A high school classmate of mine will bury his 18 year-old son today. He died in a car accident over the weekend in College Station along with another passenger who lives in a community just outside of Austin. Let’s just go ahead and say what we’re all thinking: Every parent’s worst nightmare. When I heard the news, I did what most every other mom of a teen would do: I sent a long novel of a message on Facebook to my own college kid. It included the standard, timely reminders we often preach to our driving teens: Don’t text and drive. Don’t talk on your phone while driving. Look both ways before crossing through an intersection. Wear a seat belt. Don’t drink. But if you cave into the temptation to drink, certainly don’t drink and drive or get in the car with anyone who has been drinking and driving. Forget driving, son — mom will be your designated driver from this moment forward and shuttle you wherever you need to go. Okay, I didn’t say the last one, but I wanted to. In fact, I wanted to head on over to his dorm on the UT campus, scoop him up, bring him home, and tuck him into his old Toy Story bedsheets in his bedroom just down the hall. Isn’t that always a mother’s response? How can I fix the problem and avoid this kind of pain?

Ironically, when I heard news of the accident, I had just wrapped up a women’s event in Huntsville, Alabama and shared a message entitled, “Surviving the Storms of Life.” It was an amazing event and I had the opportunity to meet many of the women and hear about their own personal survival stories related to storms they have experienced in their lives. One grandmother had just lost her only granddaughter in a car accident this past November. Another woman shared through a cardboard testimony that her husband had left her for her best friend. Other women shared stories of sexual abuse, depression, health issues, addictions, and other storms that had come out of no where and forced them to adjust to “a new normal.” Within hours of the event ending, I received a text from my brother regarding my high school classmate’s son. Another storm. Another family. Another new normal.

Honestly, I don’t know how people survive storms without a foundation of faith in place. One of the survival tips I shared in my message is: “Run for shelter.” Shelters can protect us from physical storms and often, save lives. Likewise, we need a shelter when the storms of life hit. I love this line in the classic hymn “My Hope is Built” (1834): “His oath, his covenant, his blood supports me in the whelming flood. When all around my soul gives way, he then is all my hope and stay. On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand; all other ground is sinking sand.” Let me ask you — when all around your soul gives way, what, or who, is your “hope and stay?” Where do you run when the winds and the waves kick up and you feel as if you may drown in a sea of sorrow? Many run to temporary shelters — friends, loved ones, even church. Others run to familiar escapes — alcohol, drugs, food, shopping, Netflix, hobbies, video games, Facebook. And some, realizing their need in the moment for an almighty God, run straight into the arms of the One who calmed the raging storm on the Sea of Galilee (Matthew 4:35-41) with three simple words: “Peace, be still.”

I love the disciples response, who were in the boat with Jesus after the wind and waves died down in obedience to His command. They asked, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” I find that question strangely ironic, given the disciples had witnessed Jesus heal Simon’s mother in law, heal many others that gathered at his door, cast out demons, cleanse a leper; heal a paralytic and a man with a withered hand. And that was just a sampling of the miracles they had witnessed prior to the storm. Regardless, when the storm blew in, their eyes were on the wind and the waves, rather than the one who could calm the wind and the waves. Isn’t that our nature? Focus our attention on the storm rather than the one who says, “Peace, be still?” Oswald Chambers offers this bit of wisdom regarding trials and tribulations: “Notion your mind with the idea that God is there.  If once the mind is notioned along that line, then when you are in difficulties it is as easy as breathing to remember—Why, my Father knows all about it!  It is not an effort; it comes naturally when perplexities press.  Before, you used to go to this person and that, but now the notion of the Divine control is forming so powerfully in you that you go to God about it.”

