Several weeks ago twenty women from Solid Rock flew to Haiti to put on a conference for women in leadership in Haitian churches.

Most of the women were pastor’s wives, while another handful were themselves serving as pastors in congregations. Each and every one of these women impressed us with their stalwart faith and enviable strength.

Over the course of several days, these women shared their stories with us and agreed to allow us to share their stories with all of you.  Melanie Dobson, a writer who went with us, has collected and condensed these stories so we can post them here every few weeks.

It is our hope that you will be as encouraged as we were— and that the faith and faithfulness of the Haitian women will inspire you as it inspired us.

From my heart,

Diane

Sister Jeanne Modesda: emmanuel

by: Melanie Dobson

Sister Jeanne Modesda was standing on the rooftop of her home the night her world collapsed. Workers were building a third story for their growing family. Thirteen of her children—seven of them adopted—and her husband were in the rooms below.

Sister Jeanne is a mother, a pastor’s wife, a ministry leader, and a businesswoman in Carrefour. In Haiti, most churches don’t have enough money to pay a pastor’s salary so his wife provides income for their family while he cares for the congregation. Before the earthquake, Sister Jeanne owned a successful shop on the first level of her home where she and her older children sold furniture, appliances, electronics, and mattresses.

When Sister Jeanne wasn’t working, she and her oldest daughter, Aelbellona, traveled into the Haitian mountains and talked to unmarried women about God, encouraging them to marry the man they lived with. Many of these couples didn’t marry because they couldn’t afford a wedding so Sister Jeanne and Aelbellona helped choose a wedding date. Then they would return with a wedding dress, clothes for the groom, a wedding ring, a piano player, and a preacher to perform the ceremony.

Sister Jeanne also ministered to the women in her church. Every Tuesday afternoon the women met for prayer, but the prayer meeting on January 12th was different. One of the women stood up and told Sister Jeanne and the other women about a dream she’d had. In her dream, the people of Haiti were running. Screaming. There was chaos all around her, but in the midst of it, the woman heard a voice say: “Don’t be afraid. I will give you what you need to fly.” And so the woman flew, every member of their congregation flying behind her.

Now on her rooftop, less than an hour after the prayer meeting, Sister Jeanne’s house began to shake. It stopped for a moment and then it shook again. As she stood on the rooftop, she knew her house was going to fall down. In those seconds, she begged God to save her children.

Two stories of concrete and bricks pancaked under her feet—her thirteen children and husband inside. “God save them.” She screamed as she searched for a way through the rubble. “God save them.”

The people in her neighborhood, even people who had been enemies to her family, began to mourn her loss. Everyone thought they were dead. But she kept praying even as she cried out, “Why all my children, God? I don’t understand.”

In the midst of the mourning, Sister Jeanne heard a voice in the rubble, the voice of her 21-year-old son. “Mommy. Mommy,” her son called. “We’re not dying. God don’t let that happen to us.”

There was no basement in the house for the children to fall into. The house was completely collapsed. It seemed impossible that even one of her children was alive, but then another child spoke. And another.

“God will get us out,” her son said.

God would have to help them, because there was no visible way out of the rubble. So Sister Jeanne continued to pray until she saw the oldest son in her house emerge. Her son had helped the youngest child crawl on his belly, moving brick by brick until they dug a tunnel out of the house.  More children came through a window—five of them, squeezed through by another brother.

One of her daughters had been lying on a bed. She should have died instantly but she was thrown into a hamper. Then a brick wall fell on the hamper. Miraculously, the hamper and wall protected her daughter from death.

Over the next three hours all of the children and Sister Jeanne’s husband crawled or climbed out of the rubble except the daughter trapped in the hamper. Sister Jeanne’s husband—the girl’s daddy—heard the girl’s voice from the street but she was stuck under the wall. He rushed back inside the house, and she told her daddy to get out before the earth shook again. He refused to leave her, screaming until enough men came to help him lift the wall.

