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Charmed by the past: Review of Gone South by Meg Moseley

gone southI don’t usually judge a book–for good or bad–by its cover. I’m more interested in the story summary. But let me tell you, the cover of Meg Moseley’s Gone South grabbed me before I had a chance to read an excerpt. The girl on the cover looks like she’s playing dress up, and in a way, her story is one of self-discovery.

On a whim, Tish McComb visits her family’s ancestral home in Noble, Alabama, after moving her mother to Florida. The house is for sale and Tish makes an impulsive decision to buy the place and move from Michigan with no job prospects or friends. Named after the woman whose husband built the house in the Civil War era, Tish expects to reconnect with her past in the town tied to her heritage. But she soon discovers that the name “McComb” won’t win her any friends. She adds to her ostracization by befriending Melanie Hamilton, a young girl with a troubled past whose family won’t let her back into their lives or their home. Together Tish and Mel, along with the help of local antiques dealer George Zorbas, work to prove themselves to the community and do right in the present, even if they can’t change the past.

I was almost 100 pages into this book before I realized I’d read that much. It’s charming like the South itself, and the kind of story that keeps you turning the pages to find out how it’s all going to work out. Tish, Mel and George are all likeable characters with realistic problems and reactions to life’s problems.

This was the first book of Moseley’s I’ve read and it won’t be the last.

Click here to read chapter one.

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In exchange for my review, I received a free copy of Gone South from Waterbrook Multnomah Publishing Group through the Blogging for Books program.

What if God is like boxed mac and cheese?

A couple of months ago, we had a friend over for a play date. She and her mom had driven up from their house and were staying for lunch. We hadn’t seen them in a while, but the kids got along well.

I hadn’t been to the store and was a little low on groceries, but I had enough to make mac and cheese, a homemade way, with boxed pasta covered in a flour-butter-milk sauce with melted cheese. I told the little girl who was visiting that we were having mac and cheese for lunch, and she was super excited all morning because let’s face it, mac and cheese is a pretty great promise.

macaroni

Shannah Pace | Stock Exchange | www.sxc.hu

But when lunchtime came, she expressed disappointment about what was in her bowl.

“Mommy, I don’t like it!”

I can’t remember if she tried it, and really, it wasn’t my best effort at homemade mac and cheese. Fortunately, her mom came prepared with a microwavable bowl of the Kraft kind, and she ate that like a champ.

Nothing against boxed mac and cheese. I’ve eaten my fair share of that in my lifetime, and my kids like it when we have it.

Still, it’s not “real.”

We’ve been starting to make some changes in the food we eat and buy, opting for more “real” and “natural” ingredients. The coffee creamer I use is made with milk, cream and sugar. This revelation came when I bought some non-dairy stuff off the shelf at Dollar General, and I thought, “What exactly is this stuff?” The answer: a bunch of things mixed together to taste like creamer.

Our favorite ice cream maker has a new line of all-natural ice creams. One night last week I tried a salted caramel variety and I kid you not, it was like tasting ice cream for the first time.

I’ve been eating fake food for so long I’ve forgotten what real food tastes like. 

It might take some time for my palate to readjust. Or maybe not. Every summer I swear I’ll never eat another store-bought tomato when I’ve tasted the sweet juiciness of a homegrown one from the farmer’s market. Until winter comes and I want tomatoes and all I have available is the reddish, tasteless tomato-shaped fruit in the store.

Then I settle for something less than real.

And I fear the Church, and my faith, may suffer the same taste preference as our 3-year-old friend: We prefer the fake to the real because we don’t know what real is.

Taste and see that the Lord is good.

Words from a Psalm, and yet do I believe it? That God is good.

A member of the local Jehovah’s Witness congregation periodically stops by our house, mostly to talk to my husband, but since he’s not around as much because of his work schedule, I’m the one who ends up talking to him. This week, he handed me the weekly literature, which posed the question, “Is God cruel?”

“What do you think of that question, Lisa?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t think God is cruel,” I said. And in my heart I added, He is far better to us than we deserve.

Words my head affirms but the truth is I have shaken my fist at God, doubted His goodness and demanded He do things my way. As recent as last week, I threw my hands up in the air and said, “Don’t You see what we’ve given up for You?”

As if God owes me anything.

Boxed mac and cheese is quick, easy and it tastes good enough to eat, even if it doesn’t provide much in the way of nutrition.

And sometimes I want a quick, easy faith that makes me feel all warm and cozy.