Do you know this Jesus, who is able to calm the storm with three simple words: “Peace, be still?” Don’t wait until you see a flash of lightening and the rain begins to pour down all around you to find a shelter. Start building your shelter today. Pronto. The best time to build a storm shelter is before the storm comes. When the weather is sunny and the skies are clear. Storms are certain in this life. No one is exempt. The women I met at the Huntsville event can attest to that. My high school classmate would surely offer an “amen.” He has posted on his son’s memorial page that God knew the number of days ordained for his son. Yes, he in fact, did. Our God is a sovereign God. Rain or shine, he is in charge of the forecast. And as painful a truth as that is to wrap our finite minds around, he has not left us to weather the storms alone. I’ve heard it said, “smooth seas do not make skillful sailors.” Storms are often the very thing that drive us into the arms of God almighty. Our hope and stay.

While on a run yesterday, I was listening to my playlist of favorite worship choruses and  praying for the women of Huntsville and my high school classmate and his family. While praying, God of My Days began to play. I was struck by the words, “sovereign in sorrow” and “constant companion.” The words are so powerful, I wanted to pass them along to you. Storms are coming and when they do, know this: He is sovereign in sorrow. He’ll meet you in mourning and speak to your grief. He’ll be a light in your darkness. He’ll never leave you. He is faithful. But, he wants to be your constant companion — not just your shelter on rainy days. And that begins today, when the skies are clear … before the storms come.

 

You awaken my heart
From slumbering
Meet me in mourning
And you speak to my grief

You’re the light in my darkness
The delight of my eyes
The hope of the daybreak
When the sun’s slow to rise

I trust that every moment’s in your hands
You’re the God of my days
The King of my nights
Lord of my laughter
Sovereign in sorrow
You’re the Prince of my praise
The love of my life
You never leave me
You are faithful
God of my days

You unveil my eyes
Help me to see
The arms of my Father
Encircling me
You’re a constant companion
I am never alone
Your love is the banner
That’s leading me home

I trust that every moment’s in your hands
You’re the God of my days
The King of my nights
Lord of my laughter
Sovereign in sorrow
You’re the Prince of my praise
The love of my life
You never leave me
You are faithful
God of my days

(c) Gateway Worship

You may or may not have heard of the website parentsshouldnttext.com, which is a collection of screenshots of actual text messages-gone-bad from yes, you guessed it, parents. (Disclaimer: The site may contain inappropriate language, so this is not an endorsement.) Well, I’m pretty sure, my text conversation above may make the cut. My college son posted the text conversation on his Facebook page yesterday and as you can imagine, it provided endless amounts of entertainment to his peers. At my expense, of course. So, I figured I would basically come clean and out myself before the mockery went viral.

In my defense, I was thrown off by the large usage of emoticons in the text and assumed it was from my daughter. Who is by the way, 21 years old and has absolutely no interest in going out on a mommy/daughter date in matching outfits. Mommy/daughter date, where I pay = Yes. Matching outfits = No. The days of matching Laura Ashley floral, puff sleeve dresses are officially over. This is as close as it will get:

My daughter is really angry about this picture, but in an effort to give you a little background behind my “matching outfits” comment, I feel it’s necessary to post it. A couple of weeks ago, we went to T.J. Max together (mommy/daughter date — yay!) and she found the shirt above. When she held it up, I just knew I had to have one too. Fortunately, they had one in my size! (You can imagine how excited Paige was about this discovery.) We tried them on and ding, ding, ding, it was a winner. And since I was paying, she could hardly complain, right? (I did get a cursory eye roll from her at the checkout when I held them up and suggested we wear them to an upcoming mother/daughter event in Canada where she will be running my bookstore.)

Later that night, she texted me the pic above of her in the new shirt while out on a date with her husband, Matt. COINCIDENTALLY, I was about to go to dinner with Keith in the SAME, EXACT SHIRT! AND BOOTS! So I struck the same pose and texted her back with the picture above. Her response was predictable: “I hate you.” Which is code for “I really, really love you, Mom. And our matching outfits. Just not when we wear them on the same day.” So, now that you have the background to the story, the text message above makes TOTAL sense, right? Except the part where I sent it to Hayden.

Anyway,  The saddest part of this story is that the text conversation with Hayden just so happened to follow this one from the day before (which yes, he also posted on his Facebook page.):

My defense for the questionable response of “Yay!” is that I was reading the message without my reading glasses. And I was in the middle of watching The Voice. Not to mention, I made a “D” in Physics at UT, so my standards are fairly low when it comes to grades, so yeah, even if I had read it accurately and seen the “don’t” word, “Yay!” may have still been my response. So there.

