Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

Cinderella Mom

If you think Jesus would have come into your home that day and not issued a strong rebuke to the head of household, you are mistaken. These words of condemnation have been haunting me for days now. They aren’t all that different than the soundtrack I play in my head on an almost-daily basis. It’s…

Read More

This is 40

I am nesting. On Saturday I emptied the refrigerator. Last summer’s homemade pickles in their jars. The bread ends that seem to multiply on every shelf. The eggs. The milk. The fruit and veggies. All of it sat on the floor or the counter as I carefully removed the shelves and wiped them down with…

Read More

Beauty on the Backroads {or Why I Changed the Name of my Blog}

I’ve heard that life is like a highway. And it definitely seems like that sometimes. The pace of life swirls around me at dizzying speeds. We’re all so busy. In such a hurry. Always somewhere to be, something else to do. I’m a get-to-the-point, get-there-quick kind of girl. I don’t like to waste time on…

Read More

Saturday Smiles – Joy Edition

I know, I know. It’s Sunday. I’m a day late, but I can’t give up the catchy title, so here we are.

It’s the third Sunday of Advent. The focus: joy. I experienced a lot of joy at church this morning, and when I think about what makes me smile, much of it is rooted in joy. Here’s a sampling.

Two people offered special music this morning. They sang two Christmas selections. They are not professional musicians nor was their performance what I would call polished. But it. was. beautiful. And you want to know why? Because one of them is legally blind and the other uses a cane to walk and has other physical issues. They held hands as they sang, presenting a picture of what the apostle Paul wrote — “when I am weak, then you are strong.” To some, they might be considered useless individuals. But I believe God smiled on them today and smiles on them every day of their lives on earth. And that makes me smile.

Last night, driving home from Kmart around dusk, the moon was large, orange and hanging so low in the horizon I thought we were going to drive right into it. It looked like a Christmas ornament hanging from the heavens. On the radio, “O Holy Night” — my favorite Christmas hymn — was playing. Pure magic.

Prior to that, while we were headed into Kmart, a woman delivered two McDonald’s coffees to the Salvation Army bell ringers, who were grateful for the liquid warmth as they volunteered their time. What a great idea! I wish I’d thought of it, but I’ll try not to forget it. Small act. Big impact.

Our 3-year-old likes to pass out stickers at church. We call it her sticker ministry. I love watching people’s faces light up when they see her coming.

She’s going to miss the Christmas party at church next week. The kids are going to visit shut-ins and bring them a craft. Even though we’ll be with family in Illinois then, she was super upset that she wouldn’t get to help pass out things to people who can’t come to church. She was relieved to learn that she could help Nana and Papa with a service project in Illinois. Such a big heart for such a little girl. I love it.

The kids and I spent much of the week making Christmas gifts for people we’re thankful for this year. The kitchen was messy. The dishes piled up. I grew weary of being anywhere near the kitchen. The kids couldn’t keep their hands out of some of the ingredients. My son covered himself in paint. We made two trips to Dollar General and one trip to Hobby Lobby and two trips to the grocery store. And with a kitchen full of gift bags stuffed full of love, I’m satisfied. And eager to spread the Christmas cheer.

We have a short but full week ahead of us, and while all the things we have to do don’t necessarily make me smile, knowing we’ll be with family by the end of the week is my inspiration to work hard and get ‘er done. I love and miss my family in Illinois and can’t wait to see them and spend time with them.

Smiling? Oh, yeah.

Hard to say I’m sorry

My son is “serving time” in his crib for biting his sister. It’s the second time this week he’s left a visible mark on a part of her body. The first time, he drew blood. And he’s the younger one of the two.

Sigh.

I know this isn’t by far the worst it will get as a parent. (We avoid the “p” word around here … ya know, puberty. That’s years away but we still dread it.)

But it’s frustrating. There’s no real rhyme or reason. We send him to timeout, which works, kind of. He resists timeout, but he’s willing to hug his sister afterwards.

He WILL NOT, however, say the words “I’m sorry.” He’s 2. And his vocabulary is such that he can it say but chooses not to.

Tonight, as he protested, “but I can’t” when I asked him to tell his sister he was sorry, I had a Chicago flashback.

Indulge me, will you?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sLVKd1lhgOQ]

There, that’s better. I think you could change a few words in the song and it would apply to these two siblings who seem to have a love-hate relationship.

It’s not like my son is unique, though. He’s human, and if you haven’t noticed, we, humans, have a hard time with “sorry.” My first reaction when confronted with something I might or might not have done wrong is to find someone or something else to blame. “Sorry” is a last resort.

I was reminded of this yesterday when my husband brought up something that I hadn’t even realized I was guilty of doing. I wanted to find a reason to not be in the wrong, but in the end, I had to swallow all those excuses like a piece of overcooked broccoli and spit out the words, “I’m sorry.” Like the broccoli, it left a bad taste in my mouth, but I knew it was good for me.

I know that an apology doesn’t always fix things and that people who aren’t sorry can say the words and nothing changes. (And that some people are quick to apologize for things they didn’t do and have no control over.) But sometimes the words, sincere or not, are a start.

My son was given three or four chances tonight to apologize to his sister. He kept wanting to hug her and stuck to his original story of why he wouldn’t apologize: “I can’t.”

Maybe it’s true. Maybe he knows he wouldn’t mean it. (That would be awfully deep for a 2-year-old, I think.)

Or maybe he’s 2. And that’s all there is to it.

At least he has that as an excuse. I’m not sure it would work for me. (But, I’m only 33! I didn’t know better. Yeah, right!)

When do you have trouble with apologies? How do you overcome it? When was the last time you said “sorry” and meant it? How do you react when someone says “I’m sorry”?