Loving Another Child & His Mama

His mama drops him off bright and early. Sometimes he’s wearing a smile, sometimes he’s got his I’m-not-sure-yet face on. He surveys the area, sees his two friends, and starts to get comfortable. Soon they’re all bouncing around, throwing the frisbee and playing with the dogs.

We all hang out regularly. My mind always wanders. He’s safe, I’m pretty sure, and his mama tries hard. I don’t know her well at all, but I’d like to. She loves horses and is in a tricky spot. That’s about all I know. (And even if I knew more, ya’ll know it wouldn’t be coming on social media.)

What are her hopes? What are her dreams? What does she see in this life?

Her little boy sits with us at the table and shares snacks. All three boys climb up to watch the mac n cheese cook, in denial that the process could take more than 30 seconds. I watch dirty hands grab their cups, the eyes glancing at each other and the giggling amplifying in the kitchen. I am so grateful he joins in the laughter and is comfortable - it took some time to get here.

We play, break for lunch and a nap, then resume. They blow bubbles and scoop woodchips and race cars in circles around the house. The meltdowns come and go.

When she’s done with work she picks him up and I wish we had more time. More time to chat, time for her to relax a little. Sometimes I wish she could spend an evening having dinner with us, so she could see her boy in this environment. Maybe she'd see that Jesus can give so much joy to a household, even in the rough times. I wish I could get to know her, we might be friends.

But for now, I’ll just keep loving her little boy whenever I have the chance.

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For all you mamas taking care of someone else’s baby/babies, keep on keeping on. Whether you know their family well or not, whether they come from stability or instability - your love in the time you have matters. The kiddos know it! Love them like you love your own. And love their parents as well. ❤️

Written by Amy Parsons

When Daddies Pray

This weekend, we traveled with a truck bed full of a little girl’s best memories: paintings, blankets, trinkets, and yes. Even a stuffed animal or two. We are taking our girl to college.

She’s our oldest, so it’s as raw as it can possibly get. However, I don’t know how this will ever feel like an old hat-it will always hurt with each of our babies, and next it’s our Irish twins. Two at once.

We’ve sat through parent sessions and scoped out where to find sushi. We’ve trained her up, so she discovered where to get the best coffee. We hung lights and assembled a swivel chair.

We even helped navigate the awkward roommate meet - cute when we were in the middle of unpacking, and the roomy’s family descended into that tiny room. We did what most people do. We said our friendly introductions and then pretended they weren’t there while we unpacked our kid’s underwear. It’s a learning curve for all of us.

We are each processing. At different times and different ways. We take turns being quiet for longer than usual. I’ve noticed we’ve each hung back at different times, and I assume they are doing the same thing I did. Wiping tears that appear out of nowhere when struck with the thought that this is real. Our baby girl is grown.

Last night there was a dedication service. She’s attending a Christian college, so worship. Then teaching. Then prayer.

Which translates to tear. Tear. And sobbing. They asked us to pray a blessing over our kids. We grouped as families, so it was just the three of us.

So many thoughts ran through my mind. I was taken back to the time it was always just us three musketeers. The years between her and her younger brother when we tried so hard to have another baby. We lost two in that span of time. I remember praying with all my heart to be content to remain just the three of us. God saw us through.

I also couldn’t stop running through all the things I still have to teach her! Like a ticker tape at the bottom of the news screen. I’m not ready! There’s still so much to say.

So, I prayed and thanked God for trusting us with this girl and was mostly a jumble and mess of thoughts and hopes and regrets and wishes.

But then her daddy prayed and said all the things that little girl and I needed to hear. What we had been trying to say, but couldn’t quite place the words.

To the men here. You need to know something. God has called you to lead your family. You are called to lead in love and prayer and to seek God for every answer. We depend on you.

From the beginning of man, God has placed you before us. There’s a reason your shoulders are broad and your physical strength is great. There’s a reason you don’t cry quite as easily. You are called to lead us.

The family dynamic has long been skewed. We could probably trace it all the way to that minute when Eve took that apple and Adam blamed her that he ate it. But this doesn’t need to dictate us now.