Not one of the children in Sister Jeanne’s house died that day. They had bruises and broken limbs, but no permanent injuries. Even as their enemies spent hours digging out their daughter, they recognized God’s power in saving this family.

Sister Jeanne rushed to the university next to find Aelbellona. She was devastated at what she found. Her oldest daughter had died in the classroom building. With tears in her eyes, this dear sister described how she and her family dug Aelbellona’s battered body out of the rubble and carried her back to Carrefour to bury her.

The Modesda family home is now gone. Their business is gone. Their oldest daughter is with the Lord. Currently they are living with Sister Jeanne’s parents until they can rebuild their home and their lives.

“Everything in our house is gone,” Sister Jeanne said. “There wasn’t even a cup left for us to take.”

And yet Sister Jeanne remains filled with joy that can only come from Christ. “It doesn’t matter that we lost everything,” she said. “God gave thirteen of my children their lives, He gave me my life, and my husband his life. God is our provider and He will give us what we need.”

Sister Jeanne misses Aelbellona terribly, but she still travels to the mountains with her other daughters. They’ve set the dates for eight more weddings and are gathering the dresses and rings. “That’s the job God has given me,” she said.

Many people in her neighborhood decided to follow Christ after watching God rescue her family from the rubble. And just like the woman at the prayer meeting dreamed, God rescued every one of the 150 members of their congregation.

The name that God gave Sister Jeanne at the His Name in Haiti conference?

She smiled as she told us. Emmanuel. God with us.

God indeed continues to be with this beautiful woman and her family as they serve Him and share His many names with people across their country.

With joy,

Melanie Dobson

Note: This story was told to Beth Viducich, Jodi Stilp, and I by Sister Jeanne, through an amazing translator named Frankie. Any errors are my fault.

How can the women of Solid Rock pray for Sister Jeanne:

1) That she and her family would “stay in church.” That her thirteen children would follow Christ into adulthood and share His love and grace with the people of their country.

2) That God would continue to give Sister Jeanne the passion and love to spread His word.

3) For perseverance. “Being a Christian in Haiti is hard,” she said.

4) For finances to continue traveling to the mountains to spread the work and word of God.

5) That God would provide wedding supplies for the impoverished men and women in the mountains to marry.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote my take on the concept I hear bantered around quite a bit: The One. And since my answer rambled around quite a bit, with no iron-clad-chapter-and-verse-verification that what I’m saying is RIGHT!! I think I frustrated a few black and white thinkers.

Some of the questions I encountered via email the following week revealed lots and lots of misunderstanding of this whole idea— and all the worries and pressures a lot of people are feeling in the midst of trying to figure it all out.

There seem to be two sides:

On the one hand, those free thinking folks who believe that God is gracious enough to give us generous room to choose for ourselves. This group generally views God’s will as less specific and more conceptual. Their advice tends to be somewhere along the lines of “just pick one” and go for it. Their only clear guidelines would have to do with overtly biblical mandates such as a shared faith and good character.

And I agree… sort of.

The other side of the compendum is much more mystical about the whole thing. Soul mates and perfect fits and “just knowing” when you meet him/her and other such nebulous ideas. These folks are constantly asking the question, “Is this The One?” The danger here is that whole game of trying too hard to be a perfect fit instead of relaxing into the rest that comes when we fully trust God to use even marriage to shape us into His image.

But I don’t think either view is quite right.

Most of us, when we “fall in love”, are so ferocious about our feelings that we’ll do about anything to convince God and everyone else that THIS IS GOD’S WILL FOR MY LIFE!! We believe that first and foremost, God’s will is to make us happy. Very happy. And so if this one makes us happy, then of course, he/she is most certainly the one for me. So help me God.

But since after years and years of delving into the stories of Scripture and God’s commentary on those stories, I just cannot quite see God’s will as a the Happiest Place on Earth, that theory just doesn’t work for me.

I don’t think marriage is actually so much about me being happy as it is about me serving my Savior in His unique role for me in His story.

