Mothering from the Heart

Mama, Can't You See?

2012-01-27T09:12:00.000-08:00

I wrote the following post right after Grant graduated from college in May of 2010. He worked in the private sector since graduation but has always had a longing to serve our country in the United States Marine Corps. He is now at Officer Candidates School. I am so, so, so very proud of him. He came home for about a week during his transition from his job in Raleigh. I have had many emotional moments (and yes, hours) since he left. Carl and I loved having him around - helping him, laughing with him, and praying for him - just the sheer joy of being with our boy. As you read this two-year-old post, you'll understand why. But . . . though I already miss him terribly and though I will not be able to talk to him for a long time . . . I am so thankful for his heart to serve both his God and his country.

Like I said, I am so proud.

This is our family. November, 2011.

May, 2010 Well, the dynamic of my life has changed yet again. We let our fourth child go - officially - from the safety net of our home. All those years ago when Carl and I were young parents, we kept welcoming babies into our home. We had Jeremy, followed by Jordan, then GraceAnna, followed by Grant. Our fifth, Jameson, wouldn't come along for nearly five more. We welcomed our first four children in rapid succession so now, we're releasing them in the same way.

This is Grant. August 1988.

As I've faced the going away years of my children, mothers who have gone before me have told me that it would get a little easier with each goodbye. Not so, not really except that yes, I know a little more of what to expect each time - kind of like after you have your first baby. You know the intensity of labor, you know what the pain will be like, you also know you made it through delivery and you know you'll be fine and even better when it's all over. You know you'll be holding a sheer miracle in your arms and when you do, wow. Yet, even though you know these things and the knowing brings great comfort, you find that you're still so incredibly overwhelmed and you simply cannot believe that God would entrust you yet again to raise another life for Him.

So for me, the goodbyes haven't gotten better or easier. Yes, I know a little more of what to expect, I know what the pain will be like, and I know I will be so fine when it's over. But as I've walked into it each time, I am still so incredibly overwhelmed as I've looked at these now adult children who are quite amazing and I think how I cannot believe God entrusted me to mother each one. Each child brings a new dynamic to your life - and when each one leaves your home, their particular dynamic leaves too. But . . . after they're gone, if you're contemplative at all, you realize their dynamic has forever changed you. It's made you more dependent on God, made you see how sinful and selfish you really are, and in the end has made you realize how utterly helpless you are without Jesus Christ. Raising children does that.

This is Grant. 1996.

And raising Grant? You have to understand - there's so much presence with Grant. Anyone who knows him, knows what I'm talking about. He is so much fun. He is all there. He is funny and noisy. He has a great smile. A quick smile. A wink you'd die for. He doesn't go to an event, he is the event.

Four years ago, as a mom, I began the process of releasing him. That was when he entered those transition years, the college years - part gone, part home. He went to the Citadel, the Military College of South Carolina. He wanted the challenge, the discipline, the rigorous physical training, and the academic schedule. My free-spirited little boy - yes, the one who was attached to his blanket.

The day we took him to the Citadel, it was a gray, wet, rainy, muggy Saturday in August. Seems so long ago. I kept saying to myself as we walked all over campus, "I need an umbrella." But it didn't matter, the rain mixed in with wet eyes. We said our goodbye at 12:30 p.m. and we didn't see Grant again. We drove home in silence.

The hardest part back then was not the releasing-thing. It was the fact that I would not be able to hear from him for ten days. That was when first-semester knobs couldn't have phones. So I was left with just praying. And wondering. The days that followed were very long. It's funny how your children never leave your mind or your heart - ever. They don't understand that - and never will until they have children of their own.

The next day at church, we sang "May our homes be filled with dancing . . . " And so OK, I had a moment. My emotions were raw. See, not uncommon for Grant while he was a teenager was his grabbing me in the kitchen quite unexpectantly while I was making supper and then swinging me around to some song that he had turned on, blasting and jarring me out of my quiet. Didn't matter if he was tired from a hot, sweaty day of work or from a long day of classes. He was the same. Smiling, happy, barging through the house, leaving a wake. Not that he never had serious, contemplative, and even aggravating or temper-filled moments. He's a guy, he did. Yet those moments were so overshadowed . . . as he filled the atmosphere of our home with so much presence beginning with his birth.

For example, when Grant was little, he always called me, "Ma!" The rest of my children called me "Mommy" until they grew older and eventually dropped the ending calling me the very plain "Mom." But not Grant . . . no . . . it was "Ma!!!!" as soon as he could talk. And he was so cute with his freckled face and his little lungs hollering, "Ma! Ma!" when he needed me or wanted to show me something quite incredible - like a spider. He was loud.

He used to lick gummy bears and stick them the picture window in our Texas house. Random, I know, but sorry, I'm having a moment.

