Be Still


Have you ever wanted to be the “favorite”?  Do you work hard to be the one that people like and respond to?  Do you ever think about what others think about you? Obsess about it?  Compare yourselves to others?  I do.  All. The. Time.

I work tirelessly to be what everyone needs me to be.  The great wife. The perfect mom. The good daughter.  The efficient employee.  The wise one. The perfect person who has it all together.  I guess I figure if I am perfect, people will like me, and I will be their favorite.

Yesterday I took my son and his friend to Six Flags for the day.  We were eating lunch when I noticed Sam’s face was a bit pink.  I forgot the sunscreen.  It was raining when we left and supposed to be overcast all day.  Now his face was pink. Ugh.  I laughed it off and said, “Oh well, one more reason why I won’t be “Mom of the Year”.  His friend looked at me and said, “I wouldn’t want my mom to be “Mom of the Year”.  Then she would be perfect and we would never have any fun.”

Wise words.  What do I miss out on by trying to be the favorite?  With all my striving, do I meet anybody’s needs or just wear myself out?

Be still and know that I am God.

I will be exalted among the nations.  

I will be exalted in the earth. Psalm 46:10  (emphasis on ‘I’, mine)

Perhaps, I am striving for a position I was not meant to have.

Perhaps, I should just be still.



Dream poemI dream of houses that are always clean,

Free from dust, smudges, and tracked-in mud.

I dream of laundry that is always washed,

Of clothes that are hung and folded neatly.

I dream of clean sheets that smell like spring,

And beds made fresh every morning.

I dream of kitchens free from crumbs,

And pantries that remain stocked.

I dream of work that is actually finished,

Of my “to be read” pile actually being read.

I dream of dogs with soft, sweet-smelling fur,

And rabbits with nails that don’t draw blood.

I dream of grass without bare spots that is always mowed,

And a river bed that is forever free from weeds.

I dream.

Unfortunately, these will always be…

just dreams.



imageToday I am participating in Five minute Friday on Kate Motaung’s blog   Every Friday, she posts a word and people all over the world write for five minutes from the word.


My son Max is the perfect gift giver.  He knows how to choose the perfect gift for people.  Sam has this gift, too.  They will watch and see things and say, “This would be perfect for Grandpa.”  Or, “Dad would love these.”  And they are always right.  Their gifts are received with such joy and they are cherished.  I don’t have the “gift” to pick the perfect gift.  I struggle with identifying what a person would need or desire.  Max tells me it’s because I don’t pay attention.  He believes I just need to be more aware.  I think it’s because I don’t have the “gift” of gifting.


Five Minute Friday: Close


“Foul ball.”

He steps out.   Positions his hips.   Raises his bat.   Swings against the air.  He steps back into the box again.  The pitch.  Whack!


Out of the box, position the hips, raise the bat, swing against the imaginary pitch, the ball sails over the fence.  He’s ready.

The pitch.
“Strike three.   Batter is out.”

Close.   He is so close.  He can imagine the ball leaving the infield.  He can imagine running the banana around first and down the line to second, rounding second onto third, leaving third, sliding into home.  But not this at bat.  This at bat was an out.

He walks back to the dugout.   A little spring has left his step.   His bat drags making a line in the dirt behind him.

Close.  But not yet.

Close.   He swung.

Close.   He can imagine the hit.  Bat making contact with the ball.

Close.  Closer to that first hit of the season.