And maybe that’s why opposites so often attract. Because what he lacks is the very thing I bring into the relationship to make him better equipped for carrying out his part of God’s story.

And visa versa.

Just this week both Phil and I had encounters with a couple in our church. Their marriage caused no small amount of controversy and conflict within their extended families just because these two couldn’t be more opposite. He’s driven and scholastic and intense. And so is his mom- an amazing woman who rose to the top of her career by determination and drive. But the woman he married is neither driven nor intense. Her education didn’t extend beyond high school. Her goal in life is to make her husband successful by creating a home that is a place of refuge- and by giving him full freedom to pursue his dreams even if they cost her. She has no intention of making a name for herself or impressing anybody.

The family finally gave their consent, if not their wholehearted blessing, and now a couple of years have passed.

What Phil and I both saw when we talked to them was an unusual and delightful sense of rightness about this pair. They laugh and tease and look at each other with that secret “I know what you’re thinking” sort of snicker. They know exactly where they’re headed- together. There is this sense when they’re talking that they have learned to pull in the same direction without insisting that they be the same. So right.

It is their very differences that make oneness possible.

Their personalities and giftings are vastly different, but their goals are the same.

And that, I believe, is the key to this whole THE ONE question. Finding a person who shares your goals, or whose goals you share (and yes there is a difference) is vital to making a marriage work the way God originally intended.

Two people pulling in tandem is a beautiful and rare sight.

The One, then becomes the person you can embark on this journey towards oneness with. And for most of us, that journey involves no small amount of hard work and effort to achieve- and will most certainly take the rest of our lives.

From my heart,

Diane

Christmas At My House:

Sunday night the grand-boys spent the night at our house.

(Mo, Jude and Duke)

Tammy needed a few hours in which to wax her floors (they live in a recently remodeled mid-century modern home with smooth cement floors which need waxing from time to time) and I was feeling all nostalgic about cookie baking and gingerbread men and memories from long ago.

Somewhere back in the stuffed down recesses of my mind I remember promising myself never to do the glitter/silver balls/ colored frosting mess again… but that was years ago and now it seems fun again. I think.

Duke came over in the morning to join with “JuJu-Mo”, his contracted name for the cousins he thinks are the coolest guys in all the world. His mom escaped as fast as she could— home to do her own cleaning and fluffing and wiping away boy messes.

I’d already made the gingerbread men and cutout Christmas cookies from recipes I’ve used over and over again. The Cream Cheese Sugar Cookies are most certainly the best in the world… and the gingerbread cookies are okay too, though not likely to win any awards.

Before we got started, I sat the boys down in front of the tree and we read The Gingerbread Boy. It’s the story of a deliciously feisty boy who runs away from the people who’d baked him. A classic tale.

But somehow I’d forgotten about the sudden and violent ending— the part where the fox tricks the naughty boy and eats him with relish! The boys, never exposed to graphic violence or bad endings… loved it!

They laughed and laughed and seemed to understand that he was a cookie, after all, meant to be caught and eaten and swallowed whole.

They swarmed the table, exclaiming over the wonder of candies in bowls and bright colored goo and sparkly things and lots and lots of choices.

I’d already decided to have as few rules as reasonably feasible, and so told them to eat away… after all, their mamas would come to get them by the time the sugar high turned to blood sugar low.

What fun we had! Eating and licking and giggling over beaded eyes and curly beards.

Jude scorned the angels, letting all of us know in no uncertain terms that angels aren’t sissies, but mighty Warriors with swords and guns sent to protect us and get the bad guys.

A theologian like his daddy.

All three boys conspired to make a snowman for Uncle Matt.

I didn’t even attempt to try to make anything covertly spiritual about our morning. I can never seem to remember what holly leaves are supposed to symbolize anyway, or why we do a tree and stockings and mistletoe and all that fun. We just do.

And somehow just loving each other and laughing loud and feeling free to have some fun seems almost like worship to this woman surrounded by these boys.

My Father gave these gifts to me and I see Him in their smiles. And I think He’s smiling too, loving every minute of this gift He calls life.

