote some more.  At night, I
woke to grapple with turmoil, with the noises in my head, the flashbacks of the cancer
ward, the cries of my son.  I wrote the ugly words “why?” and “how come?” before I
could sleep again.
I scribbled through myths and clichés.  I unleashed resentment and longing.  I
addressed prayers to God.
And, surprisingly, I discovered.  Some of the confusion slid away, some of the guilt
abandoned me.  There was nothing I could have done to save my four-year-old’s life.
Even my love had not been strong enough to destroy that infection that flared inside his
tiny body. I was human and really not as in control as I wanted to believe. I would have
to live with that.
I began to understand the new me.  She was a tower of strength and compassion; she
was tender and vulnerable, realistic, with just the right touch of cynicism. She needed
protection from too many plastic smiles; she could not go long without a hug or sharing
a story about a blue-eyed boy with an infectious laugh.

My written words healed me.  And I jumped at the opportunity to tell others.  I’d found
comfort and clarity.  I smiled at my husband and three young children, and at last, I
didn’t want to run my van over the cliff; I wanted to smell the peonies and taste the salt
from the ocean on my skin.
The beauty about grief-writing is that no one has to read it.  You don’t have to worry
about a teacher correcting your spelling or grammar.  There’s no grade, no pass or fail.
No one cares if your letters are sloppy.  It’s written by you and for you.  And, yes, it
works.
Use these tips to help write your heartache for healing, health and hope.
 Find a secluded place to write where you can think clearly without distraction.
 Write, at first, for your eyes only. It doesn’t have to be shared with anyone.
 Write to chart progress for you to read years down the road.
 Write with the feeling, “I will survive this.”
 Write to identify your emotions and feelings.
 Write to help solve some of the new situations you must now face.
 Think of your journal as a friend who never judges and who can never hurt you.
 Write your spiritual struggles.
 Write to rebuild your self-esteem and your self-confidence.

You can contact Alice at: http://www.alicewisler.com

Her new book, Getting Out of the Bed in the Morning; Reflections of Comfort in Heartache is available through her publisher at:

http://www.leafwoodpublishers.com/

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