Another example. As a toddler he would run way ahead of me no matter where we were. Once I was meeting a friend at the neighborhood pool with my four little ones. As soon as Grant saw the water, he wriggled out of my arms (I guess I basically dropped him) and he ran as fast as his little legs would take him and just plopped in the pool. Fortunately for him I caught up and plopped in with him. He kept me on my toes. There was no rest unless he was sleeping. Like I said, he changed the dynamic of my life.

He kept me from gaining weight. Another random thought. And he still challenges me in that area. "Mom, you would love these running shoes. Mom, too many carbs. Mom, you really should do more than just run - try these pull-up bands, do push-ups. Mom, too many oatmeal cookies and caramel ice cream."

Well, now those transition years are over. He graduated from the Citadel May 8, 2010. He had two job offers. I went with him to North Carolina to help him move into his new place and get settled. The dynamic of the house changed when Grant bounded through the door of our lives all those years ago. And now it's changing again as he's left.

This is Grant. 2010.

But you know what? Raising children for the glory of God not only changes the dynamic of my life, but it is my continued prayer that it changes the dynamic of the world.

Now it's January, 2012. My boy - no, the MAN . . .

Mama, Can't You See?

The New Year

2012-01-16T09:44:00.000-08:00

When I was a teenager, I made New Year's resolutions. Things like

I'll try to be nice to my brother.

And I was nice to him . . . until he made me angry.

I'll do things around the house without being asked or told.

And I did . . . unless I didn't feel like it.

I'm going to please God all the time - at school, at home, with my friends.

And I meant it . . . unless pleasing God meant giving up something I wanted to do.

After a few years of making resolutions and failing miserably at keeping them, I learned that making resolutions didn't make me good. In fact, they seemed to point out to me what a failure I really was. Resolutions didn't teach me anything except that I couldn't keep them.

I had good intentions but I seemed to never live up to my own expectations. All those resolutions didn't fix my problems or temptations or bad habits. The problem with my resolutions is that they were based on my trying to do things in my own strength.

I've never done well in my own strength.

But one New Year's Day back in 1978, I was in a car filled with college students as we were coming home from a Cru student conference. I remember leaning my head on the window in the backseat, staring out, and thinking about my life.

I had grown up in a good home, I was taught right from wrong, I had loving parents, I had a good life. I loved high school and I loved being a college student - I loved my life. I was the kind of girl who didn't think too long or too hard about things and I certainly didn't worry much. But I did have one nagging frustration - my roller coaster life with God.

I had good intentions where God was concerned. I loved His word but I wasn't consistent studying it.

I loved obeying God but I also found it irritating when obedience to Him was in conflict with temptations in my life.

I wanted my unbelieving friends to be believers but I didn't want to make them uncomfortable.

So on that New Year's Day, I was thinking about these things in the car. See, for the couple of months leading up to this day, my world had been turned upside down after I learned that one of my friends was killed in a car accident.

I was trying to make sense of it all. I had a lot of questions. This carefree girl had been worrying and thinking long and hard. God knew. And He answered a lot of my questions at that conference. It was like I was the only one there and many of my worries were abated.

But I had one worry that wouldn't leave. I was so afraid that once I got back home or back to campus, I would get right back on the roller coaster. Good intentions gone awry.

BUT. GOD. He heard the pleas of my heart. I was pleading with - no, I was begging Him to make my life count and to never be ashamed to speak of Him or live for Him.

I usually think about that car trip every New Year's Day. God is so very faithful. He crashed that roller coaster back then. My life changed. My life had a plumb line - one that I was beginning to understand. Because I came to a better understanding of the grace of God, His unmerited favor in my life, His unconditional love for me, His choosing me before the foundation of the world that I would be holy and blameless before Him - all this according to the kind intention of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace . . .

I came to a new understanding of my redemption. And I wanted to live all my days for Him - whether I lived to see another New Year or not.

Well, it's been 34 years since that day and I haven't been on a roller coaster since. Ups and downs in life? Oh yes. BUT. GOD.

I've never liked roller coasters or making resolutions anyway. Happy New Year.

Pretty Normal

2011-12-19T19:08:00.000-08:00

So I was in Atlanta last week for the birth of Grace Catherine Broggi. My son Jordan and his wife, Maureen, had their fourth baby. It was such a sweet time with them and I can't believe my son has four little ones! Seems like yesterday I was having my fourth baby and now I have seven grandchildren.

I'm getting old. I don't feel it. In fact, every time I am with my grandchildren, I feel like I've jumped in a time travel machine - the years roll back and I'm right there again. And you know what helps with that? Leggings and tunic tops! Why, you ask? Well, they were a fashion statement in the eighties when my children were little - I lived in them - and they're back . . .

Anyway, Jack and Luke came back to Beaufort with us for a few days. It's always fun to have them. Always. I absolutely love it.

And so on this trip, I had not yet gotten a Christmas tree nor had I hung the stockings. Don't judge me, please. See, I purchased this little 3 foot tree last year - it looks SO REAL and I put it on a table and it made me feel all festive. And then with Josh Groban holiday music playing on Pandora all the time - well, let's just say my home seemed Christmasy even without a big tree.

