I made my way through the large glass doors that marked the entrance to our hotel on Fisherman’s Wharf, and had to pause.

The crisp early morning air rushed to embrace me like a long-lost friend. Shrouded in a dense fog, its touch awoke my senses.

I felt exhilarated.

My eyes traveled longingly across the street, to the Bay. Past the Hyde Street Pier, the Golden Gate Bridge played a game of peek-a-boo through the midst, teasing me with faint glimpses of its famous red hue. Not far from this architectural marvel, the eerie shadow of the retired penitentiary on the island of Alcatraz was a stoic watchman, its now-empty cells guarding nothing but memories.

I inhaled deeply, savoring the salty sea air and the unmistakable aroma of fresh seafood — rock crab, bay shrimp, California halibut. The tang of sourdough bread drifted down Jefferson Street from Boudin’s Bakery. I was growing hungry, but sadly breakfast was still an hour away.

A slight drizzle misted my hair as I turned the corner. Leaving Jefferson, I continued up Hyde.

Pulling my white jacket snugly around me, I had to smile at the sight of the Hyde-Powell cable car turnaround. Historic Ghirardelli Square served as its backdrop, standing one block west.

It was surreal.

For years, I wanted to visit San Francisco. While I credit my teenage devotion to the ABC sitcom Full House as the spark that lit the fire, I’d like to think it wasn’t fiction alone that kept it burning. That instead, it was the true life tales told of breathtaking views of the Bay, gourmet meals crafted by master chefs from locally-grown ingredients, and the international intrigue of a melting pot population.

After much wishing, finally, I was here.

And on this Saturday morning, as my husband Ted enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in, I ventured out for coffee.

Rounding the corner to Starbucks, the perfect in my morning came to a screeching halt at the sight of a large, hunched over form.

I hesitated, my defenses rising. It was either forge on ahead, coffee still my goal, or turn back and avoid what I knew was coming — a request for money.

The desire for coffee won. With my uncertainty somewhat in check, I put one foot in front of the other.

Two steps later, it came. The request.

“Help a homeless woman?” the form implored.

I glanced down. A large green comforter adorned her shoulders, under it a floral blanket like the ones I remember using at my grandparents’ house as a kid. Both kept watch against the early morning chill. Next to her sat three or four plastic grocery bags, each home to a handful of aluminum cans on their way to recycling.

The woman’s appearance and the timbre of her voice caught me off guard. A chiseled, masculine face, large hands, and a voice that reminded me of John Travolta in his role of Edna Turnblad in Hairspray left me wondering if “she” was a “he.” The presence of a purse at her side and a scarf carefully draped over what appeared to be long, gray hair was not enough to convince me that her femininity was genetically-given.

Uncomfortably, I replied, “No.”

I quickly climbed the small staircase to Starbucks. Taking two steps at a time, I put into practice what Lot’s wife lacked the self-control to carry out: I didn’t look back.

Inside, I worked to quiet my racing heart.

Since our arrival in San Francisco the day before, homeless people had become a familiar sight. In the few short hours we’d explored the city, I’d grown accustomed to being asked for money. Sometimes by those living on the streets. Other times by individuals peddling maps who sought to profit from our wonder-filled expressions and Nikon D40 which clearly marked us as tourists.

Up until now, Ted stood at my side, offering a sense of security. Today, on my own, I felt unprotected and insecure—even though I was far from the only coffee lover out that morning.

Joining the line, I quickly reviewed the menu. While a regular at Starbucks, I liked variety and toyed with the idea of trying a new drink.

“One tall, peppermint mocha frappuccino light,” I told the barista, deciding to play it safe and go with a slight twist on one of my favorites.

Standing there, the bananas on the counter caught my eye. It was then that my resolve broke. I looked back. Back to the homeless woman sitting on the sidewalk.

Jesus, my heart whispered, what would He do?

In that moment, a story he told to a lawyer two thousand years ago became my own.

A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead.¹

I knew little about the woman outside. And in all honesty, had my doubts as to whether she was a woman or even homeless. But there was one thing I didn’t doubt — that this individual had been battered and beaten by the harshness of life and the realities of sin. Like me, she had need of a Savior.

Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.²

When the priest and the Levite spotted the man on the road, they didn’t know what brought him there. Was he a drunk? Had a series of poor decisions finally landed him rock bottom? Perhaps his wounds were self-inflicted.

I too had questions.

What compelled this woman to sit on a San Francisco street corner and beg? Was her need genuine? Had she fallen on hard times, and like the well-known story of Christopher Gardner in The Pursuit of Happyness, unexpectedly found herself homeless? Or, were the doubts I harbored as to whether she was a woman or even without a home legitimate?

Like the priest and the Levite, I allowed my questions to justify passing by a broken individual, unwilling to inconvenience myself; afraid to become involved even by the small act of offering pocket change. My love for God took second place to my fear.

But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, “Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.”³

As the Samaritan, was I willing to move past apprehension and show compassion regardless of what her story was? Or would I leave that to other early morning coffee drinkers?

Wrestling with these questions, my brown boots didn’t seem that different from the worn, dust-covered sandals of the ancient lawyer. My heart, as his, seeking to justify myself. “Who is my neighbor?” I asked, hoping that Jesus wouldn’t point to the homeless woman outside.

But He did.

At the story’s end, I faced a question much like the lawyer did, “Who, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the woman begging on a San Francisco street corner?”

My answer?

The same as the lawyer’s: The one who showed mercy.

“Anything else?” the barista asked, as he prepared to ring up my frappuccino.