And I hope they’re tucking all these times away. I hope someday they’ll pull them up and tell their kids about messes they made and the Amma they loved and the way she loved Jesus and so do they…

And I hope they’ll worship Him then… by playing with their boys and laughing hard and reading stories and loving every moment.

From my heart,

Diane (aka Amma)

The sugar high led to some wild wrestling matches between cousins.

Cream Cheese Sugar Cookie Recipe:

3 1/2 C flour

1t. baking pwd

¼ t. salt

¼ t. nutmeg

½ C butter

½ C shortening

8 oz. cream cheese

11/2 C sugar

1 egg

½ t. vanilla

1. Combine dry ingredients, mixing well

2. In mixing bowl, beat butter and shortening until smooth

3. Add cream cheese and sugar, beat until well blended and fluffy

4. Add egg, vanilla, beat well

5. At low speed, gradually beat in flour mixture until well mixed

6. Divide dough in half

7. Refrigerate 2 hours or more

8. Roll dough on floured surface- about ¼ inch thick. Cut into shapes

9. Bake 375 for 7 minutes.

These cookies are soft and absolutely delicious, but they must have frosting! Lots of frosting! I usually mix up some butter with powdered sugar and vanilla and a bit of cream. Add a few drops of food coloring for the kids… or keep them creamy and add silver sprinkles and white sugar for a charming presentation.

One of my earliest memories is of my mom reading to me. She’d tuck me safe into that soft spot every mama has, and I’d feel the rhythm of her words blow across my cheek in singsong cadence.

In her arms magical worlds opened, filling my mind with delightful imaginings of dragons and damsels and Dr. Seuss. I remember smoothing my hand over the pictures as if to transport myself into the story, and my mother’s assuring words that yes, I do dare turn the page; everything works out by the end.

Without ever saying so, she taught me that stories tell truths, that the ending is worth the wait, that real life is more than what we see… and in all that unspoken teaching, my mother gave me a great gift— a love for books.

And so, this Christmas, I’ve purchased stacks and stacks of books. Bekah gets some for her Modern Library collection. John Mark’s are heady stories about real things like famous men and innovative design. My entrepreneurial son-in-law, Steve, will delve into books about how business and theology meld together. Phil’s interests lie in all those stories of World War II he grew up with; books about B-24 Bombers and Zeros and Winston Churchill line his shelves. I’m still looking for something really special for Matt. Ever since we both caught the Brian Jacques bug, it’s been difficult to find stories that compare.

And since I love books and I’ve enticed my own children to love books, now I’m campaigning for my grand kids. When Jude and Moses and Duke come to my house to play… I read them books. And when I tuck them tight into that mama-spot and place my hands over theirs on the sides of whichever books we’ve chosen, we step into those mystical worlds of magic and wonder together.

But I need some ideas. We’ve read my books too many times and we’re overdue for something new, or maybe something old… and new to us.

And so I send out an urgent plea:

What were your favorite books as a child? What did you read over and over again? What stories and pictures fill your mind still? Have you discovered something new and beautiful that you’re sure every child should read?

Would you send me your list?

Waiting for your ideas…

From my heart,

Diane

If I were to write a Christmas card this year what would I write?

Would I boast about my kids? About what John Mark is doing and little Duke is saying and by-the-way, Matthew has turned out to be an amazing man?

Would I paint a picture of perfection that everyone knows can’t be true—though that’s the way I see them all?

Would I dare admit that this family of mine is flawed?

That we don’t always agree, sometimes argue, and don’t know if and when and how to say those things we’re not sure we ought to say at all?

Or would I just pretend… again?

That life is perfect and if only everyone would be like me, they’d be happy too.

And would I write my worth in deeds I’m doing?

Rushing here and doing that and making sure my right hand knows my left is busy blowing trumpets of glory-be-to-me?

Or would I tell of deeds not done, of flaws untouched, of people mad and me the same? Would I admit that marriages died and I couldn’t help and I made a mess when I tried?