But last night I told Jack and Luke that TODAY, I would get out my box of special ornaments that Grandma Hill made and they could help me put them on my little tree. And we when got a bigger tree, we'd move them. So first thing this morning, they were helping me put Grandma Hill's crochet ornaments on my tree.

They were fascinated with the fact that she made them by hand so many years ago and that I still had a box full of them. How did she make them? What is crochet? That was hard, wasn't it? That took a lot of time, didn't it? That was a special thing, wasn't it? Did you thank her for them?

I told them how my grandma liked to be busy with her hands and she loved to make things for her family. After we placed all those ornaments on the tree, we then hung the stockings she made. I told them I only had five because she reached a point in her life when she couldn't crochet anymore. My mom made our last two stockings.

They asked many questions about Grandma Hill. They both said they wished they knew her. "Was I just a little baby when she died?" Jack asked. "How about me?" Luke added.

"Oh no, Jack and Luke, y'all weren't even born. Your parents weren't married yet. Grandma Hill died in 1998 - think about it this way, Uncle Jameson was 4 years old, almost 5 - that's how long ago it was."

"Oh," they said. So then we talked about getting old and dying. We talked about how sin spoiled everything - and that was sad - but we also talked about how God redeems everything. It's so obvious to me how Jordan and Maureen have been teaching the Bible to them. And seriously, I was thinking how that's the way it's supposed to be. Psalm 78 lived out.

The next thing they asked about Grandma Hill was, "What do you think she's doing in heaven?"

"Enjoying Jesus. And . . . waiting for us! You'll know her one day."

That will be fun.

Then they wanted to know how old she would be if she were still alive, "You know, alive on earth?"

I said, "Ninety-nine."

"That's old!"

And that launched into a conversation about me - Amma - and how I was old - imagine that - but not that old. Oh good.

Not yet, anyway. They told me how they wanted to bring their grandchildren to see me one day.

I said, "I probably won't be around then, boys or if I am, I'll be really, really old like Grandma Hill if she were alive."

Jack said, "I'm glad you're not that old now. Cause you do things with us. And you don't look old either."

Wow. Earlier they told me I was old. But now, they were telling me I didn't look old. This was good.

This was starting to sound like a compliment . . . so to further this complimentary conversation, I asked, "So, since you don't think I look old, you must think I look young. Do you think I look young, Jack?"

Big mistake.

He replied laughing just a little, "No, Amma, you don't look young - you just look normal."

"Normal? Are you sure I don't look young?"

"No, Amma, I said you look normal."

Now Luke, who had been quietly working on ornaments and stockings most of the time, finally added with a flare, "Amma, don't you know you look pretty normal?"

I guess so.

I walked into the kitchen and looked at myself in a mirror. Hmmm, the boys were right. I don't look young. I've certainly got those fifty-something lines, wrinkles, and a few gray hairs. And yeah, those will increase as the years go by . . . until the Lord either takes me home or He comes for His church.

So I guess for now, I look pretty normal.

Luke had said "Amma, don't you know you look pretty normal?" But I know what he meant. He meant pretty AND normal.

At least that's how I'm taking it!

Let Your Child Teach You

2011-12-05T11:35:00.000-08:00

My child taught me something about twenty-two years ago. She was four at the beginning of the teaching.

Then she grew to be seventeen and there was a moment in my life when I paused and reflected on a seemingly nothing event.

The day her lesson sunk in was the morning I did the ordinary thing of making a bed. A mundane mothering task.

I made GraceAnna’s bed. She had to leave early so I decided to straighten her room before she came home. And there I saw Bunny tangled in the covers where she had obviously fallen from the shelf above the bed. My mind drifted to the time . . .

Not long after we moved to Beaufort, four-year-old GraceAnna and I were shopping in the old Roses department store. GraceAnna noticed a little nothing of a stuffed bunny and asked if she could hold it.

I said yes, just for a moment, because we had lots of shopping to do. In that moment, fresh memories of GraceAnna’s tears just weeks before our move flooded to my mind. I remembered seeing my little girl cry as we drove away from a cat she loved and the only home she had ever known.

Now we were in this new place ~ she missed the cat, her street, her house, her Texas. I looked at the bunny. It wasn’t the cutest and I wondered, “Out of all the stuffed animals, why did she choose that one?“

To look at her hold the bunny, you would have thought she had found a long lost friend. And that’s all it took ~ Bunny came home with us. This bunny was nothing special - really, it wasn't. It was a no-name brand, it was not expensive or exquisite. It was not from a boutique or a specialty store and it probably wouldn't last long. I could already see it disintegrating before my eyes or at best ~ ending up as clutter. It was so poorly made. So cheap. Before purchasing it, I offered to buy some markers instead of the bunny. But no, GraceAnna had set her heart on Bunny.

Some things we’ve purchased for our children as they were growing up have ended up as clutter, but Bunny never did.