Anyway, I thought you could use the laugh today, so laugh away. Just know that your turn is comin’.

Now, I must run. I’m off to stock up on more reading glasses and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s time to bump up from 1.5 to 1.75 in strength. If that doesn’t do the trick, there is no other explanation other than I’m just plain losing my mind. Which is quite possible. In the meantime — just to play it safe, I’m going to take a little vacation from texting my kids for a few days. Clearly, I have done my part to prove that 48 is now, the new 90.

I have a love/hate relationship with Valentine’s Day. Don’t get me wrong, I have some great memories when it comes to Valentine’s Day. I loved trading them with classmates in early grammar school. I have fond memories of decorating a shoe box in class with the slot in the lid to hold your valentines from classmates. To a girl, it was like the grammar school version of a homecoming mum. It was a really big deal. For that reason, my box looked like my teacher’s Valentine craft bin had thrown up on it. If it was in the bin, it was on my box. But the best part was still yet to come. The swapping of the Valentines! I can still remember standing in front of the rows of boxed Valentines in the supermarket and trying my best to narrow it down to my favorite. Forget Snoopy, Garfield, and Speed Racer. In the end, the Partridge Family would take the prize. When I got home, I carefully tore them apart along their perforated lines. Next, I set aside the ones with David Cassidy’s picture on it and the caption that read, “Hey, I think I love you” for my best girlfriends. Those of you who are my age, know the double meaning of that caption, now don’t you? If you’re too young to know who David Cassidy is, ask your mother. He was the Justin Bieber of our day. Except his hair was even better than Bieber’s. And he was hotter. Way hotter. Which is why I saved one of the David Cassidy valentines for myself. Just to stare at in my spare time.

On the list of not-so-great Valentine’s memories is the stupid carnation drive in middle school to benefit the French Club. This is where you could pay a quarter and have a carnation delivered to someone in class on Valentine’s Day. If you happened to be without a steady (again, if you’re on the young end, ask your mom what that means) or at the very least, a crush, then you were out of luck. Unless of course, you could strike a deal with your best friend to send each other carnations from, yeah, you guessed it — “your secret crush.” At the end of the day, it’s a break-even deal. Of course, there was always the risk that one of the French Club officers taking the orders would rat you out. But since they were all about the bottom line, you were probably safe. Unfortunately, I didn’t wise up to that tactic until 8th grade, so my 7th grade Valentine’s Day was MISERABLE. It’s bad enough when every single class is interrupted multiple times, so carnations can be distributed to yeah, everyone but YOU. The worst part was walking down the halls in between classes and seeing the girls who were loaded down with so many carnations they were hauling them in a Red Flyer wagon behind them. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating about the wagon part, but seriously, did they put out an alert to every member on their family tree to contact the French Club and make donation toward their fragile self-esteems? (Wait, why didn’t I think of that?!)

And then there was high school. Fortunately, by then, I had a steady boyfriend, so I had higher expectations than a few lame carnations. And let me tell you, “boyfriend” certainly delivered. I’m still trying to figure out why in the world he thought I would want a pair of ceramic owl bookends for Valentine’s Day. No, I kid you not. He later solved the mystery by explaining that the bookends were meant to be a reminder of him. His name was Al. Owl=Al. Go figure. Should have been my first red flag in the relationship. And first clue that most guys stink at romance and giving gifts.

Fast forward to college and my freshman year in the dorm. If you were a female living in a dorm in the 1980′s and you didn’t have a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day, well, bless your heart. Especially if your roommate had a boyfriend, and in that case, you may as well take the week off and head on home. Don’t come back until the flowers are good and dead. Not only did my roommate have a boyfriend who sent her dozen roses (and I was called to the front desk to get them while she was in class. Oh joy.), she also had an ex-boyfriend who was trying to win her back at the time, which of course, translated into more flowers. Our dorm room resembled a stinkin’ florist by the end of the day. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, her boyfriend took her to dinner and gave her a James Avery heart dangle ring to boot. Which everyone from my generation knows is the official love language of an 80′s college girl. I’m still trying to work though the bitterness of that day with my counselor.