Daddies. Pray. Pray for your wives. Your daughters. Your sons. Pray for your legacy! Your words move mountains. Your example creates a ripple effect of boys who became godly men. Your prayers fill in the insecurities the enemy attempts to place in your daughters and they remind those girls of their worth.

So much has transpired over the past couple days to bring me comfort and hope. To instill confidence that our girl is going to be amazing in this place. That she was in fact created for such a time as this.

But when her daddy prayed, she knew it too.

Written by Shontell Brewer: wife, mama, and author of Missionary Mom.

If These Stairs Could Talk

If these stairs could talk, they’d tell you of many things.

The friends and family who visited when we first moved in, sharing in thanks for more space.

The weight carried up and down, things moved from one place to another.

The tears cried on them, many from the kids and many from myself.

The coffee spilled on them, hurriedly wiped up so the white wouldn’t be stained.

The babies carried up to bed, or snuggled in close and brought downstairs to try again.

The moments I’ve sat in the middle, waiting for quiet to come over the bedrooms.

The moments I’ve sat on the bottom, weary, waiting, resting.

The guests running up to use the bathroom, or grab their sneaky babies.

The kids’ friends scampering up and down to play together.

The toys thrown down, the balls thrown up and down and up again.

The times I’ve sat and listened to videos or read texts from dear friends.

The one stair at just the right height to let me sit and watch cars come down our street.

They’re not an idol, these stairs: they’re a reminder.

A means of giving thanks.

Because when I look back at all the memories and daily happenings, I am reminded:

• God provides: for all our needs, all the time

• Our babies are safe and loved

• Our friends and family are welcome and comfortable here

• We live this life fully

We always have enough. We always can extend more, and when we serve out of humility and love for our Lord it never comes back empty. He fills us up. He shows Himself to us and He teaches us what we need to know, when we need to know it. He is so incredibly sufficient!

If these stairs could talk, I think they’d tell of what a great Savior we have. What a hope we have in Him, what care we have from Him.

What a sweet, sweet place to be.

I Can't Keep Going Like This

Is it me or has the struggle been even more real lately?

Every where I turn someone’s marriage is shattered. Not struggling. I mean shattered.

Or someone’s child committed suicide.

The diagnosis was too much.

Our whole city is on fire. Literally.

Someone’s mama passed suddenly.

That wife is walking along side her husband as he suffers an illness.

There’s so much heavy my shoulders are just about too heavy for me to hold up.

The truth is, my shoulders have no business hanging on to those hurts.

The problem is I can’t seem to shove those burdens off. I hand them over to Jesus on Monday, but by the time Wednesday has rolled around I’m right back where I’ve started.

I made eye contact with those hurting, and I’ve heaped those hurts right back where they don’t belong.

Am I the only one who does this?

I work as an advocate for girls who have been trafficked or who are at risk of it. I was talking with someone recently about it and it occurred to me I’ve lived most of my life as an advocate in someway. All the way back to first grade when the shortest little boy in my class, Randy Bell, was being picked on. We don’t need to go into details, but let’s just say between my older brother holding the bully by the arms I was able to get in a few good punches. I handled it.

It think this is where my real struggle is. I keep trying to handle it. When others hurt, I went to jump in and help. To advocate. To give them the voice I’ve rarely struggled to find. Who wouldn’t jump in to help? That’s crazy. But there’s a big difference between a brother/sister elementary school gang teaching a bully a lesson and me insisting on carrying everyone’s burdens.

Because that feels a little more like I’m not trusting God to handle you. It’s as if I’m saying, “Lord, you don’t seem to be handling this. But don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Do you think the angels sit around and giggle at us when we’re crazy? Like we laugh at our toddlers when they attempt to pick us up or climb the front of the refrigerator? Probably. I would. I imagine them tossing out a good-hearted chortle every time I try to take someone’s hurts on as my own. So here’s my new plan.

It’s not new really. It’s old. Or it’s the same. I’m going to do what Jesus asked his disciples to do in the garden. Just pray. He just asked them to pray. And when freedom comes, I’m going to rejoice. But until then, I’m going to pray. But maybe I could still wear a cape while doing it?

So let’s have it. How can I pray for you today?

Written for Strength & Song by Shontell Brewer.