Over the years, I patched up Bunny so many times that she seemed to be more trouble than she was worth. My mother patched up Bunny whenever she visited. Bunny's head is coming off. Bunny's ribbon is fraying. Bunny's insides are coming out. Bunny is so dirty. And the one time I tried to wash Bunny was a disaster - both for GraceAnna who had to be tricked so I could put Bunny in the wash and for Bunny, who came out looking worse and I was in a panic as to how I would fix her up. My mom works miracles on sick things - Bunny was no exception.

So on the bed-making day, I looked at Bunny ~ no, I stared at Bunny. She was a mess. Her little body was so tattered and torn. Her fur, if you could call it fur, was so stained and so matted. Her stuffing was coming out and so much of it was missing. But in that moment I really loved her.

And I remembered times over the years when I noticed better bunnies on the shelves at different stores. And I remembered how I sometimes thought it would be so easy to replace Bunny. I bought new, cuter bunnies. Fluffy, soft fur, sweet face, plump clean body ~ some costing so much more than Bunny. I had done that because to me Bunny was so dirty, so worn out, so fragile, not worth much.

I am ashamed to say that now. I should have known better. Yes, perhaps Bunny was dirty, worn out, and fragile to me . . . but to GraceAnna? Bunny was a friend.

Bunny was precious when we bought her and Bunny remained precious for ALL of GraceAnna's growing up years. No matter how tattered, torn, dirty, worn out or fragile she became. In fact, the more tattered Bunny became, the more love and care GraceAnna gave her. We even had to dress her in doll clothes to keep her together.

So the day I made up my 17-year-old daughter’s bed, I was careful with Bunny.

I remembered that little 4-year-old so many years ago, gazing into this worthless stuffing and choosing her.

And today? Well, GraceAnna's 26 now, married, has a baby and a home of her home. And me? I was going through GraceAnna's closet and I found Bunny. So I sat down and I loved her and I let my child teach me once more as I remembered the days when it was all about this little stuffed thing.

In so many ways ~ I am like Bunny. I am nothing special. I am tattered, torn, worthless, of little value, needing to be patched up all the time.

Yet, like Bunny, God took notice of me, He chose me, and He purchased me with His very own blood. I belong to Him. I was lost - now redeemed - to be His friend. To Him I am absolutely precious ~ not because of anything found in me but because of everything found in Him.

It’s amazing the way God works in the mundane, everyday, ordinary moments of mothering. When your child is 4, when she is 17, and when she is 26.

Bunny. Love for that little stuffed thing was not based on anything special found in it ~ but on the heart of a little girl. And no matter how tattered and torn Bunny became, the care of it was based on the one who loved it.

And it's so true. God’s love for me is not based on anything special found in me, but on everything found in Him. He says I am His beloved ~ no matter how tattered and torn I become in this life. Why? Because I am His. He has called me by name.

Isaiah 43:1

But now, thus says the LORD, your Creator, O Jacob, And He who formed you, O Israel, "Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine!

Quiet

2011-12-01T18:24:00.001-08:00

It's just hard. Saying goodbye to the house full of my people. My big people. My little people . Those with masculine voices. Those with feminine voices. And I know I will see them again. I will make the effort. But after all of us being together for so many fun noisy crazy days, the quiet that entered when they left seemed unusually lonely this time.

I like quiet when I choose it but I don't like it when it barges into my life, when it follows me around everywhere, whispering to me, sneaking up behind me, reminding me of its silence, forcing me to absorb it. Almost mocking me . . . Ha! They are gone and I am the only one left. It's me . . . And my name is Quiet.

Quiet did that to me to me today. He decided to hang out with me as I cleaned, as I went running, as I answered emails, as I proofed documents, as I ran errands.I got used to his presence, decided to friend him, and tried to accept and understand his benefits. Though I would not deliberately choose to hang out with him, I am learning to be content with him.

Contentment. I will learn it. But . . . I am so much more content when Quiet leaves. And yes, he knows he has to disappear and leave me alone when my children and grandchildren call, when they come home - every time they call my name. When Quiet disappears, I don't miss him. I just miss them.

So today, as soon as the last of my children and grandchildren left, quiet just barged right in. Didn't even ask if he could come. Like an uninvited guest. But in his silence, he made me realize something - because my children are walking with God and doing all the things they ought to be doing, they are the very reason I met quiet. And Iremember how years ago, those same children introduced noise to me and I grew to absolutely love him! He was so much fun - still is.

So now, I'll be content with Quiet's little visits. God uses him to teach me. I am so blessed to have my sons. I am so blessed to have my daughter. I am so blessed to have Chesed and Maureen and Grant. I am so blessed to have my grand boys and girls. I am so blessed to be married to such a good man. Constant noise has faded to occasional visits from quiet. I'll welcome him as long as he doesn't stay too long . . .