Now, here I am, a married woman of nearly 25 years and tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. For the majority of my married years, my husband has been off the hook when it comes to Valentine’s Day. Early in our marriage, I came to the conclusion (gee, I wonder why?) that it was a silly, commercial holiday where the guy is swindled into spending ridiculous amounts of money to prove his love and he may or may not get it right. But yeah, he probably won’t. (Think owl bookends, here.) And I was okay with my position. Until last week, that is. I was out shopping for some new running shoes and while in the shoe department, my eyes fell upon a pair of brown leather Frye boots. I tell you, it was love at first sight. Forget running. Running is so over-rated. Maybe I could even run in the boots, I reasoned, desperate to justify the purchase I was about to make. And it was in that very moment that I decided that Valentine’s Day didn’t have to be about flowers and chocolates. It could be about SHOES. So I bought them. (Yes, they were pricy, but if you add up all the $$ I’ve saved my husband over the years by not requiring a gift…blah, blah, blah. Yeah, you get the point. And a tiny glimpse into the desperate mind of a serial shopper.)

That night, I kindly informed my husband that I had decided to start believing in Valentine’s Day again. “Oh, and P.S. don’t worry about a gift, because I already bought it.” (He didn’t flinch at this announcement because he receives the same announcement a few weeks out from Christmas, my birthday, and our anniversary.) I have to say, he took it pretty well. Hey, if you learn anything at all when you hit 25 years of marriage, it’s “choose your battles.” So tomorrow night, my handsome Valentine and I are having dinner at Macaroni Grill and I am going to wear my new boots. I just LOVE Valentine’s Day!

Now, for what to get him… Seriously, after 25 years, you have to ask?!

 

As you can see, Scout is adjusting nicely to the new grandbaby.

By now, you’ve probably heard about the cowardly behavior of Captain Francesco Schettino, who after his cruise ship rammed into a reef off the Tuscan coast, hopped into a lifeboat while frantic passengers struggled to escape the ship. Oh wait, did I say “hopped?” Let me correct that — according to Shettino, he “tripped and fell into a lifeboat.” Yeah, just like when I accidentally “tripped” into the Nordstrom shoe department last week and bought a pair of shoes. I’ll have to remember that one when my husband asks me to identify the mystery purchase on our monthly credit card statement. This guy is clever…real clever. Apparently, before he “tripped” into the lifeboat, he attempted to order dessert in the dining room. Um, okay.Timing seems a bit off to me, given that it was raining down dishes in the galley kitchen at the time. Seriously though, if we learn anything at all from the cowardice of this man, it’s that we need to purposeful in raising our sons to be chivalrous gentlemen.

A recent news account reported that Shettino abandoned ship more than four hours before the last passenger. Four hours. Plenty of time to finish his dessert, while others around him fought for their very lives. In an effort to learn from this tragedy of epic proportions, I want to take a closer look at portions of the exchange that took place between Schettino and a Coast Guard officer while Shettino sat safely on a lifeboat and the passengers on his ship struggled to escape. At one point the Coast Guard officer yells, “You go on board! Is that clear? Do you hear me?” “It is an order. Don’t make any more excuses.” (Translation: “A real man doesn’t make excuses. A real man goes down with the ship, you narcissistic coward!”)

Schettino replied that he was not refusing, but still did not return to the ship, saying at one point: “Do you realize it is dark and here we can’t see anything?” (Translation: “Waaaaaaaagh, waaaaaaaaah! I want my mommy! Quit picking on me and contact the Captain. Oh wait, I AM THE CAPTAIN!”)

De Falco shouted back: “And so what? You want to go home, Schettino? It is dark and you want to go home? Get on that prow of the boat using the pilot ladder and tell me what can be done, how many people there are and what their needs are. Now!” (Translation: “Look, little boy. Apparently, your mother or father never taught you about what it is to be a man, so now I’m forced to teach you and we have precious little time. Lives are at stake, so put on your big boy pants and act like man!”