“Yes, one drip coffee and a banana,” I replied. “It’s for my neighbor.”

Ashleigh Slater is the editor of Ungrind. As a wife and stay-at-home mom, she enjoys moonlighting as a freelance writer, proofreader, and editor. Her writing has appeared in print and online in publications including Marriage Partnership, Thriving Family, MOMSense, Brio, Brio & Beyond, Guideposts’ Angels on Earth, Focus on the Family Magazine, Radiant, Campus Life’s Ignite Your Faith, Focus on Your Child, Clubhouse, Jr., Small Group Exchange, and Sunday/Monday Woman. She spent five years as a media critic for LinC (Living in Christ): Youth Connecting Faith and Culture and two years writing music reviews and artist bios for All Music Guide. She graduated from Regent University with a M.A. in Communication. She currently lives in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri with her husband Ted and four daughters.

1. Luke 10:30, ESV
2. Luke 10:31-32
3. Luke 10:33-35

“Don’t give up hope.”

The words came from my son’s pediatrician a few weeks after my 7-month-old had been hospitalized for Infantile Spasm Syndrome (ISS), a rare form of childhood epilepsy.

Born in December, Josiah, our first child, began exhibiting some unusual symptoms in early July. He was lethargic, would drop his head suddenly during feedings, and rolled his eyes to the top of his head several times in a row.

I called the pediatrician and was told that babies do a variety of “new” things at this age and that I shouldn’t be too concerned. But by the third week of July, he was stiffening his limbs while rolling up his eyes and we were convinced he was having seizures. On a Saturday morning, we took him to the emergency room.

Infantile Spasm is just rare enough that many pediatricians have never seen a case of it, which is why ours didn’t catch it. But when Josiah was diagnosed by a neurologist at the hospital, we learned that catching ISS at its onset is crucial to treatment and recovery. Even then, treating ISS can be tricky and a percentage of children don’t respond.

Our first night in the hospital, I looked up Infantile Spasm Syndrome on the Internet. What I read was terrifying. I learned that uncontrolled, ISS causes mental retardation. By the time spasms fade away on their own around 2 or 4 years old, it is too late for the child to regain the development that has been lost. In some worst-case scenarios I found on forums, parents were caring for teenagers who had only developed to a 3-month level. I quickly realized why ISS is considered a catastrophic form of childhood epilepsy.

Into the Storm

Just a month earlier, Josiah had been a happy, active infant, passing his 6-month check-up with flying colors. But by the time he left the hospital, he had the motor skills of a baby half his age. I was terrified. We started him on high doses of steroids — the treatment with the best prognosis. If it worked, it was possible Josiah would have a full developmental recovery.

We hoped and prayed that we hadn’t caught it too late. When you’re a parent, an 80 percent success rate isn’t good enough. What if it doesn’t work? That question shot fear through my entire being.

My husband and I share a strong faith, but these are the situations where you’re forced to grapple with what you really believe. Both Kevin and I struggled with the sadness of what was happening to our baby. We understood that bad things happen to people — and sweet babies — who don’t seem to deserve them. We also had no reason to question God’s goodness or faithfulness.

The seizures stopped, but Josiah seemed to regress even more as the steroids took their toll. And an EEG a week after we left the hospital showed that Josiah was still experiencing abnormal electrical charges in his brain. This wasn’t what the neurologist had hoped to see; he wasn’t certain the treatment was working.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” he said. I left that appointment very discouraged as thoughts of the worst-case scenario consumed my mind.

Anchor of Hope

A week later, I found myself in the pediatrician’s office overwhelmed and tearful.

“Don’t give up hope,” she said, touching my arm gently.

I felt foolish that someone I barely knew had to tell me this. But I realized the words were really from my heavenly Father who loved me deeply and cared for Josiah. I was choosing to allow fear to rule my mind rather than hoping in the promises of a powerful God.

Many nights I woke up with bad dreams about dark, creepy beings flying around my baby’s crib. I would hurry into his room and pray God’s protection and healing over my son.

I began to meditate on the truths God offered me in His Word: “Josiah is fearfully and wonderfully made;” “I have a plan for him;” “I love the little children.” These simple truths reminded me that God was at work, even when I couldn’t see what He was doing.

During the following months, I had to trust in God’s care many times when I couldn’t see evidence of healing. As Josiah gained 14 pounds from the steroids and suffered from high blood pressure that caused an array of nasty symptoms, I had to stand firm in God’s promise that He knew what was going on and was an ever-present help.

The Lord faithfully encouraged my husband and me during that time. Once someone anonymously paid for our dinner in a restaurant. A friend told me of a dream she had, in which Josiah was healed. Another friend paid for my mom to fly out and spend a week with us. God generously gave us every grace and strength that we needed through the kindnesses of others and the comfort of His own true Word.

And slowly things began to get better.

Once Josiah was off the steroids, his high blood pressure and other symptoms began to lessen. We started to see some development happen as he relearned to roll over and mastered sitting up by himself.

We’re coming up on one year since Josiah’s diagnosis. He remains developmentally delayed but continues to catch up with the help of therapy. The neurologist has warned us that there may be more seizures and other cognitive problems ahead of us, but we are thanking God for the miracles He’s already accomplished in Josiah.

Josiah’s name means “Jehovah heals.” And during this past year the Lord has bestowed His healing touch on every member of our family. I’ve seen a side of my faithful Father I would not have known apart from tragedy. I praise God for healing Josiah but even more for being my sure hope during a dark time.