Not the kind that requires patience and preparation and that might be bland if I rush it and skip a step.

And sometimes God gives me what I want, but it leaves me feeling empty. Hungry for something more.

I think of the song we’ve sung for fun at camp:

I wish I had a little white box

to put my Jesus in

I’d take him out and kiss, kiss, kiss

and put him back again

Maybe it’s all fun and nobody takes it seriously, but I wonder how many of us have Jesus in a box and we only take Him out of it when it suits us? How many of us are living a faith that is only a shadow of the real thing?

And I’m not talking about not being saved or a member of the church or a faithful disciple. Even those who followed Jesus while He was on earth got it wrong, creating in their minds a Savior of a different kind.

I’m talking about opening the box and letting Jesus out, even if we’re not sure we’re going to like what He has to say or wants us to do.

Taste and see.

Yesterday was the Day of Pentecost, the day the church marks as the birth of a movement that would spread worldwide for thousands of years. The Holy Spirit arrived and Jesus was no longer limited to his earthly body.

The Spirit moves today.

But sometimes we put Him back in the box, choosing to believe only what is safe, comfortable and palatable.

What if we’re missing something?

Something real. Wholesome. And good.

What if I’m not really following Jesus at all but just a cheap substitute?

Taste and see.

5 on Friday: things every writer needs

1. A group of writers. Mine meets tomorrow, and I look forward to this monthly get-together almost every time. When I stopped working as a journalist to be a stay-at-home mom, I lost my group of people who understand what it’s like to live in a writer’s head. Don’t have one of those? I used Google to find mine.

Photo courtesy of Stock Exchange | http://sxc.hu

Photo courtesy of Stock Exchange | http://sxc.hu

2. A supportive family. I’m finding among writers a common element: husbands (or wives) who encourage, support and sometimes even push their writer spouse to follow the dream. They watch the kids, give up the computer and say “yes” to hare-brained ideas.

3. A creative space. My desk is a mess and we have no extra rooms in our house. I want to believe that my creativity would bloom bigger and brighter if I had a room where I could close the door and escape into my fictional world. There are some good ones here.

4. A library of books. I was a reader before I was a writer, although probably not much before. Good stories inspire me to write good stories and how me how it’s done. Bad stories inspire me to write better stories and show me how not to do it. Reading is essential to learning the craft of writing. Click to tweet.

5. A foolish determination. I say “foolish” because often the pursuit of publication, the writing of a novel, the house spent putting words into sentences and paragraphs, looks like wasted time and effort. People will mock. And discourage. And reject. And judge. But the writer who knows what she is called to do and can’t not do it won’t let those things stop her. She might be momentarily discouraged and let doubts fill her mind, but in the end, she will passionately pursue the story.

What would you add to the list?

How you can help others by selling your stuff

Garage sale season is gearing up. And if your neighborhoods are like the ones where I live, then it’s only a matter of weeks before garage sale season reaches its peak. Once school is out, it seems everybody and their neighbor takes the opportunity to declutter and make a little cash.

If you’re considering having a garage sale this year, let me offer you an opportunity through Help One Now to declutter AND help fund projects in Haiti and Uganda.

The details and resources are here, and you can read stories of how other people have hosted their sales.

Like this 7-year-old boy who wanted orphans in Haiti to have Christmas. So his family helped him organize a sale in November that raises $1,400.

Or this woman who decided she might not be able to do much but compared to what she was doing, she could do a whole lot more.


Here’s what’s true: We, Americans, have way too much stuff.

Just look at these statistics from the Self-Storage Association:

  • There are now approximately 49,940 “primary” self storage facilities in the United States as of year end 2011.
  • One in 10 US households (HH), or 10% (10.8 million of the 113.3 million US HH in 2011) currently rent a self storage unit; that has increased from 1 in 17 US HHs (6%) in 1995 – or an increase of approximately 65 percent in the last 15 years.
  • There is 7.3 sq.ft. of self storage space for every man, woman and child in the nation; thus, it is physically possible that every American could stand – all at the same time – under the total canopy of self storage roofing.
  • The self storage industry has been one of the fastest-growing sectors of the United States commercial real estate industry over the period of the last 35 years.

We have “houses” for our stuff, and worldwide, there are people who don’t have houses for themselves.

We can do better, can’t we?

So, if you’re planning a garage sale this summer, make it a win-win for you and global poverty by donating your garage sale earnings to one of Help One Now’s projects.