Ponderings of a Young Mother

2011-11-16T09:52:00.001-08:00

Dear Audrey,

I agree with you that there is so little encouragement,teaching, and discipleship from older women to younger women but does that meanthat every time an older woman encourages a younger woman by saying that theday is coming when there will be more to her life than diapers - is this wrong?

I think the betterapproach for the older woman would be to encourage the young woman that days ofdiapers are every bit as important as some imagined distant day in thefuture. What if that distant day nevercomes? We are not promised one moreminute. I would rather tell a young momthat diaper days are critical, crucial and very important work.

A young mother should be told that diapering is ministry -see, a woman's perspective needs to be adjusted rather than promising that somefuture day out there that supposedly is better. Even though older women don't mean to, theyare sending the message that life with diapers is a nothing life. God knew what He was doing when Mary's olderwoman, Elizabeth, was diapering at the same time as she was. They were both doing kingdom work right thenand there - not just preparing for the day when Jesus and John could bereleased and they could pursue other things. In fact we see Mary all throughout the life of Jesus - up to the crossand then in the Upper Room at Pentecost. Her mothering never ended. Andsince she had other children, it is safe to assume that she had plenty ofgrandchildren to diaper as she became the older woman of her generation.

Somehow we've got to get past the thinking that the onlykingdom work is the big time or girlfriend time. While Mary mothered Jesus - it was quiet -but it was kingdom work. Only one youngmother raised THE SAVIOR, but all the others who have raised children are raising little men and women to be usedof God in this wicked and perverse generation. None of us would have ever told Mary that "her day" was comingwhile she had the privilege of changing the diaper of Jesus.

And while we'respeaking of diapers - what's wrong with that anyway? What's wrong with rocking and cuddling andanswering 100+ questions, and wiping snotty noses, cleaning up throw-up, andplaying blocks on the floor? This iskingdom work. And it's not justsomething to get through so you can get on to something bigger. This is big.

Can't we have older women helping us to learn our jobs asmothers and giving us hope that one day we will have the option of doing otherthings as the Lord leads?

What other things are you speaking of? See, as a woman grows and learns her job as amother - there will be a whole new generation of young mothers who need betaught and it is the older woman's job to teach, encourage, and trainthem.

Still, your question sounds as though raising children is just something to get through and "hope for that one day when we will have the option of doing other things." I personally don't ever want to get rusty in mothering. All my children are grown now - I'm still their mother - and I pray for them EVERY DAY. And now that I'm a grandmother? I'm realizing even more that my mothering will never be over or finished till God takes me home or Jesus comes backs for His church. Whichever comes first, I want to finish my assignment focused. I want to give my all, as God enables me, to my daughter, my daughters-in-law - I want to be all there for them, to help them navigate all the things life throws at them. I want to be an encourager, a teacher of good things, always always pointing them to God, who is faithful. This is not a time in my life to get lazy about God's assignment for women.

There's a whole new generation of little women growing up and I'm still here . . .

Struggles with the Calling

2011-11-13T16:59:00.000-08:00

I received the following as part of a long letter from a very perceptive young woman. She asked so many great thought-provoking questions and today's post is my answer to a part of her letter:

Do you honestly feelas though every woman will LOVE mothering? My sister struggles. She lovesher children, she loves her family, but she doesn't love the job ofmothering. I know older ladiesthat gave their children their all, but they are glad that season is overwith. They don't miss the diapers, thedirty dishes, or constant laundry....but they were diligent and committedduring that season.

If I had some time with your sister, I would ask her why she struggles. And I would listen to her answer. Then I would ask if there is a misplacedlonging to be somewhere other than where God has placed her.

See, I really believe that one of the reasons somany young women struggle with "wifing" and mothering is because we want so manyother things. Husband and baby get in theway. Women want it all. Please understand, there is nothing wrong with pursuing interests - seriously - there isn't. BUT, interests can be set aside - they can wait. A mother has to remember that her family is not "an interest." If we invest too much of our time in our interests - our families will suffer.

Here’s the thing - if you have a husband and children, theyare your ministry - they are your fulltime job - and a fulltime job cannot bedone properly in a woman's spare time. Mothering is not a hobby - it is a calling. If God has given children to you, then you are called to be a mother. Period.

And if we struggle with the calling, we have to ask God togive us the heart for His calling in our lives. We have to ask Him to give us undivided hearts.

Yes, there are struggles with any calling and/or job. I immediately think of Jonah whom God calledto go to Ninevah but he did not want to go. His struggle with his calling didn't relieve him of his responsibilityor his obedience to God. God saidgo. God put that calling on Hislife.

Most women, I believe, just need a fresh perspective aboutthis high and holy calling. God neverpromised us that being a wife or mother or homemaker would be easy. What job is? I mean, really? In fact, God'scurse on women was in these very areas. God didn't change His plan because Evesinned - she'd still be a helper to her husband and mother to children - yetnow these areas in her life would bring struggle. This is the VERY REASON God says that youngwomen must be taught even to love their husbands and children. This is the very reason older women aresupposed to know doctrine as it relates to home and family. Temperaments have nothing to do with it. I constantly have to bring my feelings,attitudes, and selfishness under the scrutiny of God's Word. He is the One Who gave this calling to women -not me.