Suzanne Hadley Gosselin is a freelance writer and editor who has written for Focus on the Family, Zondervan, and David C. Cook. She enjoys coffee, good conversation and spending time with her husband, Kevin, and 1-year-old, Josiah.

A long time ago, a beautiful maiden went down to the local well to draw water. She spied a stranger with a small caravan of camels. It was hot. They looked thirsty. She offered to draw water for them—camels and all. When she had, the man lit up with joy, showered her with gifts, and declared his intention to take her to a distant land to marry a man she’d never seen.

This was one beautiful maiden without a hesitant bone in her body. Once things were cleared with her parents, Rebekah, heroine of Genesis 24 and future matriarch of Israel, was off like a shot.

Life is full of defining moments: events that catch our lives and catapult us in a new direction. The day you meet your spouse. The first glimpse of the child who will call you mother. A job interview. A spiritual experience. Such moments last five minutes and live a thousand years.

And then there’s the meantime. The Great In-Between. Life is due to begin sometime soon—in the meantime, we’re just hanging on. We try to trust that God has a plan, but we’re secretly afraid that life is passing us by. Thousands of years ago in a desert village, Rebekah lived through just such a time.

Waiting periods may lack glamour, but it’s the daily grind that prepares us for life changing events. Rebekah handled her fateful moment with the grace of a well-trained runner crossing the finish line. Her actions at the well show that she’d discovered the hidden treasures of waiting. She’d learned to embrace the same opportunities—call them training tools—that we have. Work. People. And a God who gets involved when He’s invited.

"Let Me Get That For You"

Rebekah was beautiful, but she didn’t consider herself above manual labor. She was Helen of Troy with dirt under her fingernails. Her care for others clearly outweighed her care for herself. But I’ll guarantee she wasn’t born like that. Her actions bear witness to days and weeks and years gone by, years in which she’d chosen to play her little part with all her might.

Witness Rebekah at the well, laboriously drawing water for the day’s work while a stranger watches. As visions of laundry, cooking, and scrubbing dance in her head, she hefts a very full, very heavy water jug onto her shoulder and prepares to trek the miles back home. No sooner has she finished than the stranger has the gall to ask her for a drink.

Rebekah’s reaction is utterly splendid. She doesn’t haul out the sarcasm, nor does she pitch her jug at the stranger’s presuming head. She doesn’t explain that this water is for her family and she’s rather busy at the moment. She doesn’t even bite her tongue and "do the right thing," innerly griping all the way. The King James says Rebekah "hasted" to give the man a drink. When he’d had his fill, she "hasted" again and poured the rest of the water into a trough for the camels. This done, Rebekah "ran" back to the well to draw more water for them. That’s a lot of water, a lot of work, and one incredible servant’s heart.

Rebekah hadn’t just trained herself in a physical sense. Her heart had gone through some training as well. The man at the well didn’t ask her to water his camels. She offered. She didn’t drag her feet when she helped him out. She hasted; she ran. Rebekah didn’t just work, she served. The difference between these two things is found only in the heart.

Tempering a Heart of Gold

No matter what arena of life you yearn to enter—marriage, parenthood, a career, a move—no one can prepare you for it like the people in your life today. The stranger who asks for a drink at an awkward moment will teach you to serve. The child who drives you up one wall and down the other will teach you the fine art of patience. The co-worker who dissolves into tears at the slightest provocation will teach you sensitivity and understanding. The socially awkward lady at your church can show you how to reach across barriers to find common ground.

We can’t learn servanthood without people to serve. We’ll never learn what love is if we don’t love the people in our lives today. Humility will elude us until we see ourselves as one thread in this big tapestry called humanity.

Work keeps our hands busy during the meantime; people engage our hearts. Rebekah was no Rapunzel, loafing around an ivory tower while the world trudged by outside. She plunged herself into the daily grind and put her heart into ordinary relationships. Other people were important to her, so she practiced going the extra mile for them.

Then one day, she went the extra mile for the right person. Rebekah didn’t go down to the well expecting her life to change, but that’s what happened. The godliness of Rebekah’s actions identified her to the stranger as God’s first choice to mother His chosen people. It’s the formation of our inner lives—our character—that will make the biggest difference to our futures.

At a Moment’s Notice

When it comes to making life-changing decisions in a split second, Rebekah wins the gold medal. Within hours of meeting the stranger at the well, Rebekah was asked not only to go and marry a man she had never met, but to leave immediately.

This was not a small matter. Rebekah wasn’t considering moving into the house down the street. To go with the stranger was to leave her old life behind forever, to join the "religious nut" branch of the family, to leave a settled lifestyle for a nomadic one. It’s possible that Rebekah wouldn’t ever see her family again. Yet she didn’t hesitate. When the man returned home in the morning, Rebekah went with him.

I don’t believe that Rebekah’s decision was made on a romantic whim. Nor do I believe she was a rebel who jumped at the first chance to leave her family. No, there was a depth and strength of conviction behind Rebekah’s decision that awes me. She knew that God had led the man to her, and her trust in God was so strong that she didn’t hesitate to leap into His unexpected will for her life.

Trust in God isn’t spontaneously generated any more than servanthood is. Somehow, out there in a little desert village, Rebekah got to know God. She came from a quasi-heathen family with a history of occasionally hearing the voice of Jehovah. She made the most of that history. Thus, when God called on her to surrender everything and take a whole new path, she was ready.

So While You Wait, Rebekah…

The big events of our life hold great significance for us, but they don’t define us. The daily grind, with its hundreds of little decisions, determines who we are—and without it, we would never be ready for those stranger-at-the-well moments.

