Taking Jesus Seriously (& Not Much Else)
WriterCaroline.com - Taking Jesus seriously and not much else
“Your husband is in seminary. What would he think about what you’ve done?”
I was 21, and these words shattered my heart. They have become a haunting soundtrack to some of my darkest days, and their rhythm has sometimes been hard to escape. It was the first time my husband’s position had been used as a weapon against me. It would not be the last.
Read MoreThis was originally posted in my old blog in October 2014. The link came up on my Facebook memories this week, and I shared it from my personal account. Because this old painful story resonated with some precious readers, I want to be faithful to share it here, too, in case God will use it to strengthen your faith. I know I needed to be reminded of this truth. However, if stories about scary incidents with children are too triggering for you currently (I have been there!!), please don't read it. I want this story to serve you, not overwhelm you. Our God is good.
I threw out the pink monkey pajamas. They’re cute, and she only wore them once. But they make me remember that night, and I do not want to remember.
Read MoreSo remember last week when I told you about that time when someone scream-curse-flirted with my husband, the pastor? In a world of carefully scrubbed conversations (“Oh sorry man, I forgot you were a pastor”), it was strangely centering. People tend to worry they might get their sin on him or something. There’s already sin on him because, you know, he’s a human, but people tend to forget that about people in ministry.
Read MoreMy family has a well-documented ice cream problem. If we feel too happy, someone will suggest ice cream, and if we feel too unhappy, someone will suggest ice cream. As the matriarch of the household, I have to keep everybody at about a seven on the happiness scale so that we will not get ice cream. The other day, though, the kids were too cute, and I magically had dinner on the table when my husband got home, and somehow when he entered the door, I did not bare my teeth at him as an expression of my Stay-At-Home-Mom Rage, which is totally a thing, and we just ended up way too happy. DANGGIT. We went to get ice cream.
Things were going as you’d expect: Adelaide wants chocolate, will be furious if anyone else gets chocolate because she doesn’t understand that there is more than one cup of chocolate ice cream in the universe at any given moment, and Greer wants “blue,” a vague request that is not always possible to obtain, but conveniently, Greer is unclear on the color blue and generally good-natured, so chocolate or vanilla will do in a pinch. We pull up to the drive thru of our favorite place to get ice cream, and it’s there that things get squirrelly.
Read MoreTo put it mildly, my husband is decisive and strong-willed. To put it metaphorically, sometimes getting him to see things my way is like pushing over a very big tree, only your arms are made out of noodles and you can’t find them. (Hidden noodle arms, you know. That’s a thing.) My husband is never afraid to say what he’s thinking, even if it’s harsh, and sometimes he skips the whole thinking part entirely and just jumps right to the saying part, and I’m sure you can guess how that goes.
Here’s a story to back me up: I’m in labor with our first (I’m talking days and days of BIG, BRUTAL contractions, no sleep, and SO MUCH freaking out). On the way to the hospital, my husband said, with completely sincerity, “My stomach hurts.” I was too weak FROM SIX PLUS DAYS OF INTENSE PAIN to stab him or even tell him I wanted to stab him, but everyone should know that I mentally stabbed him. And here’s the thing about Luke: he still stands by this statement, like, “What?! My stomach DID hurt.” You’ll never be able to convince him the statement was a bad idea, although I welcome your attempts, as noodle-armed as they may be.
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