This site makes it easy to plan. So, grab some stuff, grab some friends and make a difference!

 

A stroll through the Gospel of Luke: Review of Jesus the One and Only by Beth Moore

I enjoy Beth Moore’s group Bible studies and video series because I get an “aha!” moment out of just about every week. Her teaching reveals new insight into familiar passages, and this trade paperback version of her study of the Gospel of Luke, Jesus the One and Only, was what I expected from Moore.

jesus one and onlyThe stories of Jesus’ life can easily become commonplace in the life of a Christian. What Moore does with this study is slow us down and focus in on a scene or a chapter of Luke’s Gospel. She sets the background and through word studies of the original language gives us context into what is happening.

I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve read through Luke but while reading Jesus the One and Only, I felt like I was seeing it all for the first time.

It’s not designed like the group studies, but it’s perfect for individual study or daily devotional readings. The chapters aren’t long and you could read the portion of Luke she references as part of your daily Bible reading. I didn’t plan it that way, but another Bible reading plan I’m using is directing me toward Luke right now. So, I felt like my readings were enriched by each other.

The study is well-researched and full of insights for practical living. I would read it through again for deeper contemplation and application.

Read a sample chapter here to get an idea of the book’s style.

About the Author:
Beth Moore is a best-selling writer, teacher and founder of Living Proof Ministries. Her numerous books and Bible studies, including “A Heart Like His” (B&H Books), “Breaking Free” (B&H Books), “Believing God” (LifeWay Christian Resources), “The Patriarchs” (LifeWay Christian Resources) and “James: Mercy Triumphs” (LifeWay Christian Resources), have been read by women in Beth Moore Bible study groups all over the world. Her Living Proof Live conferences have reached women in all 50 states in the United States.

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In exchange for my review, I received a free copy of the book.

For when you think no one sees you {a 3-part reflection}

Part I

Pine trees tower over the backyard sanctuary where she sits in the cool of a spring day, head wrapped in a scarf to protect her from the sun.

She’s dying of cancer and her body battles diabetes.

I only know this because her name is on the prayer list at church, though I’ve never seen her there. She is a shut-in, as we call those who are too ill or frail to sit in a pew for an hour or make the weekly drive.

In the backyard, she almost fades into the background, unseen.

But I see her.

I know her name but not her story and sometimes when we walk by, I want to call out to her and ask how she is. Even though we’re neighbors, living on the same street, she doesn’t know me. And she might find it odd for me to call her by name and ask about her life. And I avoid standing out, being odd, whenever I can.

More often, she’s not in the backyard, which is when the sanctuary comes alive with squirrels, birds, even a duck or two.

She faithfully sets out corn cobs and fills feeders for the creatures who find refuge in her little corner of the world.

And I wonder, who will feed the birds and the squirrels when she’s gone?

Stock Exchange | www.sxc.hu

Stock Exchange | www.sxc.hu

Part II

Her body is ravaged. For 12 years she has baffled doctors, healers. She is unclean. Without help. Without hope.

Desperate.

She hatches a plan.

If only she could get close enough, touch the hem of his robe, then maybe, perhaps, she’d be healed.

It was a long shot. Her only shot.

And if it didn’t work, she’d be no worse than she was now.

The crowd pressed in. She fought for position. She had one chance.

She reached for him, and her fingers grazed his cloak.

And she knew.

She was healed.

She’d meant to slip away, blend in. But shocked by the change she felt within, she couldn’t move.

“Who touched me?”

The man’s words sent panic through her. Was he angry? Maybe she could slip away yet.

But no. The crowds had closed in. And if she tried to force her way through, she would make a scene.

“Someone touched me.”

The man was adamant despite his friends trying to convince him otherwise.

She could deny it, like everyone else in the crowd.

But then he was looking at her, and she couldn’t deny it.

When the woman saw that she had not escaped notice, she came trembling and fell down before Him, and declared in the presence of all the people the reason why she had touched Him, and how she had been immediately healed.

“Your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

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III

For most of my life, I’ve walked a narrow line between wanting to blend in and wanting to be noticed.

In grade school, on the bus, I mostly hoped to blend in and prayed–if I could have called it that back then–the bus bully would find someone else to pick on.

And in middle school, I desperately wanted the handsome jock in our class to notice me, not as the smart girl, but as a girl. I was drawn to stories in movies, books and songs, where the girl unnoticed becomes the noticed one. The one who had always been there but who had been passed over for something better.

