Monthly Archives: February 2015

Ms CarsonMy dear husband has this habit (we’ll call it “quirky”) of picking out the most obscure movies to watch in the evenings.  He scrolls through Netflix, finding enigmatic westerns or war flicks (generally starring one or two A-list actors supported by a cast of actors I’ve never seen or heard of), and since neither of these genres are remotely interesting to me, I tend to come in and out of the room while doing laundry (because, let’s face it, this house is the black hole of never-ending laundry), cleaning the kitchen, or, on nights when both of those options are just over my capacity for functioning at that hour, curling up on the couch next to him with a book, so that we are actually spending time together in the same general vicinity (funny how our definition of “hanging out” changes over the years, isn’t it?). Last night was no exception to this rule, and laundry made my preferred function list (Ok, not preferred….but necessary.  The pile was getting embarrassing).  This time, however, his choice caught my attention, and before I knew it, I had become wrapped up enough in the story to set the laundry down, run and get a notepad, and return to the couch to sit on top of the clean clothes pile while watching and writing (Apparently, I have now picked up the sit-on-the-laundry-instead-of-folding-it habit from my family, which is unfortunate, because it gives me fits when they do it….and I yell at them for this.  Luckily, the kids were in bed and didn’t witness my lapse.).  And, yes, I was taking notes during a movie.  Don’t judge me.  I already had to ignore the raised eyebrows and snickers from the other end of the couch.

Moving on….

The movie Gregg picked was Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson story, and it was based on his autobiography, which has the same title.  I don’t know if you are aware of who Dr. Benjamin Carson is – I wasn’t until last night.  I am now fascinated with his story, especially his earlier history.

He was born in 1951, one of two brothers, and raised by a single mother from age eight years old.  His is a story of early struggle, redemption and triumph over any circumstance to burst through the other side a shining star.  And while this is impressive, the theme that caught me was actually the backstory and fortitude of his mother.

Her scenes were my favorite, and I was in some degree of tears throughout most of them.  She was a hard-working African-American woman, fighting to give her boys every opportunity for success in a time when her race hindered her as much as her lack of education.  She had only attended school until the third grade, and had been raised in foster care until she married her husband at the age of 13.  She was unable to read and had no special skills, yet had to find a way to feed and clothe her sons after her divorce (He had another family and children on the side.  How’s that for a devastating blow?).  In one heart-wrenching scene, she walks to a Psychiatric Hospital and stops an exiting nurse with this cry for help:

“I’ve got a darkness inside me I can’t control.”

My tears flowed freely at that declaration.  They continued streaming down my face as she sat across from the kind doctor who met with her and poured out her story; a mother, terrified for her children’s future, doing the best she could while knowing deep inside it wasn’t nearly enough.  Plagued by self-doubt and regret, she rocked and wrung her hands, while stating, “I’m so dumb.  I can’t do much – just clean houses and babysit.  I’m not worth enough.  I’m nothing.  And I’m terrified my boys will end up the same as me, in a place like this.”

I sat there and cried, because her statement was so heart-wrenching, and so loudly echoed the doubts and dark places, not only of my mind, but of the minds of so many of my friends and sisters out there.

And because when I watched her, the incompetent woman she described was not who I saw at all.

I saw a warrior, a fierce lioness who refused to give up.  I saw a woman who, while not very educated, was extremely intelligent and resourceful.  I saw a woman who personified some huge lessons we all could use in life.  She was fierce, to say the least….and knew how and when to roar.

Lesson 1: Comparison truly is the stealer of all joy

When her sons would pop off about what everyone else was doing, her response was, “Don’t you worry about everyone else.  The world is full of everybody else’s.”  She refused to bow to the expectations of the social and political climate of the times, and she refused to allow her sons to settle into comfortable or careless routines.  She had goals and plans, and she stuck to them, dragging her reluctant boys along with her.  Her every action, every step was aimed at the achievement of her goals and the vision she had for her sons…not the movements or fortunes of her neighbor.

Lesson 2: Emulate the habits of those who have achieved success

Mid-way through the film, she began a new job, cleaning the house of a college professor.  She was amazed by the number of books in his home.  They were piled everywhere in his study, reaching to the ceiling in walls completely covered by bookshelves and covering the television set.  When she asked him if he had read all of the books, his reply was, “Most of them.”  From that day forward, her boys had books in their hands.  She went home, turned off the TV, and set strict rules about what and how much they were to watch (and this in the days before the endless blogs and lists and studies about whether too much TV is good for or harms our children).  She encouraged (ok, forced, initially) a love of learning and study patterns that changed their lives forever.

Lesson 3: Know when to ask for help

When her depression got to be too much, when she could no longer control the darkness, she went out and got help.  The right help.  She put aside her pride, shared her story and accepted the necessary treatment; going so far as to check into an inpatient facility for two weeks so she could get herself pulled together.  And when she came home, she came home – recharged, reset and ready to hit the ground running again.

Lesson 4: Have faith

She raised her boys in the church, as believers, and taught them to pray.  She opened their eyes to the fact that God is out there and miracles do exist, telling them, “You just gotta see beyond what you can see.”  She stuck to that, no matter what, and never lost sight of God’s hand in her life….even on the dark days.

Lesson 5: Be an encourager

She was a genius coach and cheerleader, who used emboldened statements as she spurred her sons on to new heights of achievement.  Never once did she express her doubts or concerns to them, choosing instead to fortify their spirits and energize their minds, while guarding their hearts from the lowering comments or mindsets of others.  She pushed them, with love and discipline, to become the men her heart dreamed of and that her God had created.

They would go on to become successful, educated men – one an engineer, the other a doctor.