Dare I recount the struggles and the failures, and all those doubts?

Or boring days of sameness?

Or mornings I slept in and didn’t listen to what I needed so much to hear?

And maybe that’s why I can’t write Christmas cards anymore.

Because real life isn’t pretty… and the beauty I’ve found in all these ashes can’t be pictured in accomplishments and accolades.

And yet there are people I love and haven’t told enough of why.

Grown kids and husbands and wives and little ones and Mom and Dad and sisters too; friends and brothers whose lives have mingled long with mine.

Could I craft my letters just for them?

Tell them who they are to me and why I love them so and sprinkle just a bit of courage back to those who’ve shown me more than most?

Would I take the time to write it down, to point it out, to let them know I noticed too?

Dare I do just a few? Thought-filled words of loving hope of things I see about their hearts?

Might this be what Christmas cards could be about?

Dearest Daughter,

This Christmas I just wanted

to take some time to write

what I love about you…

From my heart,

Diane

Would you join me this year in writing just a few cards of encouragement to those who need to know? Those who need the courage that comes when someone sees them through the lenses of the One whose story started all this celebration?

I guarantee you that those letters won’t be tossed in the trash. They’ll be read and reread and tucked away to read again.

What greater gift to give the King than words of love to those He loves?

Would you share with all of us how it goes?

“That their hearts may be encouraged…”

Colossians 2:2

“Therefore encourage one another, and build up one another…and we urge you, brethren…encourage the fainthearted…”

I Thessalonians 5:11,14

“Encourage one another day after day…”

Hebrews 3:13

When I was thirteen, God told me I was going to marry Ian.

That was also when God began speaking to me through dreams. I hadn’t originally asked God to show me who my husband would be, but I woke up one morning after having an incredibly vivid dream of my wedding day. When my groom turned around to greet me, I saw his face.

It was Ian Nelson’s face.

That’s a lot of information for a thirteen-year-old to keep inside–for five illegal years. Although I had doubtful “Gideon moments” (Judges 6:36-40), I tested, waited, and trusted that God knew what He was doing (brilliant idea, I know).

As an eighteen year-old worship leader in my youth group and a close friend of my big sister’s, Ian and I were nothing more than “pals”. He was my guitar teacher. He took my sister to his senior prom. We don’t remember the moment we met. And he was five years older than me! Even though we were just friends (and not only because it would’ve been creepy if we were more…) there was obviously an unusual connection between the two of us. I’m pretty sure everyone saw it, but no one understood it. We didn’t either.

I remember conversations that took place in my parent’s living room between us friends—OK, so maybe I was the tagalong—about the kind of person we wanted to marry someday. Ian was part of that group and I was sneaky. I’d compare what he said in those groups to qualities he’d already pointed out to be some of my strengths. I paid such close attention to him because, in the back of my mind, I was testing what I thought God had spoken to me.

(Ian, 18 Me, 13)

Ian went away that summer and we wrote each other letters in order to maintain our friendship. But when he came home in August, things began to change. We decided that since I was going to be in high school now, the stage in life where the once innocently significant age gap between us began to shrink and things would start to look weird.

Ian started dating someone and so did I.

[Enter the three-year period of awkwardness]

I was embarrassed that I was so quick to believe that a couple of meaningless dreams revealed my future. I was embarrassed that I’d confided this to my mom. I was embarrassed at the thought of Ian finding out.

Somewhere though, in the deepest crevices of my heart, I was certain that it was God who had spoken to me

“Let us hold tightly to the hope we profess, for He who has promised is faithful.”—(Hebrews 10:23)

and that in the end, I would end up spending my life with Ian. Things had changed so much though, it was going to take a miracle!

Sure enough, two years later, during the summer before my senior year of high school, we began connecting a bit more over the death of a mutual friend. We talked to each other about everything and saw each other regularly. During that time, I remember sitting outside on the curb next to him. He asked me “At what point do you think we’ll no longer be in each other’s life?” I responded with a long pause and then an “I just can’t picture that ever happening.” He agreed.