Then in high school, I watched from a distance, once again hoping to blend in. Put your head down, do the work, come out unscathed. Don’t draw too much attention.

College–as it is for most people–was a fresh start. Yet I still found myself blending in. Flying under the radar. I wasn’t dramatic or loud or noteworthy. To this day, I still feel the need to remind people who I am, even if we shared a meaningful experience like a semester in England. (Hi, you probably don’t remember me but …)

Then, like the desperate woman who took a chance and reached out to touch Jesus’ cloak, He noticed me.

Or maybe I noticed that He noticed me.

I read Genesis, the story of creation, of a God so big He spoke the world into being, made something out of nothing. Yet the same God knows me personally, as David celebrates in Psalm 139.

You have searched me and you know me.

You are familiar with all my ways.

You knit me together in my mother’s womb.

Nothing escapes God’s notice. Not a dying woman feeding the wild animals. Not a desperate woman looking for a cure. Not a woman who doesn’t know who she is and hopes nobody learns her secret.

It is a scary thing to be noticed, sometimes.

Because the one noticing you might be like the bus bully, looking for a target.

Or the jock, looking for help with homework, nothing more.

But it’s scarier to believe no one notices you at all.

When you think no one notices, no one cares and that you don’t matter, hear this now: God sees you. He knows you. And He loves you.

Forgive me, Father, for all the people I’ve not seen, not noticed. Thank You that there is nowhere we can go that You don’t see. Help me to see what You see.

Amen.

Mother Ship by Melody Murray

This is the final in a series of posts for Mother’s Day. Be sure to enter the drawing at the bottom of the page!

Pearl Girls McSweeneyWelcome to Pearl Girls™ Mother of Pearl Mother’s Day blog series—a nine-day celebration of moms and mothering. Each day will feature a new post by some of today’s best writers (Tricia Goyer, Lisa Takeuchi Cullen, Beth Vogt, Lesli Westfall, and more). I hope you’ll join us each day for another unique perspective on Mother’s Day.

AND . . . do enter the contest for a chance to win a beautiful handcrafted pearl necklace and a JOYN India bag. Enter at the bottom of this post. The contest runs 5/4-5/13, and the winner will be announced on 5/14. Contest is only open to U.S. residents.

If you are unfamiliar with Pearl Girls™, please visit www.pearlgirls.info, subscribe to our blog, and see what we’re all about. In short, we exist to support the work of charities that help women and children in the US and around the globe. Consider purchasing a copy of Mother of Pearl: Luminous Lessons and Iridescent Faith to help support Pearl Girls™.

And to all you MOMS out there, Happy Mother’s Day!
~

Mother Ship by Melody Murray

Mother Ship (N.) – a ship that serves or carries one or more smaller ships.

Raising two boys in India is quite nice, really. We have monkeys, scooters, plenty of dirt, and mountains. The challenges are comical. I found very quickly on that if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. It’s been an excellent motto for our three years thus far, one I learned shortly after our arrival here in June of 2010.

We’d been in India for just three days when I had my first major meltdown. Our two boys, ages three and four, were sitting in big plastic buckets in our smelly bathroom, covered with mosquito bites, jetlagged as can be. I was frantically pouring cold water over them, trying to scrub off the India grime that had caked on their scrawny little bodies. I was having to hold them like puppy dogs so they wouldn’t scurry out from underneath the cold water. It was a far cry from the sweet, warm, bubbly, happy bath time we’d experienced together for the past four years in the States! Talk about culture shock. They were in shock. I was in shock. I’m sure the neighbors were in shock, too. I’m not sure my boys have ever seen me scream, cry, and stomp that much. Thank God it is just a memory now.

Somehow, by God’s grace, we’ve figured out life here. It looks much different than I had ever thought it would look, especially as a mother. We don’t go to the library, make elaborate crafts, play T-ball, shop at Target, sing in church choir, or take family bike rides. I have had to redefine my ideal upbringing for my children and have had to let go of many expectations. But I’ve managed to grasp hold of a new set of dreams.

My children are global kids. They have an incredible adventure every day. They see the “majority world” firsthand. I think they are some of the most privileged kids I know. I’ve stopped feeling sorry for myself that my kids don’t get to go to ballgames or have a huge tree house or wear cute clothes. Why focus on what I think they’ve lost, only to lose sight of what they’re gaining?