The exchange came to light after divers pulled the bodies of four men and a woman, all wearing life vests, from the wreckage. Today, the death toll stands at 13 and nearly two dozen people still remain missing. (Read more about the account by clicking here.)

Sadly, the Captain wasn’t the only coward in this story. In another article entitled “Chivalry Sinks under Equality’s Murky Waters,” author Charlotte Hays, makes this point:

When the Costa Concordia cruise liner struck rocks and careened onto its side off the coast of Tuscany, passengers and press alike compared the modern maritime disaster to the sinking of the Titanic.

The comparison has proven unflattering to the captain, crew, and male passengers aboard the Costa Concordia, who in many cases shoved past women — including expectant mothers — and children to save their own sorry skins.

A grandmother recalled for the Daily Mail, “I was standing by the lifeboats and men, big men, were banging into me and knocking the girls.”  “Whatever happened to women and children first?” the newspaper queried.  What indeed?

The men who behaved badly on the Costa Concordia were cowards, no doubt  about it, but they are also products of an age that downplays such erstwhile virtues as chivalry and protectiveness of women.  We instinctively recoil from the way they behaved, but there are mitigating factors (I recoil as I write this, but it is true).

There has been a sea change in the way men value women since the Titanic went down almost exactly a hundred years ago, on April 14-15, 1912.  That night, in the icy waters off the coast of Newfoundland, men willingly sacrificed their lives for women and children.

The statistics are stunning: eighty percent of the men aboard the Titanic perished, while seventy-four percent of the women survived.  It is telling, as Rich Lowry observed in National Review, that more women from third class, located deep in the ship’s bowels, survived than did men from first class.  Human nature being what it is, some men might have been tempted to make a dash for the lifeboats, but the crew fired shots to prevent this.  As Bob Asman, a TV producer, observed at one of the annual black-tie gatherings held by the Men’s Titanic Society at the Titanic Memorial here in Washington, D.C., it was the “chivalry and gallantry” of the men that saved the women and children. (Click here to read the article.)

As sad as this story is, I can’t say I’m surprised to hear about the despicable behavior displayed by so many of the cowardly men (including Captain Coward, himself) aboard the Costa Concordia. I addressed the lack of chivalry in my book, 5 Conversations You Must Have With Your Son in a chapter entitled “Raising Up a Gentleman.”

The traditional gentleman seems to be a lost and dying breed. The chivalrous, hat-tipping, surrender-your-seat-to-the-ladies brand of gentleman who courted our grandmothers is a long forgotten thing of the past. While I’m not suggesting we retreat back 50 years and start a hat-tipping revival, I do think parents need to be more purposeful when it comes to raising their sons to be gentlemen.

While recently trying on some jeans at a near-by store, I couldn’t help but overhear a conversation between two young women in the dressing room next to me. One of them was sharing a concern with her friend about her boyfriend’s lack of good manners. “He just doesn’t seem to get it. When we first starting going out, he paid for my meals, but now that we’ve been together for six months, sometimes, he expects me to pay! And he’s never once opened a door for me or waited for me to enter a place in front of him. The other day, we were headed into the student center and he walked into the building right in front of me while I was digging in my purse for my student ID and he just let the door close behind him.”

By this time, it was all I could do to keep from screaming, “Dump him, sister! He’s a dud!” As if her plight wasn’t sad enough, wait until you hear her friend’s response! “Yeah, but pretty much no guy opens doors anymore. I mean, I wish they would, but we can’t blame them if they’re not raised that way.” Key statement: If they’re not raised that way. Hmmmm. It certainly inspired me to sit both my boys down in the days that followed and make sure they are behaving like the gentlemen their father and I raised them to be. Clearly, chivalry is on the list of endangered character qualities at risk for extinction.