I am a sinful fallen woman who wants what I want - yet Godhasn't given up on me. Satan is alwaysthere tempting women to place everything and anything above His calling - evengood, spiritual things. He hatesEVERYTHING God loves. He wants to ruinEVERYTHING God planned. We have todecide if we want to cooperate with God or the evil one.

If you have children, mothering them is not a choice – it isyour calling. God is the author oflife. He is the One Who opens and closesthe womb even though we think we have it all under control.

He wants His people to raise a godly heritage and once againthis job cannot be done in our spare time.

We're seeing the consequences, as a nation, of womencelebrating and worshiping themselves so much that they don't invest the besthours of their days to their families.

And please understand, just because a woman is past the diapering,dirty dishes, constant laundry stage in her own life (though frankly, I don'tknow if that ever ends unless you isolate yourself from people), doesn't meanthat any of those tasks were demeaning or beneath her. Those very things are humble service - a wayto demonstrate to our families what Jesus taught when He poured water into thebasin, and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towelwith which He was girded.

Women have far too long screamed for the place of honor -rather than humble service. It is in thehome we learn to be like Jesus. Anywoman can be “all spiritual” with her Christian friends at a women'sretreat. But the rubber meets the roadin the home. I could teach on this therest of my life and still not even scratch the surface.

Finish the Blankets

2011-11-05T19:01:00.000-07:00

Chesed and I had just worked out a goodhalfway point to meet for a Lois trade-off. In case that doesn't make sense tosome of you who are reading this, let me explain.

Jeremy and Chesed lived in DC. I say "lived" because they now live in Boston. Loiswas just getting old enough to visit with Carl and me all by herself. Sothis past summer when Carl and I made a trip to see Jeremy and Chesed, Lois came back withus to stay a few days. Chesed figured out that the Cracker Barrel inWilson, NC was a good halfway meeting spot - about 4 hours for the both of us. We did it once.

Then Jeremy got accepted to Harvard Law andthey moved to Boston. Now DC is the halfway spot. Wow - howdisappointing is that (not the moving but the distance) - not a drive we can do in one day. So, now I findmyself using Airfare Watchdog because I am aching to travel to Boston - I want to be apart of Lois' and Ruth's lives. I will be a part of their lives - God willing.

I learned how to search for cheap ticketswhen Jordan was at Harvard and now I'm doing it again. I'm familiar with LoganAirport and I know where the Starbucks is.

I've been doing this since the birth of myfirst grandchild. I flew to Detroit, then Boston, and now make the driveto Atlanta. I bring a child or two or three back with me - and Augusta isthe meeting place for the Jack/Luke/Claire trade-off. I love the drive onSC 68 - I always notice the little towns and the cows in the open fields justbefore the Savannah River Site - and I particularly love seeing the littlecountry churches.

Having time with my grandchildren is highon my priority list. I think it's because I know the Scripture - this ispart of God's plan - to invest, impart, spend time with, leave a legacy in thelives of your children's children - and the ones yet to born. But I knowit's also because of the sweet time I had with my grandma.

When I was a little girl, Grandma Hill lived 4 miles down the road. I could get off the school bus with AuntNelva if I wanted time with her - which I did - a lot. I would help herin the kitchen and the garden, try to catch the cats (she never wantedthem to be pets - only useful in the barn), and do whatever she asked me to do. I thought it was so fun just to hang with her - I never really knew I wasworking. Not with her. Now I knew all about work with Granddaddy Hill- in tobacco - in the hot summer. But that's another story.

Granddaddy and Grandma Hill. 1982. With Jeremy.

I only knew one of my grandmas because Daddy'smama, Grandma McKay, died when I was 3 years old. I have a vague memory ofsitting in her lap in a rocking chair during a thunderstorm. She was singingand humming. She was comforting to me because I was intensely afraid ofthunderstorms. But that's all I remember. I do think that made a lastingimpression on me.

To this day, one of my favorite things todo is rock my grandchildren and sing to them.

Daddy told me Grandma McKay was in herearly fifties when she died. I don't remember that. I don'tremember missing her at the time. But I have missed her since. Ihave missed knowing her.

But, in God's sovereign plan, He gaveMama's mama to me. And she lived to see all of my children. She made ablanket for each one of them (as she did for all in her family). Shewould start a blanket as soon as she learned of a new pregnancy. EvenJameson knew her - even Jameson received a blanket from her. I rememberhow she gave it to me before he was born because as she said, "What if Godtakes me home before I finish it? Or what if I'm not able? I want tofinish it so I have to work now, while I have the time."

Jameson was born in 1993. She died in1998, just a few days before his 5th birthday. But she had a brain aneurysm acouple of years before she died and it greatly affected her ability to crochetand knit. She lived with the reality time was slipping by.

