All posts tagged: #confession

I Confess: I Don’t Want Donuts

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[Published on the Redbud Post on 4/1/17] Last weekend, I had eleven 12-year-old boys in my basement for a youth retreat. It was chaotic, gross, and perfect. We heard unhindered laughing, chasing, yelling, and body noises through two floors and closed doors. The leaders talked straight about God and good choices. Our doorbell rang at all hours, announcing the arrival of more volunteer drivers, youth mentors, and meal makers from the church. My son glowed with testosterone and belonging. On Sunday afternoon, I pulled on a hazmat suit and headed down the basement stairs to survey the damage. I picked up Slim Jim® wrappers, vacuumed millions of chip crumbs and rainbow Nerds candy, and looked away gagging when it came time to clean the toilet. But the entire time I smiled to myself and thanked God. This retreat was so much better than the last one. * * * When we moved to a new state a couple years ago, we knew we needed to find a church right away. We were deeply invested in the …

The Home Inspector

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I thought we were going to live there forever. But a week after the new windows were finally installed my husband took a new job across the country. After crying for days about leaving our best friends and favorite grocery stores, I focused all my energy on selling our beloved 90-year-old home. We went room by room, writing down 63 things that needed to fixed and finished before we could sell it. The hole in the wall where my son smashed the doorknob every day. The moldy splotch on the ceiling where the tub above leaked. The bent screen door. The missing rungs on the back porch. The peeling paint. We spent our weekends and evenings working on that list. Tacking up pieces of trim, painting over scratches and stains on the walls, replacing mirrors. We couldn’t fix it all, but we tried. We sold the house very quickly to great buyers with no legal or financial issues. All that was left was the Home Inspection. They say that Home Inspectors aren’t looking at any …

My Surrender Begins

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My surrender began with shame. Maybe I was suddenly struck with Seasonal Affective Disorder, but one winter afternoon I wrote out everything I hated about myself. I felt compelled to do it. My personality flaws. My bad habits. My chronic anger and fatigue. The mean and careless things I said. Some highlights: short temper anxiety despair/doom/depression lack of self-control (words, food, drink, money) desire for control over sensitive senses self-imposed pressure given in to pressures of the world About my parenting I journaled: “I don’t want to be like this. I wish I was different. I bring fear and anxiety into my home. I model hopelessness. I’m not consistent with nurture and grace. I yell 363 days a year. I don’t diffuse the bombs the world puts in their backpacks. I make C4 for breakfast.” I imagined a hidden camera had been in my house and I confessed to everything crappy thing I said, did, thought, and hoped for. I did it like my life depended on it. Words and exclamation points of confession all over …