Our little family was recently reminiscing over funny memories from way back when. You know, when the girls were three and six, instead of the mature ten and thirteen year olds they are now. Especially in light of this coming Father's Day weekend, my oldest daughter remembered something very sweet about her daddy.  "Dad, remember how I was never scared of monsters in my closet, but I was always terrified of monsters coming down the hall?" He laughed. "I remember." She grinned. "But instead of getting mad at me for worrying about monsters coming through my bedroom door, you would…

Y'all, this writing gig is hard. I recently saw a pic that summed up the process perfectly. "You read a scene and think, 'That was nice.' Time it took you to read the scene? Five minutes. Time it took the author to write the scene? Five bazillion hours." Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration but you get the idea. It's hard work. More than I ever dreamed possible. And just when I think the sleepless nights, the outpouring of creativity, the frazzled nerves will pay off, I get word that more revisions are needed. So it's back to work. Again.…

I sprinted behind my son, attempting to wrap his dripping hair in a towel. Wrestling him out of the bath had worn me out. Wrestling him into pajamas was even more difficult. Now he had broken free and was running down the hall. He squealed in delight as I huffed, "Boy, when I get a hold of you..." We rounded the corner and I stopped short, blinking in surprise. My husband stood in the living room, a big grin on his face. His hands gripped a beautiful violin and bow. The irritation with my wayward son melted away.  My breath…

The scream jerked me out of a dead sleep. I groaned as my feet slapped against the cold floor. Not again. I padded to Nathan's room, grunting as my shin collided against the sharp edge of an unknown object in the dark house. More nightmares. The interruption of sleep was wearing thin. I opened the door to my son's room with a soft creak. My weariness melted away when he reached out his pudgy arms for me, sniffing and crying out in relief, "Mama."  "Oh, baby. Did you have a bad dream?" I scooped him up in my arms as…

Judging by the outcry, you would think we had banned our children from candy or something. Last Wednesday evening, we pulled out of the church parking lot and headed home. While the kids were busy gabbing about life in teen/preteen-land, my husband looked over at me and mouthed, "Half-price shakes at Sonic". I smiled and nodded. We didn't say a word but I anticipated how excited the kids would be when we pulled up to their favorite shake place. But when we passed the road that led to our house, the children began shouting in panicked frenzy. "Dad! What are…

Mother's Day is a day I both cherish and dread. Cherish, because of the sweet bond my three living children and I share. We giggle and play, worship and love. Yet, I also dread this holiday too. Why? Because I have two babies in heaven. I wouldn't wish them back for anything. (I often tell my audiences that I have five children. Two are with Jesus and the other three are stuck with me.)  But Mother's Day is a sharp reminder of their absence in my arms. It fuels my longing for little Taylor and Morgan and resurrects memories of…