All of my children loved her and in typicalGrandma Hill fashion, she could make each one of them feel like he/she was the most special person in the world.

Man, I miss her. I'm thankful my childrenknew her and wanted to visit with her. She always seemed so happy to seethem. She gave "hmmm, hmmm" hugs and kisses. She lavished love. She just did. I wish my grandchildren knewher.

But in a sense they do - because theyknow me. I see Grandma Hill's style coming out all over the place. I learned how to be a grandma from her.

I've always wanted to be asspecial to my grandchildren as she was to me. I hope I'm doing a good job.

I've been thinking how times have changed.Distance. Flights. Skype. FaceTime. It's not the same as 4 miles down theroad.

I sometimes want to reach back in time andtravel those 4 miles again - which eventually stretched to 130 miles when ourfamily moved to North Carolina. Then the distance stretched to hundredsand hundreds as my young family moved to Texas before coming back to SouthCarolina. But I always made time to see Grandma Hill and let my childrenknow her. Now I do the same with my mama and daddy. When I have mygrandchildren, we go see my parents. They lavish love on them.

I had a lot of time with Grandma Hill. I had barely any time with Grandma McKay. And I think - if all mygrandchildren had of me was the time we've already spent together - whatimpression would they carry their whole lives? What would they tell theirchildren? What kind of legacy have I given them already?

Back in 1980, when I became a wife - lovingand helping my husband became my agenda, my job.

Then God added more responsibility to myjob when I became a mother. My children became my agenda.

1988. With Grant.

They still are. I would drop ANYTHING to doANYTHING for them. And now? Their children are part of my agenda. They areALWAYS on my mind.

I only have a little time. I want to"finish the blankets" because - what if God takes me home before Ifinish? To live for Christ and to take His assignment in my lifeseriously is cause to live everyday to the fullest. To have my mind andheart set on His agenda is what I care about.

I know - my mindset is different than somany in the fifty-plus generation today. No, I don't want to just play -unless the playing involves building into my children's and grandchildren'slives. Yes, I want to go to the beach but most of the time, I want tobuild sandcastles with a 3-year-old.

I want to ride a bike but I want todo with a child. I want to pick up the pecans that are falling fast andfuriously in my yard but I like it best when I have a few grandchildren helpingme because we talk about God and life. I want to bake a cake with alittle person licking the bowl.

I want to draw pictures and teach the Bibleto children who are hearing the great stories for the first time and who arenot bored. I want to make shapes out of rice crispies and marshmallows for adaddy's birthday. I want to mail surprises to a little girl who isobsessed with cats. I want to get out the felt board and puzzles and -well, you get the picture.

I only have a short time to do these things- and one day, if the Lord hasn't taken me home and if I'm able, I'll havegreat grandchildren and it will all continue . . . until . . .

There's song called 100 Years by Five forFighting. One of the lyrics is "When you've only got 100 years tolive." I love the song but the reality is that most of us do nothave 100 years. We have 70 and if due to strength 80. That's thetruth of Psalm 90. God may give us less or He may give us more - BUT Hecalls all of us to live our lives for Him. I think the song isencouraging because it is a reminder.

My Jordan

2011-11-02T06:00:00.000-07:00

I wrote this post 2 years ago - and as birthdays do, they keep coming. Jordan is such a great man, great husband, great father, great son.

Here's to Jordan:

OK, so I've really thinking about my children today. Especially Jordan. He burst onto the scene 26 years ago TODAY. Labor began on Halloween back in 1983 but after several back-and-forths to the hospital and finally an emergency c-section, he arrived into the world at 2:01 in the afternoon on November 2nd. My Jordan-baby. At least that's what just-about-2-year-old Jeremy began to call him. When he was born, he made my day.

Jordan. Carl and I were always very deliberate about our children's names. We not only wanted to like how the name sounded, but more importantly we wanted to love what the name meant.

Jordan is Hebrew masculine and its origin is from the Jordan River which flows between the countries of Jordan and Israel; its literal meaning is "descending." Especially important to us were all the miracles that happened at the Jordan River and the fact the John the Baptist baptized Jesus in its waters. And Patrick? It means "nobleman." We liked the way it sounded with Jordan and we especially thought Jordan P. Broggi had a nice ring to it. Then there was Carl's grandfather whose name was Patrick. And then there was Saint Patrick who is credited with bringing Christianity to Ireland. So we decided on Jordan Patrick Broggi.

Jordan. I've always said, "Every family needs a Jordan." But not just any Jordan - every family needs my kind of Jordan. My happy Jordan, my quick-to-make-me-smile Jordan, my making-up-funny-stories Jordan, and my brighten-the-darkest days Jordan. The Jordan who's also hard-working, driven, and such a great husband and daddy. Married to beautiful Maureen. Daddy to Jack, Luke, and now Claire.

I remember when we took Jeremy to college. After getting him settled and doing all the stuff parents do when a child begins the process of leaving home, we drove away. When I could see him no more, I began to cry and couldn't seem to stop. It felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. That's when I heard Jordan say, "Gee, Mom, the way you're crying, you'd think you left me there, not Jeremy."