Such a moment may be around the corner for you or me. In the meantime, we’d do well to stop thinking of tomorrow and start living in today. Rebekah didn’t sit around and daydream while she waited. Through the challenges that came her way each day, she built the character she needed to be a mother of Israel and the spiritual confidence she needed to abandon herself to God’s will.

You and I have the same opportunities for growth that Rebekah had. We have daily annoyances, people who challenge us, a God to talk to, and windows that need washing. It may feel like life has yet to begin. That feeling is wrong. Life is now.

Someday you may meet your own stranger at the well, and life will take a brand new direction. Until then, you have the opportunity to learn the blessings of waiting. Like Rebekah did, you can make the most of the meantime.

Rachel Starr Thomson is the author of Heart to Heart: Meeting With God in the Lord’s Prayer, Letters to a Samuel Generation: The Collection, and the fantasy epic Worlds Unseen. She lives with her family of fourteen in southern Ontario where she reads, studies, writes, worships, and drinks tea. Visit her online at www.littledozen.com.

Walking into the hospital, a multitude of memories rush in, swept in with the breeze from the revolving doors. The dimly lit hallway leads to large corridors that snake through the building, paths to different centers in the building. All lead to places of help, healing and birth.

I’ve been here twice before, both times years ago. But the memories are fresh. Both of my children entered the world in this place. Twelve years ago, my son was born here. My husband and I walked through this same entrance and down the long hall to the birthing center. Much emotion surrounded his birth; anticipation, excitement and to be honest, dread. I was afraid. There’s no getting around it, I was terrified.

Fear stuck in my heart from the moment we pulled into the parking lot. The changing of life from what I knew to the unknown, with the entrance of this child, was nearly more than I could bear. I clutched my fear so tight, it took divine strength to pry my fingers off it, as I brought my son home. The fear left when I finally began to trust. I’d prayed alright, but my trust was lacking. Somehow it had seeped out of me. Like a boat with a leaky hull, quickly taking on water, I’d allowed fear to fill up the space meant for trust. When I began trusting in the little things, I learned I could trust more and more. As my son took baby steps in his development, I took baby steps of trust. Trust was built and fear receded.

Six years later we walked through these same doors for the second time, when my daughter was born. This time I walked in surrounded by a peace bubble. Of the two scenarios, any onlooker would’ve thought the situation would naturally be in reverse. You see, my daughter was born with Down syndrome. My husband and I already knew our precious daughter came complete with an extra chromosome. Early on there was fear to battle, till trust prevailed. So much time was spent in prayer preparing for the day to arrive, when we’d get to hold her in our arms and meet her face to face. We were ready to welcome her into our family. When the day arrived, fear was nowhere in sight. Peace and happiness filled both my heart and that rosy hued hospital room.

Today, I’m here with my father. He’s been diagnosed with something unwanted, but his prognosis is good. We’re here for the outpatient surgery that will kick off his treatment. We walk through the lobby and take the elevators to the second floor. The doors open and the aroma of coffee mixed with cleanser greets us; chemically imbued roasted beans. Peace is here again. I gratefully rest in it. Divine peace that transcends human understanding. There is no explanation, no logic to it. Just the knowledge and experience of a God who has always been faithful. I trust and open the door to the surgical waiting room for my dad to check in.

I smile inwardly, knowing that all these years later, I’ve learned something. I still have a long way to go, but I’ve learned I’m not enough. I never have been and I never will be. I don’t need to be. I was never meant to carry it all alone, but to lay it — all of it — in the hands of the One strong enough to carry it; strong enough to hold my heart secure and peaceful. And He does.

Angela M. Shupe lives in Michigan with her husband and two children. She loves travelling, hiking, cooking, reading and has a love of all things sweet and baking. Although she enjoys the adventure of travel, she has a slightly obsessive love of the beauty of Lake Michigan. Born and raised in Michigan, she spends as much time as possible, on the golden sands lining the lake and playing in the waves. Her writing has appeared in Women’s Adventure Magazine, at Beliefnet.com, Relevant Magazine, and Radiant Magazine. One of her essays recently received a SOLAS Award for travel writing from Travelers’ Tales. Her writing can also be found on her blog, Bella Verita.

Every mother needs more than one closet.

Some mothers are gifted such a luxury. Even those who don’t deserve one.

Not for extra clothes and shoes, mind you. Not for changing out wardrobes for each season. Not for storing the skinny jeans and tiny-tees you’re convinced one day after starvation and 1,000 power yoga classes you’ll fit back into.

Nope.

Another closet for a much more significant purpose: to hold the many hats — the insane number of hats that every mother inevitably owns and repeatedly wears.

Like every other mother I know, my hats are many.

Motherhood is like Albania — you can’t trust the descriptions in the books, you have to go there.” –Marni Jackson

Some are entirely predictable and I know when I’m wearing them: cook, chauffeur, nurse. Some are a bit more elusive, a bit less defined, and I’m switching them so fast I can barely keep up — when my “job” for the day is to scrub the cat vomit off the laminate, water any plants with droopy leaves, pick up Samm’’s ear medication at the vet, update our digital family scrapbook, pack away Anna’s winter clothes for Maddie and put Maddie’s into donation bags, squeeze in a trip to Wal-Mart for school snacks, milk, and eggs, and get both girls to their respective extra-curriculars on time and in the right uniforms.

Maybe instead of a closet for my hats, I need additional heads.

