Entering the Next Chapter

Before I tell you why I long to be a submissive wife, let me start with a little background about me and my view of submission. My view point has changed drastically over the years and I am sure that it will continue to be tweaked and changed until my last breaths. It is also something that I struggle with greatly day to day even hour to hour. A little about me... I am strong willed, very strong willed at times. Growing up I was even more so. As a child I remember my constant interest in fighting for justice and for whatever cause I picked up at that time. I remember my Papa teaching me about recycling and then I became obsessed with collecting information on it and telling everyone around me what they were doing wrong. If I thought a teacher was wrong I would try to form sit ins in my classroom to defend my rights. I took a couple years of auto mechanics class, just so I would never be in need of assistance from anyone (especially a man). If I liked a boy I would often declare it ...

With Earth Day coming up in just a little over a week, it got me thinking about recycling. Merriam-Webster defines recycle as, "to make something new from (something that has been used before)." God recycles.  God has taken something old, broken, and used, and turned it into something new... me.  I am a Recycled Christian.  When accepting Christ, the Son of God, we are made into a new creation. 2 Corinthians 5:17 "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!"  What wonderful news for us. We are no longer bound to our old destructive broken sinful selves. God has taken us and remolded us.  I often like to say that I am barely even a reflection of my old self. Yes, I still have the same bright red hair and the same smile but other than my physical appearance I am in no way the same person I was even ten years ago.  Ten years ago to this day I was a lost and immature girl. I lashed out and hurt my...

I don't fit in the box you place me in. For a long time I placed myself in the very same boxes and even in other boxes, but I have broken out of them. I don't fit in the box you place me in. I am not just a statistic or a generalized definition of any of my characteristics or quirks. I don't fit in the box you place me in. The boxes are beginning to feel to constrictive and sometimes they even cause me pain. I don't fit in the box you place me in. This last weekend I saw the boxes my husband gets placed into. His response made me so proud. When we were at the bank signing up for a joint savings account the woman helping us was very kind. She applauded our parenting and the good behavior of our three daughters, at the same time she was shocked that we were married. We have the same last name, are at the same address, have our three children with us, and had wedding rings on. She asked us our marriage status, which would be general protocol. Her completely shock...

but God...  Those are some powerful words. They are preceded by heavy words of our inabilities and of hopelessness. Then they are followed by uplifting words about God's abilities and God love for us.  but God... I have had many "but God.." moments that have shaped the person that I am today.  I was a slave to mental illness. I could not go even a couple minutes without thoughts of hurting or killing myself. I tried to self medicate with alcohol. I was consumed by self hate and fear to the point of being hospitalized over and over again. But God broke the chains of bondage. He gave me purpose and a new identity. He sought me out in my darkest moments and held me. He gave me hope.  I was a young mother unaware of what motherhood really meant. I was neglectful of her basic needs for a safe and clean home to the point that I almost had her taken away from me. But God protected her body and her spirit. He gave me the abilities to ...

So many of you know me, but don't know that I have battled with loneliness since I was a small child. This might be confusing to many who read this because I am extremely extroverted. I am the person who can walk into a crowded room of strangers and less than an hour later know many of them personally. I have tried to protect myself from the dark grasps of loneliness with walls of social encounters. I place these walls up from those I socialize with to keep them from seeing how I fear they will not be able to accept. Even in a crowded room of friends I feel completely alone.  Ever since I was a child I had this thought that nagged at me. The thought would tear me down and diminish my worth and make it impossible to be vulnerable. The thought whispers to my heart, "No body wants you around, they are just acting nice because they are kind but you are just a tag-along." In that moment I am brought back to being the little sister who follows her big brothers and their fri...

Let me start by saying this is not meant to offend anyone. Yet, I am sure it will offend someone.  Two weeks ago my nine year old daughter was talking to me about the things happening in our hometown. She tries to hide her feelings and shuts down sometimes, so I saw this as an opportunity to help her communicate her feelings and to help her process everything she is seeing and hearing. She feels stuck. She is a biracial girl living in the middle of Ferguson, MO and she feels stuck. We have tried our hardest to protect her from media overload and to not overwhelm her with facts and yet she is still seeing and hearing things that scare her. While we were talking Abbie suddenly got quiet and looked away. She began to weep to herself. I asked her what was wrong. She looked at me and sheepishly said, "Mom, I am afraid of black people." When the words came out of her mouth, I could see the guilt written across her face. She was scared, angry, filled with guilt for the feelings of...

I wrote this poem based on what my daughter was experiencing being a biracial child in Ferguson, MO. She feels stuck. We are trying to form open communication to help her with her feelings. All of this is written off of what she has told me when we were talking, so while the format is mine the feelings are all hers.  STUCK All I see is black and white, literally and figuratively, And I forget to see all those in between. What does that make me? Stuck I see blacks angry at the whites for mistreatment, And whites unable to understand the pain. What does that make me? Stuck I have been exposed to so much hate, And have to pretend to be brave for my sisters. What does that make me? Stuck I was only a little girl with big dreams, Now I don’t know who I am supposed to be. What does that make me? Stuck I feel like a black girl in a white community, And like a white girl in a black community. What does that make me? Stuck Ferguson is the city I love, and a place that I f...