Chivalry is controversial given the women’s movement and the residue of confusion it left in its wake.* While some women may find it offensive that a man would have the nerve to hold the door for them, the majority of women still welcome the gesture of kindness. (And I doubt that even the radical feminists would dare to complain if they were on a sinking ship and a gentleman offered to give up his seat on the life-boat to one of them.) 

Chivalry shouldn’t be reserved for just women. Our sons should be taught to keep an eye out for anyone in need, including children and the elderly and extend a helping hand should the opportunity arise. The wisdom of Luke 6:31 is timeless for every generation: “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

Chivalrous gentlemen are made, not born. It’s up to us to teach our sons about chivalry. It begins in the home when they are young and the teaching should continue through the years. Chivalry doesn’t have to sink with the Titanic. It’s up to us, as parents, to keep it afloat.

*Clarification: By “confusion,” I’m referring to a movement that began with the noble purpose of fighting for the equal rights of women (equal pay for equal work, the right to own property, etc.), which I’m sure we all support. Somewhere along the way, the movement was hijacked by a radical handful of women (think Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, etc.) who began to blame the patriarch for the ills of women. Equal treatment was not their goal, but better treatment. As a result, the word “feminist” now has a negative connotation and is typically associated with the more radical form of feminism. I feel a clarification is necessary because I don’t want to imply in any way that my cry for the return of chivalry is only possible if we retreat back to the days where women were treated as second class citizens. I am grateful for the progress that has been made in regard to establishing equal rights for women, but saddened by the fallout that has resulted from the more extreme form of feminism.

Well, I bought my grandson, little Walker, an activity gym and as you can see it’s been a real hit. What’s funny about this picture is that both my husband and son had the same instinct to “try it out,”  unaware that the other had done the same thing. And I just so happened to have my camera nearby. Mercy, Walker comes from a long line of goofballs. And they aren’t the only ones who’ve shown an interest in the activity gym.

Have a great weekend!

The above clip is from my daughter’s rehearsal dinner on December 16, 2011. As my husband spoke, I was overcome with gratitude for the kind of father he has been to our children. I am so very blessed. Our kids are so very blessed. I’ve written and spoken extensively on the importance of the father/daughter relationship, but the 2 1/2 minute clip above sums it up more beautifully than any combination of carefully crafted words. The clip provides the answer to many of the concerns Christian parents have when it comes to raising daughters:

How can I raise her to have confidence and see herself through God’s eyes?

How can I model God’s unconditional love to her?

How can I discourage her from dating too young?

When she is old enough to date, how can I encourage her to refuse to settle for anything less than God’s best?

In a culture that bombards her with the message that it’s no big deal to have sex, how can I encourage her to save sex for marriage?

How can I help her guard her heart?

As I filmed my husband’s tribute to our daughter from behind the camera, I couldn’t help but wonder how different this world might look if more little girls had dads who asked them to go on ice cream dates from the preschool to teenage years. And played board games and Barbies with them. And took them on an annual weekend camping trip each year. And reminded them over the years that God appointed them to be the “man in their lives,” and “their protector” and “spiritual leader” until they meet their future husbands. And modeled for them what sort of standard they should have when it comes to choosing a future husband.

I dare say if we had more dads like that, we would see a dramatic decrease in many of the issues that plague our girls today: low self-esteem, eating disorders, negative body image, anxiety, rebelliousness, immodesty, promiscuity, and a desperate, insatiable need for male attention, just to name a few. The remedy for these problems cannot be found in more self-help books and Christian pep talks. The remedy is simple: We need fewer absent fathers and more “sweet-daddy-boy-dates.” We need fewer sad stories and more locket stories.

One of my resolutions for 2012 is to relax more. I’ve always had a problem with relaxing, whether it be carving out time to read a good book (pleasure reading vs. self improvement), watching a movie, or a Sunday afternoon nap (which is rare). Even when I allow myself to partake in a guilty pleasure (like watching a few back to back episodes of House Hunters on HGTV), I generally have my laptop in front of me while I do some background research for a writing or speaking project. I’m big on spending time with my family, so any spare time I have apart from traveling to speak and meeting writing deadlines is generally devoted to spending time with my husband and children. This is a common challenge that many women face today when it comes to prioritizing family and juggling a full-time job. Something has to go. And in many cases, it’s me-time.