Ben, her baby, proceeded to gain notoriety as a world-renowned pediatric neurosurgeon; performing the first ever successful separation of craniopagus twins (Siamese twins joined at the head) in 1985, and later becoming the Head of Pediatric Neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital.  Today, he is a bestselling author, speaker, political commentator and outspoken Christian with a beautiful wife and three sons of his own.

Quite a legacy from a humble and unschooled mama, don’t you think?

I admire her.  Her story touched my heart and humbled my spirit, while inspiring the woman and mother in me.

I’m going to post the list of these lessons in plain sight, and remind myself of them daily.  They are clear and simple and profoundly truth-filled.  They are possible.  They are proven.

Who’s with me?
Solidarity, sisters.  Go ahead and roar.



We had another first this weekend.  It was amazing.  It was epic.  It was unforgettable.  It was our first Daddy Daughter dance.  Oh, the preciousness.  I’m not sure I can do the description justice. But I’ll try. I’ll begin by saying that I went into this historic weekend with some small trepidation, mostly because after the past few months (and past few weeks, in particular) I am so over girls and their frippery I could scream.  I mean it.  I’m done – with flowers and dances and Valentine theatrics…the whole she-bang.  Middle school girls are crazy.  I’m just putting it out there.  My apologies to those of you who have daughters in this age range.

But, they are.

The middle school Luke attends is doing a fundraiser that involves buying and sending carnations to the recipient of your choice next week.  PTA took orders last week (I was up there helping as part of my quest for Good Motherhood) and will deliver them next Thursday in all the Valentine frenzy.  The morning of the sale, I had a heart-to-heart with Luke, which basically involved me telling him that he was not, under any circumstances, to buy a flower for anyone.  Period.  Not a single person.  To ensure his comprehension of my seriousness, I then explained to him that if he attempted to do so, I would choke the life out of him.  Then bring him back to life.  And kill him again.  Are we clear?

I also proceeded to fill the other mothers at school in on my orders, and to enlist their help in shooing Luke away from the flower sale table should he be so foolish as to approach it regardless of his peril.

Mama don’t play.

Over it.

However, since Emry is only five, and her date was her daddy, I managed to put aside my irritation and work up some genuine enthusiasm for her big night.

Friday we went and got pedicures together (it was the cutest girl time ever) and had lunch, then went shoe shopping (for her…this was not about me.  I didn’t even try a single pair on.  Restraint at its best). We discussed how I would do her hair, and what to expect from the evening, and how pretty her dress was….. At one point she looked at me and said, “I can’t believe I am having a date with Daddy!” And then I melted.

Saturday was a gorgeous day.  When the time came to start getting ready, I sat her on a barstool in my bathroom and put hot rollers in her hair.  She chatted and laughed, squirming on her stool under the unfamiliar weight of curler-bound hair.  It was a little surreal, since my memories of my mother putting curlers in my hair are still all so clear.  Has it been that long?

We grabbed her favorite blanket and book of princess stories, then cuddled on the couch and read while we waited for the rollers to cool.  I held her hand, alternating between the tales on the page and questions from her fascinating little mind.  She sat up straight with a concerned frown after about 15 minutes and said, “Mommy….I don’t think I know how to dance right for this.”  Oh, angel girl…..I assured her that Daddy had that part under control.  She thought about this for a moment, roller-heavy head cocked to the side, then nodded once and gestured for me to continue reading. Rapunzel waits for no man.

When the time came, we got her hair roller-free and fluffed, put a flower in it, and headed to get her dressed.  After a brief argument over tights (they were non-negotiable for me), we got her flouncy dress and sparkly shoes on.  Then, we headed to strut our stuff for Daddy.

He came out in his suit, looking ever so dapper, and made all the right comments and compliments over his beautiful girl.  It was just too adorable.  And when he bent to one knee to hand over her flower and kiss her hand, her smile was like the sun coming up.


I was so completely in love with both of them I could hardly breathe.We checked for tickets, gave hugs and kisses, and got them loaded into the car after only 50-60 more pictures.  The fact that they were riding with several of our friends and their daughters only added to the chaos….and the fun.  The innocent excitement of a night like this is in a class all its own. Steven Curtis Chapman has a song, “Cinderella”.  It’s one of my favorites.  As they drove away for their magical night, my darling princess and her handsome prince, the chorus played in my mind:

So I will dance with Cinderella
While she is here in my arms
‘Cause I know something the prince never knew
Oh I will dance with Cinderella
I don’t want to miss even one song
‘Cause all too soon the clock will strike midnight
And she’ll be gone

 I’ll admit to a tear or two in that moment.

And maybe one or two more when they returned home.  A strong daddy walked in holding his sweet, sleepy girl….sparkly shoes long gone, curls tumbling down – and my heart just melted.

She had the night of her life. And while there will be other Daddy Daughter dances, and other date nights…some without her daddy’s presence….there will never be another first time, not like this.  She experienced a fairy tale, with all the parts important to her – ice cream at dinner, dancing with her dream date, giggling with her friends, petting the horse and then riding in a carriage behind it, playing chase around the venue trees (apparently, dad still moves pretty fast, even in a suit)…. And when it was all over, she was carried home, safe in the arms of her father.  She could rest her weary little head on his shoulder, secure in the knowledge he had her, and would hold her tight in his arms no matter what.

Cinderella3May she never forget this night – any of it.
May she hold these memories close and smile as she adds to them.

May she always know the comfort of her father’s arms, as she grows to know the comfort of her Father’s presence.

May we all hold on to that, and be secure in our hope because of it.

Solidarity, sisters.  And may you all live happily ever after.