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My attitude shift didn’t come easily. I can be quite stubborn. I clung to what I knew and what I thought was “normal” and “right,” as all of us moms do. I’d cry after phone conversations with friends back home who had their children signed up for karate, soccer, and swim lessons, with loads of choices for good schools, churches, and neighborhoods. I had nothing of the sort available for my kids, and I felt bitter and resentful.

But then I slowly began to change. Slowly, after months of getting over culture shock and cold baths, we began to love this place and the people we were with. We began to know them, understand them, become like them. Our community here became our family. Just this week, I’ve been sick with an awful kidney infection, and my living room has been full of my Tibetan, Nepali, and Indian friends, bringing me food, rubbing my feet, playing with my children, washing my dishes. I’ve never experienced community in this way before. My boys are loved so well by so many. And they are learning how to love back, even when it’s not easy.

My attitude shift didn’t come quickly, but when it happened, it took a 180°. I realized how wrong I’d been. These people I live with—their kids don’t have organized sports, church choirs, or fancy vacations either. Their kids aren’t signed up for after-school activities and aren’t becoming multi-skilled elementary school prodigies. Yet, in spite of this, they are content. Like none I’ve ever seen. They love each other. Like none I’ve ever seen. They have very little, yet they have so very much.

In the western world of comparisons and endless striving, I believe we sometimes lose touch of the things we actually care most about. I know most of us moms actually don’t care whether our children are the best at T-ball or whether their crafts look better than the next kid’s. But I think we all care deeply that our kids are loved, and that they know how to love. We all have a common dream that our kids will grow up to be world-changers, to strive for what is right, to love the unloved, to see the world in a different way. These are the deepest dreams of moms. So let’s not forget that the most important things we can give our kids are not the things we can buy them or sign them up for. One of the greatest gifts we can give to our children is to give them sails, let them explore new things, meet new people, and learn to make lasting change in this world.

So join me this Mother’s Day. Let’s all be “mother ships,” leading our kids to new adventures, new beginnings, new relationships. Let’s serve and carry our little ones to places they can only dream of, whether it be making dinner for a neighbor, smiling at the homeless man in front of the grocery store, volunteering at a soup kitchen, or moving to India. Let’s take them with us and teach them how to sail.

“A ship in port is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.” —Grace Murray Hopper

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068In June 2010, an opportunity arose to work with a small needy community in the Himalayas, so David and Melody Murray and their two young boys packed their bags and moved to Rajpur, North India. Mel has grown JOYN, fulfilling her passion to connect artisans with western markets. They now have a diverse and growing team of Americans, Australians, Indians, Tibetans and Nepalis working together to create a community that strives to take care of each other and bring opportunity to as many as they can. Visit her website for more information.
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Saturday smiles: little things edition

It’s Mother’s Day weekend, and I didn’t send any cards, and I’m not sure it will be a special day in our house because my husband has worked a grueling schedule this week and has an early start to next week. On the days when I’m tired of being mom and really just want to sit down for 5 minutes without anyone asking for something, I have to try harder to be thankful. Here’s my thanks for the week in pictures. Mother's Day-izzy“Dear Jesus, thank you for our food. And I hope we can get my training wheels on my bike. Amen.” (She looks at me with hope in her eyes. And I have to disappoint her and defer to her father’s expertise.) Mother's Day-corban scooterHe has his own scooter now. And this kid in shorts, a jacket and a helmet while riding a scooter cracks me up every time. Mother's Day-kids holding handsAnd those “aw” moments which sometimes I’m smart enough to capture on the phone while we’re walking. On this day, we were headed to the library. Izzy insists on carrying her own bag now.

5 on Friday: Reasons I love being a mom

I don’t always love being a mom. I once wrote a post about the reasons I hate it. But in light of Mother’s Day this weekend, and that my kids are entering phases of their lives where they can do more for themselves and I’m feeling like a human being again, here are five reasons I love being a mom.