Being so many things on so many different occasions for so many different people and furry animals and vegetation gives me a steadily growing appreciation for not just other moms, but my mom.

My mother is one of those superwoman women who has spent the majority of my life doing all the many things any mother is required to do and then some and with miraculous determination putting in 40+ hours a week in a high-stress federal administrative position. I could not respect or admire her more.

If the whole world were put into one scale, and my mother in the other, the whole world would kick the beam.” — Lord Langdale

Part of her job involves sifting applications from all those folks (like my own husband just one year ago) looking for the job security and incredible benefits of being on government payroll. She even takes part in writing the descriptions for various positions, which leaves me wondering what exactly my job description would/should be.

I could fancy it up . . . computer operator, facilities planner, hair stylist, finance manager, first-aid provider, personal shopper, household organizer, and executive assistant, etc., etc.

But as I was filling the bathtub with “not too hot water and bubbles” for the girls tonight, I had an epiphany. I am “The Keeper of the Towels.” No one in this household will ever step out of a shower or bubble bath and reach for a towel that isn’t there. (OK, actually that’s not true. At least twice that I know of, Will has reached for a towel only to find an empty hook, but said towel was in the dryer and I got sidetracked fixing school lunches . . . I digress.)

My point, albeit not very well made, is that I’m responsible for a whole lot of little things that don’t seem to be worth a whole lot while I’m busy doing them.

But, let me remind you, a clean towel is priceless when you’re dripping wet and the bathroom is drafty. And, if I had to guess, I think heaven will feel a little bit like wrapping your squeaky clean body in soft, April Fresh Downy-scented cotton. It will feel like somebody cared enough to think about what you need to feel comfortable, safe, and warm. It will feel like home.

So, this is why I do what I do. Why I love it, why it makes a difference and why no job description comes close to nailing it.

For me or any other amazing, everyday, and I mean EVERY-day mom.

Kathryn Adams is a full-time wife, mom, and lover of Jesus. She is a part-time writer, administrative assistant, and aficionado of coffee and cheap wine. She believes the world is a better place when the beds are made. You can find her from time to time at A Bold Grace.

Every morning before the yellow bus rolled down our street, Mama parted my hair in braids, packed a scrumptious lunch, and placed her hand over my part whispering a prayer of protection and guidance. I would squirm in my shoes until she said “amen,” plant a kiss on her cheek, and bolt out the door. It was our daily ritual. One I didn’t always understand, but cherished nonetheless.

Now as I’m called “Mama,” I recall my mother’s daily habit of prayer as one of the most poignant memories I’ll cherish long after she leaves this earth. For I’m convinced her prayers saved me from unnecessary dangers, bad relationships, and poor choices (though I made my share of many despite her prayer coverage), and I believe her pleas prepared me for the man I call husband. Truly, Mama’s seemingly insignificant prayers left a lasting imprint on the course of my life, and I believe I am who I am today because of the words she lifted up to the God of the universe.

Yet, as a mama of two busy sons and another little one within my womb, I often wonder how any mom finds time for prayer — let alone solitude — and in this season of life, I’ve struggled with this spiritual discipline more than ever. In the midst of the daily bustle of laundry, meals, dishes, schedules, and play, my prayers have been merely a sigh, a quick utterance, or plea for help when my son soils his undergarments or my toddler spills his milk. Yet, looking back at my mama’s example, I’m reminded that my prayers need not be oratory or even said on my knees. I can find a new normal in this season of diapers and hungry mouths by uttering simple prayers in the midst of my hectic schedule. Mama modeled these simple prayers effectively.

Chore-Time Prayers

I can’t count the times I saw Mama in front of the sink scrubbing pots and pans in soapy suds. While she worked, she often sang and uttered prayers. It’s as if she understood Brother Lawrence’s assertion in his book The Practice of the Presence of God, “The time of business does not differ with me from the time of prayer; and in the noise and clatter of my kitchen, while several persons are at the same time calling for different things, I possess God in as great tranquility as if I were on my knees.”

My mama understood that prayer is a conversation with God. She talked to Him throughout the day in the midst of her tasks, and thereby, practiced the presence of God in the mundane. Her example has taught me that it doesn’t matter if I’m folding laundry, driving my boys to a play date, taking a shower, or making beds, I can lift up prayers for my children and husband wherever I am and in the midst of whatever ‘’m doing. And in doing so, I bridge the divide between the sacred and the commonplace.

Doorway Prayers

Each day there are three key doorways of the day — morning, afternoon, evening. My mama modeled the importance of lifting up prayers during these moments. In the morning, she prayed over us; in the afternoon, she read her Bible and lifted up prayers no doubt; and in the evening, she ensured we read scripture and prayed together as a family. Prayer was a common thread in the fabric of our family, and Mama remembered the Lord in the doorways of the day.

I too am realizing that even though I can’t have an extended morning quiet time, I can divide the time during these intervals. As I get breakfast on the table, I can pray for the upcoming day. As I put my sons down for a nap, I can pray over them. And before I clear the dinner table, I can encourage a diet of the living bread along with our evening meal.

Pathway Prayers

When I met my husband, my parents told me they had prayed for my spouse for years. I remember how their words overwhelmed me with gratitude. In the same way, I learned they prayed for my vocation, friends, and future family. Dad and Mama were praying pathway prayers — prayers for my future — and I as I look back over my life, I can see God’s guidance in my choices and decisions.

In the same way, I’ve begun praying for the wives of my sons. I’ve lifted up little prayers for good friends and mentors. Often my prayers are just a quick plea, a breath, or an entry in their prayer journals, but I know that each one is not wasted. God loves to hear His children; He delights in my prayers. In the doorways of the day, I can pray for my children’s future.