In December 2007 I started getting signs that Ian was interested in me. It was easy to tell since he paid so much attention to me! I didn’t dare say anything though, and I didn’t let him treat me like his girlfriend (hanging out every time he wanted to/sit by him/let him pay for my coffee, etc.)

Two months later, in February 2008, during my last year of High School, we both went on a church trip to Israel. We sat by each other on the plane, and then on the bus. I was embarrassed that he was being so obvious in front of everyone without having talked to me about it first, but it didn’t bother me enough to reject his company on a long bus ride : )

We stayed up late, walking and talking, and on about the third night of the trip, on the beach overlooking the Sea of Galilee, he finally admitted that he had “big boy feelings” for me. Yes, those were his actual words. Then he sat me down and listed all the things he loved about me and the reasons he knew his feelings were real. (He says now that at that point his mindset was “if this girl will have me, I’m going to marry her.”)

I acted surprised and tried to hide my smile.

Even though I was nervous to finally be faced with my dream in the form of reality, and even though things had changed so much over the years, God helped me desire what He desired for me–the very thing He’d promised me five years prior.

After that conversation we planned to date as soon as I was done with high school.

That was in February and in April I started getting cold feet selfish.

I was barely eighteen and not even done with high school.

I was two months away from starting a dating relationship with the guy I knew I was going to marry.

Do you know what that feels like?

I knew that once our relationship started, that was it.

Us dating = us together forever.

I told Ian everything and he was heartbroken, but we still had two months until we made things official so it was not yet a public upset.

As soon as I got over myself we were able to move forward (funny how that works).

And on my last morning of school, I walked out to my car to find three dozen pink roses and hundreds of gold-foiled chocolates sprinkled all over the seats. On the driver’s seat was a little picture of our heads glued onto a picture of a male model carrying a female model on his back. At the top of the picture were the words “Will you be my girlfriend?”

I called him later that day and [obviously] said yes!

He came to my graduation with a bouquet of flowers. I think we were both giddy…

We dated for another nine months (June 2008-February 2009) and on February 27th he proposed! He got down on his knee at our favorite park in Corvallis and then we rode off to the beach in a limo!

(Right after he proposed)

On a rainy day in September 2009, the clouds parted and the sun shone down on us as we made our vows to God and each other in front of all of our friends and family. We just celebrated our two-year anniversary and we still love life together!

Looking back on our relationship used to make me feel funny, but now I think of it as “special”. I am so glad everything evolved the way it did and that we get to spend forever together!

Journal entry to my future husband 11/11/03 (age thirteen):

I wonder if I know you right now, at age thirteen. That would be so weird to look back and see what our relationship was like at this age. I may not even know you until college.

January 21, 2004:

I had a dream the other night. It was abut my wedding day. I saw everyone’s face. Including yours!

January 25, 2004 (three days after I turned fourteen):

I think that God has revealed who you are to me. It is hard to think of getting married to you if you are who I think you are. But I think that God is molding my heart to first love you as a brother and a friend so that one day I can best love you as my husband.

July 26, 2005:

Ian, you broke up with your girlfriend a couple of days ago and I was completely shocked! During the time that you two were dating, the Lord was doing an incredible work in me regarding my faith and trust in Him. When you guys first started dating, I was beginning to doubt that God had truly spoken to me. Then I finally came to the realization that He is in control and He can do whatever He wants and if what He wants is for you to get a girlfriend to see if I still trust Him, than He will do so. Since I have to come to the realization that it is OK for God to work this way, He has broken you two up.

June 23, 2008:

We just went on our first date and you kissed me and told me you were in love with me. Instead of returning the compliment, I asked how you knew and your answer was “Because I can’t imagine living life without you.”

September 3, 2009 (two days before our wedding):

I can’t believe that I’m already here—writing a real letter to my real husband-to-be! You are the love of my life and I am so grateful that the Lord brought us together!

