HIS FINEST WHISPERS

It happened. We had our first fight. Over kids. The decibel of my voice raised.   His was calmer. I was a bit irrational. He stayed fairly reasonable. We hassled through things for about an hour, without any solutions rising to the top. It got late. Both of us were tired. And both still upset.   Then I remembered that wise advice so many women gave me before getting married, “Don’t let the sun go down on your anger.” I looked at B and I thought about that worthy phrase… Then I pushed it out of my mind, crawled into our comfy bed and went to sleep. Yep.   The sun went down. On our wrath. So much for wise advice around our house. We were taking this newly married thing by storm. The next day, he called from work. I was calmer. I’d had time to pray and think and process. I’d had time to sort through the night before's struggle. I thought through all the things I knew were true about him and what I really believed was in his heart. We t

To my three kids, APPLAUSE. Be so very careful about the applause you seek after. Applause can be extremely dangerous. This is what happened to Lauren Daigle. Lauren was asked in telephone interview what she believed about homosexuality. “You know what, I can’t honestly answer on that…in the sense of, I have too many people that I love that they are homosexual, um, I don’t know. I actually had a conversation with someone last night about it. I was like, ‘I can’t say one way or the other.’ I’m not God. So when people ask questions like that, that’s what my go to is. Like, I just say, ‘Read the Bible and find out for yourself’ and when you find out let me know because I’m learning too.” The Lord has clearly written His will on the ideas of homosexuality. It is wrong. There is no gray area. Lauren claims to know the Lord...Does she really not know His word? Or is she more worried about losing the applause from the world she has recently received? Think about i

Our First Meeting Me: “B, this is a fantastic washing machine.” B: “Thank you!” I stand flat footed in front of the washer. I reach inside the washing machine down to the bottom. Me: “Oh dear. I can’t reach it. I can’t reach the bottom. My arms aren’t long enough.” B: “Uh oh.” Silently, I stare at B.   B stares at me. B: “What are you going to do?” Me: “This!” I walk back to the kitchen counter, (he watches with anticipation) I take a running start and leap. I clear the edge and successfully fly over the side of the top of the washer landing face down at a 90 degree angle, feet now dangling mid-air as I stretch as hard and as long as I can to reach the bottom. “Wait, wait, wait, B are you still there? I got it, I got it. The tip of my finger got it. Don’t worry about it. We’re good…” my voice echoing from the floor of the washing machine. Envious are you? I begin to pull a load of clothes out of the dryer. “Why does all of the laund

He took me out to the “city view” near the Stella hotel, a suggestion from his good friend, Clay. It was a gorgeous night. We walked up the 3 flights of stairs (me, in my wedges, he, in his Allen Edmund loafers). Somehow climbing to taller heights make things a tad more romantic than ground level. I thought it was the perfect spot. Looking out from the top, you could see a good portion of the city. It was just the two of us there, which made it especially nice. It was dim, breezy and quiet and the city lights were shimmering off in the distance. An author of a novel might describe the setting with words like dreamy or whimsical, yet casual and comfortable are the first to come to my mind.   We stayed there for a while. He made clever jokes and I genuinely laughed. I was not expecting such entertaining wit from this new friend, but he was surprisingly humorous. These fun moments were probably my favorite pieces of the night. While at the top, he asked for a picture.

Me: Why is your finger so high up in your nose? Wes: I put a bb in there. Me: Wait. What? What do you mean you put a bb in there? Wes: (Nonchalantly) I shoved a bb up my nose. Me: Why did you do that? Wes: (blank stare, slight shrug) Me: Oh em gee. I need you to get it out. Right now. Wes: I can’t get it out. I've been trying. It’s waaaaay up in there, mom. Me: Get in the car. Wes: Where are we going? Me: To the doctor, of course. Wes: Alright. (totally calm, as if this is totally normal) Me: Never. Again. Dude. Wes: You got it mom.

As a child, each evening my dad would come into my room, prop up next to my bed to talk with me for a few minutes before telling me goodnight. The conversations would vary, but the ending was always the same.   Before getting up he would say, “If I lined up all the little girls in the whole wide world, I would pick you to be my daughter.” I loved hearing that as a little girl, so I would smile, give him a big hug and kiss and drift off to sleep. Every night was consistent. I never tired of hearing those words. As I grew older and no longer needed my parents to tuck me in, that sweet phrase would still come out every now and then. Even if I acted too cool to hear it, inside it affected me. I finished college at Texas ATM University and received my first job teaching Kindergarten in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. I moved in to my own apartment and began to get acquainted with my new city and new home.   Though no one was tucking me in at bedtime, with out fail I received flower

