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Not Your Grandma’s Kind of Ghost: Writing and Editing for Someone Else
We stood in the aisles of the gigantic dining room, huddled in a loose swarm, chatting and anticipating the afternoon. Ropes course? Zip lines? Creek walk? Yes. Two groups of friends from the Temecula Valley were all at Mount Hermon’s family camp together but had never met, so a common friend did the introductions. “Carrie, this is Becky… and Mike.” “Hi, nice to meet you.” “They’re the ones with triplets.” My eyebrows shot north without warning and I smiled. “Ohh… I’ve heard about you guys. Have you been here before?” “Nope,” said Becky. “First time. We actually don’t know why we’re here. God told us to come so we came.”…
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Because You Live Here, That’s Why: Kids and the Battle of Chores
I crafted a plan. I felt prepared. I started with the basics when he started walking and talking. My voice sounded cheery and I easily herded the little man into my camp. “Can you please put Finding Nemo back in the movie cupboard?” “Where does your stuffed orca go? No… not there, silly.” “You want to clean the kitchen with mommy? Sure!” Chore time with one toddler felt easy because he actually wanted to help. And the jobs were like him—short and sweet. Then we moved to Baja, birthed another baby and adjusted to living in the land of dust and mud. The harder chores required more direction, but my…
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Awkward as a Fat Idol in Church
She stood behind the last row of chairs, alone, with beautiful brown eyes taking it all in. I had never seen her in there before, though I knew she was a native. Our church does not carry the best reputation for being the most friendly bunch to outsiders so I figured I should welcome her. But how? Maybe extend my hand? Show her around? Point out the restroom? Ask if she needed translation? I didn’t care that she was black; I’m not brown like the locals anyway. Maybe we could become outsiders together, bonding over ice cream. We get lots of visitors to our church and they all tend…
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Buying Less, Pitching More
I despise Ross. Not the dude I went to school with—the store where you can dress for less. It calls my name, flaunts its fantastic deals and beckons me to bring my mother on discount day. And then there’s Marshall’s, TJMaxx, the flea market in our town park and the sweet thrift store with the half-off day. Get behind me, Satan. They’re just so dang tempting for those of us seduced by bargains. Please don’t tell me God won’t tempt me beyond what I can bear. I know that. And he’ll also provide a way out so I can endure, right? Yeah, it’s called a car. Drive away, people. Since I…
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Your Grass Looks Greener: Stay at Home Moms vs Working Moms
Two Moms, Two Letters, Two Countries Dear Missionary Mom, I see you down here, with your hair pulled up and your patience falling down. Doin’ that missionary thing can drain, I know. It all looked so quaint from a distance, didn’t it? Needy people, corner sweet bread shops, hammocks in palms. Did you move for the life the promo video promised? I’m glad I’ve been your neighbor. Living in Baja has felt attractive, mostly. It’s been a place where those old roots I planted could get some fresh air and be replanted. Our kids probably won’t be graduating with yours though. We’re all scattered around and therefore…
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Juggle or Battle? Not Comparing Pain or Circumstances
Renewed inspiration! Fresh starts! Excellent intentions! Or not. For numerous people the idea of making big changes in January usually conveys feelings of, “Why bother?” or “It didn’t work last year,” or my personal favorite, “Tomorrow. Yeah, definitely tomorrow.” When we started our student-based ministry eleven years ago I wondered if my structured life might ever return. This mainly irritated me because I’m a bit of a perfectionist by nature – organized, systematic, color-coded, logical, and… tired. Even with our students gone now I still err on the side of weary and bitter, but not purposely. Between juggling marriage, motherhood, housework, exercise, neighbors, newsletters, blog posts and a 25-page…
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New Year’s Disillusion: Taking Action When Motivation and Resolutions are so Dang Hard
If looking ahead to the next 358 days makes your head spin… welcome. I’m pretty sure the majority of the planet is hoping twenty-seventeen holds more hope, less violence, higher joy, and lower prices. Of course thinking globally is admirable, but if you’re anything like me you also think about the first few weeks of January in a personal way. The years I tried to keep a resolution always started out with Dick Clark on the tube and a night full of renewed enthusiasm. “Yeah, baby—drop that ball and watch me change!” “Count it down, brother; I’m about to detonate with motivation.” “Three… two… one… HAP-py New Year!” Kiss kiss, clink…
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Last Christmas in Baja? Wrestling with the Unknown and Another Big Move
The C9 bulbs sit snug and proud, wrapped around the palm. It’s fat, freshly trimmed, and still full of green. Through the fall and into winter, palms don’t change. “It looks like a pineapple,” my husband says. “A glowing one.” He’s right; our own tropical Christmas. But whose kids are those? The holiday is celebrated here, yes, but you have to drive to the cities to see red and green explosions alongside gifts in excess. A peek into our low-income town will show you single strands of dim lights, old-school decor and a few lawn ornaments you might consider tacky. Big deal. We who possess bright white…
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10 Cool Costco Insider Secrets to Save You and Your Family Money This Week (And They Work in Baja, Too!)
If you’re a lover of the food court, impressed by ridiculously clean, smooth floors, and slightly addicted to samples, welcome to the Costco club. It’s pretty much the only place where your shopping cart can contain a $45,000 diamond ring resting on top of 1,875 Q-Tips and a five-gallon jug of nasty cooking oil. Just Baja? It’s also the only place I’d like to be stuck/trapped/held captive in the event of a Christmas lockdown. Think about it… grab a mattress, some sheets, a down comforter, drag it all to the middle aisle, bust open a pillow two-pack, choose some cozy jammies, slippers and a good book, plug in a heater…
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Christmas Card Burnout: Why I Chose to Stop Sending the Iconic Greeting
They were part of the tradition, part of the joy and part of the expectation. I can still see piles of cards in front of my mother. Her beautiful handwriting graced fronts of envelopes as she diligently wrote out addresses and duplicated ours in every lefthand corner. She composed classic Christmas letters with my father, describing the most interesting bits of our year and excluding all the sibling rivalry—mostly caused by me. Personal greetings inside sturdy cards of snow-scenes no doubt left each recipient feeling remembered and loved. Add an Olan Mills, lick a tasty stamp and bam—Christmas spirit. For all I know she lovingly placed them…