Mama instilled in me a desire to pray, and I’m eternally grateful for the words she uttered on my behalf. And now that I’m wearing her shoes, I’m realizing the power of a mother’s prayer. James 5:16b says, “The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” The prayers of mothers are not just words uttered into the great abyss; they’re dynamite against the enemy’s evil plans for our children, for they are conversations with God most high. And God, who spoke the world into existence, speaks over our children, drawing them to Jesus, transforming them into His likeness.

I know I’ll have plenty more days where I wake up running without a moment to pause or bend my knees. Yet, I’ll remember my mama’s example and utter simple chore-time, doorway, and pathway prayers throughout the day. And on days where I fail to utter anything at all, I’ll cling to grace, for God knows my unspoken requests — the ones whispered in the corners of my heart — and I believe He answers even those.

Melanie N. Brasher is a full-time mama of two boys and wife to an incredible husband who understands her bicultural background. She moonlights as a fiction and freelance writer, crafting stories and articles toward justice and change, and dreams of becoming a voice for the unheard. She’s a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, and a contributing blogger for Hoosier Ink. She contemplates faith, family and writing at her personal blog. Though she’s an aspiring author, she’ll never quit her day job.

Hi Arlene!

Thanks!
Beth

Dear Beth

If you have a daughter, she is watching you carefully. She is absorbing your attitudes, words, and habits regarding beauty and self-esteem. This can be scary or wonderful — depending on what she is catching!

The best advice I can give a mom about teaching beauty to her daughter is to model what it’s like to be beautiful inside and out. This means you are content with your appearance. You don’t look in the mirror and belittle yourself. You’re at peace with your hair, legs, and funny birthmark — regardless of the shapes and sizes involved. You know you were created by God and He doesn’t make junk. You also know that you have a responsibility to take good care of yourself. That’s why you do your best to eat healthy, exercise regularly, and even try new beauty techniques from makeup to wardrobe makeovers. You want to be a living example of what it looks like to be the daughter of the King.

Tell your daughter that beauty isn’t about having a certain hair color or dress size. Ask her who she knows that looks like Barbie. That should be a short list — ha! Then point out her other friends who don’t look like Barbie but who are beautiful.

Tell your daughter that if she’ll just remember to (1) do her best with her appearance and (2) do the right things to honor God in life, she will be a true beauty!

Arlene

Arlene Pellicane is the author of 31 Days to a Younger You: No Surgery, No Diets, No Kidding and 31 Days to a Happy Husband (scheduled to release summer 2012).

Arlene loves to show women how to love their lives and make positive changes that last. She draws from her experience as a mother of three children and the wife of a New Yorker. Whether you need a shot of hope in the parenting department or an emergency consultation about your expanding waistline, Arlene delivers practical and palatable advice to help you take the next step towards your best life. Find hope and humor for your home and health. For more on Arlene, read our interview with her.

In her monthly column, “Ask Arlene,” she answers readers’ questions. If you have a question you’d like Arlene to consider for this column, submit a question here.

Today was one of those days.

Let’s just say my three-year-old was in anything but rare form.

By dinner, I told my husband, “She’s your child for the rest of the day.”

I felt justified in my frustration and anger with her. After all, did she really have to scream as we walked the aisles of our local Wal-Mart? Or was it necessary for her to hit her six-year-old sister with a ruler? I mean, seriously.

My frustration soon turned to conviction though.

Once my three-year-old was tucked in her bed — yes, by my husband, not me — I picked up New York Times best-selling author and popular blogger Darlene Schacht’s new book, The Good Wife’s Guide: Embracing Your Role as Help Meet. I’d read it before, but I wanted to refresh my memory as I sat down to write this intro.

It was a word in due season. In it, I was reminded of the importance of serving and loving my kids joyfully, even when they do throw tantrums at Wally World.

Over the last few months, I’ve come to love Darlene for her practical, biblically-based ministry of encouraging women to embrace Titus 2′s exhortation to love our kids and be keepers of our homes. As I worked with her on leading our first book club selection, I’ve been encouraged and strengthened by her wisdom and resolve to honor God in this sphere.

I recently had the opportunity to chat via email with Darlene about The Good Wife’s Guide.

Hi Darlene! Thanks so much for chatting with me. For our readers who may not be familiar with you, tell me a bit about your background. How and when did you first start writing?

I grew up struggling with reading and writing. In fact I rarely to never finished reading a book, and writing was a definite struggle for me — this is evident in the fact that I failed Grade 12 English. For some reason, however, I always felt the tug toward writing, which is why I agree that God equips those He calls. There was a lot of equipping to get me where I am today!

I opened a blog about eight years ago called “What Would Jesus Blog?” where I posted some humorous articles about my children. My family and friends were so encouraging, and to my surprise they loved the articles I put out. That was the push I needed to get real about writing, work hard, polish my skill, and pray that God would guide my pen.

After that I launched an online magazine called Christian Women Online, through which I made some strong connections.

Your website Time-Warp Wife and its vision resulted from a difficult season in your life and the grace you discovered. Can you tell us about that?

Normally I shy away from this topic because I’m not proud of my sins. With everything that I knew, and after having experienced a deep relationship with Christ, I found myself faced with temptation and I was drawn away by my lust. It’s not that I didn’t know better — I did. I was a homeschooling, home-churching mom who read the Bible several times, studied Hebrew and Greek, and had attended church for most of my life. I was an “I’d never do that!” girl, but little by little I took a step closer to sin and away from the mark until I crossed the line and had an affair.

