HIS FINEST WHISPERS

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