My kid has stormed into their home with bare, black-soled feet countless times since his birth. A former navy officer and his spitfire wife have been married 60 years this year. He is the more emotional half – she, the unbreakable shield.   My son, Wes, is their ‘yet to be refined’ kid neighbor. Just this evening, he could be found knocking on their door, with his eyes glued to the glass as he spied through the tiny slits of their blinds. He held his position until the door opened. Mrs. Navy smiled and let him in. Chest out and chin up, he headed straight for the living room to see what Mr. Navy was watching. He popped right up in the recliner, laid back, arms behind his head trying to get a glimpse of a “grown up” show he isn’t allowed to watch at home. Mr. Navy paused the TV and chuckled, “Well, hey there ol’ Buddy.” They always welcome his child chatter.     One day Mr. Navy was out mowing. Wes, then barely 2, hurried over as fast as his diaper would le

A couple years ago, when Wes was 5, he began to talk to me about salvation. He would randomly say, “Mom! I just asked Jesus in my heart!”  I’d follow up with, “Well, did you hear God speak to you?” He would always say no. He’d leave it at that and then go to sleep. My dad has always said, “If you can put them off, then it isn’t the Holy Spirit. If they come to a place where you can’t put them off, then you know it is the Spirit.” He’s done this forever with parents, so I took his wise advice.     For the last year or so Wes has asked me, “When is God going to speak to me?” I would respond, “He will talk to you when He’s ready. Remember you won’t hear His words in your ear, you will just sense them in your heart.” This had become quite a controversy at our house though. He would sometimes be brought to the point of tears and say, “Mom, why won’t God speak to me? I still haven’t heard him.” I would reassure him again, “Wes, God knows what He’s doing. He will speak to

Wes was four years old. We were shopping at Target. He had come dressed in his batman outfit; full on with his mask and sword. As I shopped, he chopped. Invisible bad guys were being taken out all over the store. I began playing with him, chasing him a bit with my cart. We were laughing about it. He would run around to the next aisle and I would run around with my cart and he would giggle, then we’d do it again on the next aisle. We were both enjoying it.  He zoomed around the next corner and shortly after, I did too. This time, when I pulled my cart around, he wasn’t there in the aisle. I giggled and went down to the next aisle, but he wasn’t there either. I called his name, “Wes?” No answer. I said, “The game is over Wes. I need to see you. Where are you?” No answer.   I left my cart and began briskly walking down the aisles, one after the other, calling his name. He wasn’t on any of the aisles. I began to run. Still nothing. I made it to the front o

We arrived in College Station, Friday evening. On Saturday afternoon, Wes was outside playing with a friend. He came running into the house with this wild, yet fascinating story about a stick , my car and seeing the keys on the passenger seat. It was quite the report. I couldn’t follow much of it but I assumed he was just being melodramatic. This is common. Still though, having a long history with this child of mine, I decided it would be best to check out just what type of shenanigan was really going on.  I went outside. There was my car. There were all 4 doors, locked. And there were my keys…staring at me from the passenger seat.  Great. Somehow my kid had gotten into the car with the keys, had manually locked all the doors with my keys inside. Really. I didn’t even think this was possible with my specific keys. IT WAS possible and Wes had done it flawlessly.  I came back inside to fill my mom in. Being the great mom she is, she went to work. She p

I recently found myself in the hands of a spa gift card. This does not happen often so I relish these particular occasions. I chose something different this time, over the normal, adored pedicure. I bravely took on the application of synthetic eye apparel, more commonly known as false eye lashes. I met with the man at the counter, he asked me a few questions, then he took me back to this little room where peaceful spa music was playing. He told me to lie down on the soft bed, covered me up with a little blanket and then told me to close my eyes. Seriously? Like, an actual slice of time for me to relax and listen to calming music?   This is already worth the whole gift card I’m about to fork over. About an hour later, he was done. AND LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING. I opened my eyes and BAM!  Like, SHAZAM! I was a whole, new woman. BRAND NEW WOMAN. Heeeeelllllooooooo Hollywood! Y’all can’t even understand this. It was like a miracle, probably up there with the

On December 13, at 8:30 pm, there was a knock on my door. I was not expecting anyone and was already in my pajamas and my warm little lamb socks. I was sure I wasn’t going to answer it. I stood in the hallway and yelled, “Who is it?” No answer. The nerves kicked in. I called out again, “Whoooooo iiiiiiis iiiiiiit?” Still no answer. I went to the front of the house to look out the window. Make note that I went to the far side corner of the window, crouched down beneath the window and barely peeked up enough to peer right over the sill through the curtain. (You can roll your eyes here and insert your comment of, "Get a grip Lauren. No one is trying to get you. And also you are the worst spy I've ever seen.") I saw no one out the window, no cars, no neighbors, nothing. Bigger nerves hit, but don’t worry, I decided to calm those nerves with my Sig 229 .40 caliber. I finally inched my way to the door and opened it slowly. (Because clearly the robber would be ala