Coming back from that was the most difficult thing that I have ever faced in my life. I understood that God’s grace was for sinners, but because I had gone against everything I believed to be right and chose sin I was trapped under a heavy weight of guilt and shame. It was hard to accept grace from both my husband and God, but it’s that very grace that led me back home.

How would you challenge and encourage women who may have been in a similar situation and can’t forgive themselves for their sin?

I’d remind them of Peter, the disciple who was always eager to follow Jesus. Peter loved the Lord and yet in the very last hours before the death of our Savior, he denied him three times. This was the same man that Jesus spoke to earlier when He said, “Upon this rock I will build my church.”

Grace is for sinners. We should never diminish the severity of sin, but at the same time we must accept that the grace of God is given freely to all sinners and that grace is bigger than our sin.

A short while before my dad passed away, he left me with this wise piece of advice, “God doesn’t care about what you did yesterday; He wants to know what you’ll do today.”

Like you, I love vintage styles. Because of this, I was instantly intrigued by the cover design for The Good Wife’s Guide. What inspired you to write it?

There’s a satirical article of the same name that’s been circulating the net for a couple of years. The piece appears to be from a May 13, 1955 issue of Housekeeping Monthly, but according to Snopes.com, it’s most likely a hoax. In any event, after taking a look at it, I realized that so many of the points that it listed were the same ones I stress throughout the contents of my blog, and in particular a post I wrote titled, “My Desire for Curb Appeal.”

I clicked through several of the links, and nearly everywhere the guide was posted, it was up for much ridicule. The sad thing in all of this is that our role as a help meet is being diminished by popular opinions that would rather scoff at good family values than face the truth of God’s word.

Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything” (Ephesians 5:22-24, NIV).

I decided to resurrect The Good Wife’s Guide in my own words, and according to the role that I hope to fulfill in my life. From there it turned into a book. It is no longer a satirical piece written to mock the role of a help-meet, but rather a guide that leads women toward a noble character and good family values. It’s time that we took a stand for family values that serve to grow and protect the family unit as God divinely designed it to be.

We live in a culture where more and more Christians are embracing an egalitarian worldview. Why do you think it’s important for women to realize the beauty of complementarism?

I believe that the answer is found in Philippians where we have the infallible example of Jesus Christ:

In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to His own advantage; rather, He made Himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to death — even death on a cross!” (Philippians 2:5-8).

With that example in mind, I understand that I’m in every way equal to my husband, but equality isn’t something that I should take advantage of for my own pleasure or gain. My desire is to please God by humbling myself, and taking on the role of a help meet. If my Lord and Savior took on the role of a servant, why shouldn’t I?

Equality of people refers to our “value.” We have equality among all men and women, while at the same time we have some who are in a position of authority over us such as members of congress, senators, and governors. They are in no way of greater value than the people they serve.

Submission is yielding your will for the good of another. It is putting another ahead of you. It’s a choice that you make out of respect, love and reverence. And so in Colossians 3:18 where wives are commanded to submit to their husbands, it’s a decision I make that’s powered by faith.

In The Good Wife’s Guide, you affirm both stay-at-home moms and working moms. I love how you erase the division that often arises and point to the issue being one of the heart. Can you share a bit about this?

Looking to Scripture we see the Proverbs 31 woman selling fine linen to merchants, buying a field, and planting a vineyard. What we also see there is a woman who rises early to feed her household and whose children call her “blessed.” What I glean from her example is the importance of putting family first.

If we send our children off to daycare because we want a bigger house, a cabin, a boat or more spending money, then we may be prioritizing those things over the value of spending time with our children.

On the other hand, there might be stay-at-home moms who are so occupied with a number of distractions that they spend little time with their children but wear the SAHM badge with pride.

Only God knows the treasure of one’s heart, all we can do is search our own to ensure that our priorities are where they should be.

What book or books are you currently reading?

I love to learn anything from grammar to gardening so I’m constantly picking up how-to books. I can never get enough! I’m currently reading Brand Like a Rockstar, so if you see me pull out the electric guitar, and do a few scissor jumps, you’ll know why! *wink*

Any additional thoughts you’d like to add?

Maybe just this…

The Good Wife’s Guide: Embracing Your Role as a Help Meet now in print!

Enter Our Giveaway

We have two print copies of Darlene’s The Good Wife’s Guide: Embracing Your Role as a Help Meet to give away. To enter for a chance to win a copy, leave a comment. We’ll choose a winner using Random.org’s Integer Generator.

One additional entry can be earned for each of these:

• Follow @ungrind on Twitter. Leave a comment to tell us you did.
• Follow @darleneschacht on Twitter. Leave a comment to tell us you did.
• Tweet about this contest and Darlene’s book. Leave a comment to tell us you did.
• “Like” this post on Facebook. Leave a comment to tell us you did.
• “Like” our page on Facebook. Leave a comment to tell us you did.

This contest closes on Monday, May 7th, 2012, at 12 a.m. Our apologies to our international readers, but it’s only open to those residing in the United States and Canada.

This contest is now closed. Congratulations to our winners, Gisell James and Michelle T.!