Add to the equation the insanity of this past year with two weddings, a senior year, a high school graduation, a college move-in, the arrival of a grandchild, and yeah, it’s time to relax. And what better time to learn to relax than now when I’ve officially entered into the empty-nest season of life? Even though I have a couple of upcoming book deadlines and a busy season of speaking, I will be left with more free time now that two of my children are married and the last one is in college. (Insert Handel’s Hallelujah chorus here.) Which brings me to the picture above. Some time ago, I was perusing one of my vintage copies of Ladies’ Home Journal (December, 1895) while doing some background research for a Bible study I was writing and I ran across a pattern for embroidering monograms.

Aren’t they gorgeous?! I find it fascinating to think about a time period when many of the luxuries we enjoy today didn’t exist. There were no shortcuts to daily chores offered in the way of microwave ovens, dish washers, or washing machines, yet women from this time period took the time to accent a pair of pillow cases or handkerchiefs. So began the inspiration for my first-ever embroidery project. I wish you could have seen my husband’s face when he asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I responded with “embroidery needles, an embroidery hoop, and an assortment of embroidery floss.” “Huh?,” he said. To which I replied, “Get Paige to help you. It’s part of my New Year’s resolution to relax more.” To which he replied, “Huh?” While finishing up my Christmas shopping, I happen to run across these cloth napkins at TJ Maxx:

A set of twelve cloth restaurant napkins that just so happen to match my Friendly Village pottery (that I picked up years ago at an antique store):

I love this pottery. Actually, I picked up two packages of cloth napkins because I reasoned that some day, I will be responsible for feeding my entire clan over the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. Which means I also need to learn to cook at some point. One day at a time. The end result is not perfect, but I’m beginning to get the hang of it. Two down and 22 more napkins to go! Surprisingly, the last one only took me about an hour to complete.

I thought it would be cool to try the monogram on a hand towel and use the thread below that came in my grandfather’s army-issued uniform mending kit from 1943:

How awesome is this kit?! As you can tell, I love things that have a deep meaning attached to them. A vintage embroidery pattern from 1895 hand-stitched with vintage thread that belonged to my grandfather back in 1943. And yeah, you can bet no one is going to ever wipe their hands on this hand towel!

Suffice it to say, this was not a good project for a beginning embroider! I learned that there is a reason embroiders use embroidery floss rather than cotton sewing thread. The thread was such a booger to work with. The finished product is not a work of art, but knowing the thread belonged to my grandfather makes it special and worthy of display. Somewhere safe and away from dirty hands. Like a glass case or something.

So, that’s what I’ve been up to lately. I’m just curious, but what do you do to relax? Is it hard for you to relax or do you have this relaxing stuff down? Share your secrets!

Oh, and by the way, Happy New Year!

Whew. I am finally emerging from the post-wedding fog and catching my breath. I am literally basking in the afterglow of a wedding that was more than I ever imagined. I have dreamed of this day since May 5th, 1990 when I heard, “It’s a girl” and a little princess was placed in my arms. Matt and Paige’s deepest desire was that Christ be center stage at their wedding — not the bride, the wedding gown, or the beautiful floral arrangements. After a week of rain, the day was simply beautiful and the first of many gifts God would deliver on that day. Since I was detained with mother-of-the-bride duties, there are only a few pictures of the actual ceremony. They will come later when I get back the footage from the professional photographer and videographer. Most of the pictures in the clip above are from the events leading up to the ceremony and the reception that followed.

We had two officiants at the ceremony who turned the attention exactly where it needed to be — Jesus Christ, God’s appointed bridegroom. Both of these men are very dear to our family. The first was Louie Giglio. Louie gave a beautiful message on why Christ deserves center-stage, not just in marriage, but our lives in general. What better time than to hear that reminder one week out from Christmas? Louie flew in from Atlanta and flew right back out after the ceremony to preach at Passion City Church the following morning. Not to mention, he kind of has a big event coming up in a couple of weeks. Nearly 40,000 students will fill the Georgia Dome for Passion 2012. (And I thought it was stressful to plan a wedding!) The Courtney family will never forget the sacrifices Louie made to serve at Matt and Paige’s wedding.