I think the moral of our story is to trust God and let Him work out the timing. We’ve all tried to get ahead of God at one point or another, and not just when we think it is “of Him”. Whether you know, or you don’t know, or you wish you did or didn’t know; ask, listen, and then trust God. I was so certain and yet still worried about this for five whole years of my emotional teenage life! It’s not worth it. God designs the most beautiful scenarios and then we spoil them with our impatience. Just don’t do it.

Sarah

Just a few days after Christmas twenty years ago, I plopped exhausted into our big blue naugahyde recliner, appalled at the angry words that had just spilled from my lips.

What was the matter with me? Why did I keep giving into my frustrations and taking it out on my children?

I wanted everything to be perfect- my house, my kids, my marriage, myself. And nothing ever was- not me, not them, and certainly not my house.

As I cried out to God, confessing my shame to Him, He gave me the clearest, most soul wrenching vision of what would happen if I kept on that path to perfection. I felt transported to another time. I saw myself as an old, embittered, disappointed woman.

And I wrote down what I saw.

These are the words from my journal on December 28^th, 1991— from a vision that changed the way I live.

Christmas morning.

No footsteps running down the hall. No stiffeled giggles coming from the children’s rooms. No one wakes me before dawn; yet awake I lie, listening for what I will not hear.

My house will stay clean all day.

No one will spill milk or leave toothpaste smeared all over the sink. I’ll not trip over anyone’s hastily thrown shoes.

My scissors will stay where I put them.

Christmas morning… and I am all alone.

Memories keep cold company on a day such as this. Regrets weigh my heart with shame and remorse as I remember Christmases past.

Sharp words, impatient gestures. Too much shopping, too little playing. Hurrying and scurrying instead of sitting and listening. Cleaning when I should have sat and watched.

Oh how I wish I hadn’t frittered away those precious years— those priceless, irretrievable years!

Mother’s, wives, listen for a moment to a lonely old woman. Hear with your heart these words I have to share.

My life, too, was once busy like yours. Meetings to attend, phone calls to return, a never-ending pile of clothes to wash and a million errands to run.

The work seemed limitless. My energy was not.

I meant to play with my kids, to read them good books, to listen to their sorrows and share their joys. I never intended to yell at them or say those things I wish I’d never said.

I loved my children!

Life just got overwhelming at times. Pressures mounted, anger flared. I was too busy for another mess. I had better things to do than solve another argument or play a silly game.

But now those years are gone. And I am sorry, oh so sorry. If only I could do it all over again.

If only I’d said no more to others and yes more to my little ones.

If only I’d…

slowed down,

done less,

played more,

listened longer.

What a fool I was! If only I hadn’t worried about what didn’t matter: clean floors and uncluttered rooms, a perfectly put together life and every pressing need crossed off my list. If you’ll listen to my mistakes, you’ll let some things slide, let a lot of things slide— you’ll have years and years for all of that and just a few countable days with the ones you love the most.

If only I’d known then what I know now- that nothing, sbsolutely nothing, is more important than creating a home- a haven- for my family.

My regrets won’t bring the years back to be relived, but perhaps, if you’ll really listen, they’ll save yours.

And so I’ll say it again:

Listen mothers, hear with your hearts.

Slow down. Play. Laugh. Treasure the gifts of God that grace your home this Christmas.

From an old woman’s heart…

And so I pass my passion on to all of you. In the ensuing seasons I did slow down. My house was rarely really clean. I stopped sending Christmas cards and trying to match wrapping paper. I even stopped subscribing to magazines that fed my penchant for perfection. And (gasp!) I declined countless invitations to women’s bible studies so that I could stay home and play house.

My four children are all grown now, with children of their own. Somehow they survived my way-too-picky-about-things-that-don’t-matter years. In fact, they seem to hardly remember my meltdowns, instead covering all my missteps with a grace I do not deserve.

And so this Christmas I will not be alone, in fact they’ll all be here, crowding every corner of our home, making noise and messes and laughing loud- and probably arguing a time or two as well.

And I’ll be loving every minute of it!

From my heart,

Diane