Ashleigh Slater is the editor of Ungrind. As a wife and stay-at-home mom, she enjoys moonlighting as a freelance writer, proofreader, and editor. Her writing has appeared in print and online in publications including Marriage Partnership, Thriving Family, MOMSense, Brio, Brio & Beyond, Guideposts’ Angels on Earth, Focus on the Family Magazine, Radiant, Campus Life’s Ignite Your Faith, Focus on Your Child, Clubhouse, Jr., Small Group Exchange, and Sunday/Monday Woman. She spent five years as a media critic for LinC (Living in Christ): Youth Connecting Faith and Culture and two years writing music reviews and artist bios for All Music Guide. She graduated from Regent University with a M.A. in Communication. She currently lives in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri with her husband Ted and four daughters.

I found them today as I tackled the long overdue project of cleaning out the closet. There, still in the gift bag, long forgotten, were the perfect little bunny rabbit booties my best friend had knitted for our baby.

She made them and gave them to me immediately after I told her we had finally gotten pregnant with our third child. Wrapped up in those little booties were hopes and dreams and the promise we held for my family. I believed that in seven short months, we would be able to put them on him or her as we “oohed” and “ahhed” at how cute he or she was. I would then proudly pack up my things in the perfect little diaper bag and tote it and my gorgeous newborn out of the hospital to begin a perfect (and wonderfully chaotic) life as a family of five.

Those dreams never became a reality.

Over the course of the next few weeks, after test results came back abnormal and an ultrasound showed the worst, my family went from making plans for a new baby to wondering if we would ever meet our baby alive. The diagnosis was bi-lateral renal agenesis. In common terms, it meant my baby had no kidneys, and therefore would not be able to live outside the womb. My world crashed in around me. My heart was broken.

In the midst of the brokenness and pain, however, something else began to arise. Excitement.

At first it didn’t even make sense to me, and I waited days before voicing it to my husband, for fear he might think me a lunatic. But the reality is that God was opening up doors. He was doing something huge in our lives and the lives around us, and He asked us to be a part of His plans. He chose us to be parents to a child whose life here on Earth was miniscule, but whose impact will be felt for eternity.

Never before had I felt more fully His peace that passes all understanding (Philippians 4:7). Never before had I known beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was asking me to endure pain for His purposes. Never before had I begged Him to use me so completely and allow His will to be done in me and through me. It was exciting!

Over the course of the next 14 weeks, I loved Elijah fiercely. I talked to him more and included him in everything we did, knowing it would be our only time with him. I grappled with grief, marveled at the small miracles I experienced, felt amazing joy, and endured overwhelming pain. I was gently brought through the process of accepting that my plans are not always God’s plans … but that God’s plans are always better, even if they are painful.

Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” (Proverbs 19:21)

As the Lord carried me through the heartache of watching my belly grow with a child whom I would not be allowed to hold in my arms for more than a few hours, His sweet presence was so real and so true. I was constantly reminded that “in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28).

I will never be the same. I never want to be the same. As my heart, mind, and body continue to heal after the birth and death of my sweet Elijah, I can only be thankful to God that He allowed me to be his mommy. And that Elijah’s short life with us was exceptional.

My last moments alone with my baby were ones of holding him, loving him, and dressing him before laying him in his tiny resting place. He was beautiful, dressed in a white outfit made by my mom. He was snuggled in a baby blue sweater made by my best friend, and on his tiny feet I placed tiny blue booties … not what I envisioned when my journey began, but perfect, nonetheless.

Brittani Schmidt is a Southern Kentucky girl transplanted to the Midwest. She has the privilege of being a stay-at-home mom to Maggie, three-years-old, and William, one. She is married to Kyle, a self-proclaimed sports fanatic. After completing her BA in Psychology, Brittani ventured into event planning as her alma mater’s Director of Alumni Relations and later as the Special Events Coordinator at the Fort Wayne Philharmonic. Aside from the daily joys of raising two adorable children, Brittani loves to read, particularly Amish fiction, plan all sorts of events from birthday parties to baby showers, and bake/decorate cakes. Most recently, Brittani served two years as the co-coordinator of her local MOPS group, and is currently part of the creative activities team. She is excited at the many ways God is moving in her life, and the opportunities He is blessing her with to minister to other moms. You can follow the daily antics of the Schmidt family by checking out her blog.

Hi Ladies! Ashleigh here.

We’ve reached the final chapter of Reshaping It All: Motivation for Physical and Spiritual Fitness. If you are new here or needing to catch up, you can still comment on the previous chapters here — so keep those comments coming.

Also, I’ve love to have you weigh in on what book you’d like to see us tackle next. My plan is to start up our next selection sometime this summer. Should we do nonfiction again? Fiction? A biography? Share your thoughts.

To finish out the book, let’s hear from Darlene.

In chapter 19, this last chapter, Candace talks about entering into God’s rest — putting aside our desire for perfection to see that we are only made perfect through Jesus Christ.

There are those moments in every journey when we deal with emotion; sometimes we’re dealing with fear, sometimes it’s doubt, sometimes it’s guilt, and sometimes it’s a sense of failure. If you’re feeling any of these things, remember this: when you are weak He is strong.

At the end of Reshaping it All, Candace closes her prayer with these words:

Teach me contentment in all that I do so that I can say with all certainty, ‘It is well with my soul.’”

Allow your weakness to illustrate the strength and power of the One who seeks to rescue you…

But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12:9-10)

Enjoy the journey and live well!!

Blessings,
Darlene Schacht
www.timewarpwife.com

OK, now your turn. Here are some questions to get the discussion started:

1. What did you think of Candace’s discussion of suffering and rest? Can you see how the cross and rest are related?
2. What stood out to you the most in chapter 19?
3. Now that you’ve finished the book, what do you think you’ve gained or learn most from it?