The second officiant was our long-time pastor and dear friend, Donnie Dixon. Donnie and my husband grew up in the same town (Texas City) and graduated from the same high school. We have been the best of friends with the Dixon family ever since we landed in Austin, Texas at the same church in 1987. Along with the Andrews family (worship minister of our church and clan), we have raised our kids in community and have a special relationship with both families. It was extra special to have Donnie officiate Matt and Paige’s ceremony because he officiated at my wedding ceremony and declared Keith and me “husband and wife” back in 1987! We love the Dixon family and are grateful they have served as a second set of parents to our children.

Paige’s cousin (Keith’s sister’s daughter) opened the ceremony with a beautiful solo to O Holy Night. It was the perfect way to begin the ceremony and another way to put the focus on Christ, rather than the bride and groom. Another one of Paige’s cousins (my brother’s little girl) served as one of the flower girls. My boys were among the groomsmen and my new daughter-in-law was a bridesmaid. Not to mention, the entire cast of bridesmaids are like daughters to me. I love these girls. A long-time family/church friend, Karen Funderburk handled all the floral arrangements and bouquets. She was also the inspiration behind the Christmas decor, including the beautiful chandelier hanging over the stage. Paige’s dad put together that chandelier one piece at a time and hung it from the rafters above the stage the day before the wedding, which made it even more special. (Yes, there were a few moments when I wondered if my marriage would survive “the chandelier”! How was I supposed to know it would require renting a lift from Home Depot?!)

The chandelier was a beautiful touch, but not nearly as beautiful as watching Matt’s eyes fill with tears as he stood under that chandelier and his bride made her way down the aisle. Unforgettable. And yes, I cried. Matt’s comments to Paige at the end of this clip (filmed at the rehearsal the night before) help explain the emotion behind his tears and what he was feeling in that moment. Keith and I could not have hand-picked a better husband for our daughter. He is exactly what we had in mind when we have prayed for our daughter’s future spouse all these years. We feel the same way about our daughter-in-law, Casey. Never under-estimate the power of praying for your children’s future spouse.

Another unforgettable memory occurred at the rehearsal dinner. I plan to share about it on this blog after the holidays come to a close. If you have a daughter, you won’t want to miss the post. It involves a special tradition my husband established with my daughter beginning when she was about four years old. I can write and speak about ways to help guard our daughters’ hearts, but my husband summed up in a 1 1/2 minute tribute to Paige what matters most. I’ll share the clip after we get past Christmas and New Year’s. Suffice it to say, it is one of my best memories of all-time.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the clip above. The wedding was a beautiful way to end a year filled with beautiful things in the Courtney family: Two weddings, a grandbaby, and our youngest child graduating from high school — Wow. What a whirlwind. But a good kind of whirlwind. My heart is full and I am grateful.

Merry Christmas! May Christ be center stage on this day and every day that follows. He is worthy!

I am exhausted. But my heart is so full it feels like it could bust wide open at any moment. I will be back with pictures from the wedding, but for now, enjoy the clip above that I posted on Facebook over the weekend of the father/daughter dance at the wedding reception. Here is what I said in my description of the clip:

Without a doubt, one of the most memorable moments of my entire life: The Father/Daughter dance with Paige Courtney and her daddy, Keith Courtney at her wedding tonight. They claimed this song as their song when she was about 7 or 8 years old. I remember when it came on the radio one day and she asked if she could get out of her seat belt real quick to give her daddy “butterfly kisses” on the cheek. He sang every word to her tonight as they danced to the song. Every single word.

I promise I’ll be back with wedding pics and commentary later this week. I’m off to do some Christmas shopping because for me, the Christmas season just officially began! In the meantime, enjoy the clip above. If you have a daughter, you may want to grab a tissue.

Thank you again for celebrating alongside our family in a year filled with wonderful memories.

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