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  1. Watching our kids grow. Our 5-year-old daughter is showing interest in tying her shoes. Our son sings the alphabet. Sometimes I can remember the day I brought them home and wondered how we’d get through this. Farther along the journey, I rejoice in the everyday miracle of life.
  2. Connecting with other parents. There’s a brotherhood (or is it motherhood?) of sorts among parents. A knowing “we’ve all been there” look when the kid is throwing a tantrum in public or the house is a mess because really, who has the time to clean it all up? Strangers become friends when kids are involved.
  3. Having many reasons to laugh. Either they’re saying something that makes me want to spit coffee on the computer (this would never happen; I love coffee and the computer too much) or they’ve done something that I can’t resist sharing on Facebook because it’s laugh-out-loud funny. Some days, living with kids is funnier than TV.
  4. Seeing family in different roles. I love watching my husband be a dad. And my parents and his parents be grandparents. Our siblings are great aunts and uncles. And extended family love our kids with so much love from afar that it’s humbling. It’s a good reminder of the love that was poured into my life, even if I can’t always remember it.
  5. Anticipating their future. Raising kids is like reading one long chapter of a story at a time, and you’re probably not going to see the end of it. Each of our kids has a unique personality and I haven’t a clue how God is going to use them. But I can’t wait to see. And I’m grateful to have a front-row seat.

The Pursuit of Imperfection by Beth Vogt: Mother's Day blog series

This week, I’ll be hosting several posts from this series. I hope you’ll tune in for some motherly encouragement! Read more here and here.

Pearl Girls McSweeneyWelcome to Pearl Girls™ Mother of Pearl Mother’s Day blog series—a nine-day celebration of moms and mothering. Each day will feature a new post by some of today’s best writers (Tricia Goyer, Lisa Takeuchi Cullen, Beth Vogt, Lesli Westfall, and more). I hope you’ll join us each day for another unique perspective on Mother’s Day.

AND . . . do enter the contest for a chance to win a beautiful handcrafted pearl necklace and a JOYN India bag. Enter at the bottom of this post. The contest runs 5/4-5/13, and the winner will be announced on 5/14. Contest is only open to U.S. residents.

If you are unfamiliar with Pearl Girls™, please visit www.pearlgirls.info, subscribe to our blog, and see what we’re all about. In short, we exist to support the work of charities that help women and children in the US and around the globe. Consider purchasing a copy of Mother of Pearl: Luminous Lessons and Iridescent Faith to help support Pearl Girls™.

 
And to all you MOMS out there, Happy Mother’s Day!
~

The Pursuit of Imperfection by Beth Vogt

In my early mommy-ing years, I was all about perfection. I wasn’t going to be just a good mom—oh, no. I grabbed the virtual performance bar and shoved it way out of my reach.

It didn’t take long for that bar to come crashing down on my head. Perfection was toppled by the harsh reality that, at times, I was an angry mom. I hit my knees and begged God for forgiveness, for patience, for the ability to love my children one day at a time . . . sometimes one hour at a time.

I embraced 1 Peter 4:8: Love covers a multitude of mistakes, even altering it a bit so that it met my need. My version of 1 Peter 4:8 became: Love covers a multitude of mommy-mistakes. There was no way I could pretend that I was perfect, but I could do everything possible so that my children knew that I loved them, despite my imperfections.

Fast forward through toddlers and teenagers to being the mother of a twenty-something son, two late-teen daughters, and one (surprise!) elementary-school-age daughter.

During lunch one day with Katie Beth and Amy, my two oldest daughters, Katie Beth looked at me and asked, “Do you want to know what the best thing was about you as a mom?”

Did I? How could I say no to an unexpected “her children will rise up and call her blessed” moment? I assured Katie Beth I absolutely wanted to know the best thing about me as a mom. She looked at me and said, “The best thing about you as a mom was that you weren’t perfect.”

Oh. I admit I expected something . . . more. I joked with my daughter, telling her I wished she’d told me this sooner, as I wasted too much time trying to be perfect. We all laughed and the conversation moved on.

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A few weeks later as a prepared a talk on motherhood and perfection for a moms group, I asked Katie Beth, “Can you tell me again why not being perfect was the best thing about me as a mom?”

She emailed me a letter that read: So many kids grow up thinking their parents are up on this pedestal. They think their parents can do no wrong, but then when they fail at something or make a mistake . . . it can tend to devastate those kids. Also, it taught me that being a Christian does not equal perfection. So many people think because they are a Christian they have to be perfect, and I learned from you that, while you are a very loving mother, you are not perfect. It helps me know you don’t expect me to be perfect. 
Our children don’t want perfect moms—but they do want to know we love them. And maybe by admitting we’re not perfect, our kids will avoid the perfectionist trap too.

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Beth K. Vogt believes God’s best is often behind the doors marked “Never.” After being a nonfiction writer and editor who said she’d never write fiction, Beth has proudly authored two novels, Wish You Were Here and the newly released Catch a Falling Star. Connect with Beth at bethvogt.com.

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