I laughed so hard. He made my day.

I think though, that one of the most rewarding moments for me as Jordan's mom, was when he invited me to go with him to one of his classes at Harvard. When the professor asked Jordan for an introduction of his guest, my son said, "This is my mom, Audrey Broggi, and she is an educator. I thought she would especially enjoy this class because she has educated my siblings and me at home since we were in first grade."

All the students began to clap. I was stunned. Stunned not only because I was sitting in a Harvard Business School class being applauded by Jordan's classmates but also (and mostly) because my son seemed genuinely proud of me. And as I looked over at him, all the doubts I'd ever had about the way I mothered him faded away with the applause. Once again, he made my day.

That's my Jordan.

Thoughts from a Homeschooling Mom

2011-10-24T19:06:00.000-07:00

So I hosted a homeschooling conference for moms back in 1998. The following article is one I wrote for the appendix section in the notebooks I gave out at the event. I know not everyone home schools - but since we did, I get asked about it a lot. I didn't do everything right. I often felt like a failure. I often took my eyes off Jesus - but He always brought my vision back into focus. He helped me. He did it through me. My children are so much better than I will ever hope to be. My prayer is that these thoughts will encourage you whether you homeschool or not. I called this article "Homeschooling Stumbling Blocks." These 13 years later, I still stand by them.

Homeschooling Stumbling Blocks

· Not seeking the Lord about His will for your family

· Borrowing someone else’s convictions

· Expecting your first year to go as smoothly as those who have been at it a while

· Homeschooling without husband’s approval

· Disorganization or unwillingness to plan and organize your days

· Undisciplined kids

· Comparing yourself to others

· Floating from one curriculum to another

· Failure to develop your own educational philosophy -why you do what you do

· Failure to connect with other homeschoolers for support and encouragement

· Failure to give your children the time they need

· Making your children your altar -- in the past, families were neglected on the altar. Both extremes are wrong. Our families should be involved with us in ministry. It is the Lord Christ Whom we serve.

· Not having a proper balance of work/academics/ministry. Successful homeschooling will incorporate all three.

· Not being an integral part of a local church -- God instituted the church. I think it is tragic when homeschoolers become isolated and form their own homeschooling churches. Instead of coming under the leadership of a Bible-teaching church and using their gifts to build up the body, they gather in what they call “house churches.” Most of this is totally unbiblical. I would encourage you to get involved in a good local church, commit yourselves to serving there and watch God bless your family. Your family needs to be fragrant aroma -- not a divisive spirit. And your children need to see and be a part of your active role in the local church that God appointed. If you have a legitimate concern about the direction of your church or ministries that you personally don’t take part in, go to your leaders in humility -- pray for your leaders -- but don’t be a gossip and a tale-bearer and complainer! If your church is straying from the truth of God’s Word, then that is another issue. You should find another church (or perhaps start one -- open to all) just like everyone else, homeschooling or not. But if your church has godly leadership you need to be a support and help just like all the saints Paul mentions by name in the New Testament who “supported the work of the Lord.” He also mentions “brothers and sisters” who were troublemakers. Let your children see your biblical involvement in Christ’s body. This is another part of explaining to your children the “Joshua 4” principle. And that’s leads up to the next stumbling block:

· A divisive/critical spirit

· An air of superiority concerning certain types of curriculum. God is very creative and He leads people to use different things. One style or one type is not better than another. We are to encourage one another; not become prideful over curriculum choices -- that’s silly!! As you begin to homeschool, you’ll hear lots of terms like “living books” (Charlotte Mason coined the phrase). In it simplest form, it just means is that you are exposing your children to biographies and accounts of the events and people of history as opposed to just reading a segmented portion in a textbook. Many “homeschoolers” are opposed to textbooks altogether, but I feel that approach is like throwing the baby out with the bath water. Textbooks can be a launching pad, a springboard, to get you started. In a textbook, someone has taken the time to organize the defining moments and people of history, science, literature and I find textbooks to be very helpful. Remember, any curriculum will work if you are excited about it and get into your child’s life. If textbooks are all you have, use them to your advantage and visit the library. Don’t feel like you are less of a “true homeschooler” because you aren’t “doing your own thing.”

· Becoming so serious that you’re no fun!!

· Relying too much on learning modalities or personality profiles -- while these can be helpful; my own personal opinion is that too often they become a distraction. Walk with God. Grow in the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ. Just get to know your kids. Spend time with them. You’ll do fine. God’s Word says nothing about learning styles, modalities, or personality profiles. But He says everything about the fruit of the Spirit and becoming like Jesus.

· Making law out of things that God does not specifically address: homeschoolers do this a lot concerning food choices, clothing choices (I’m not talking about modesty here), make-up, courtship/dating, breastfeeding, home births, baking bread (for goodness sake!), music, group activities among teens, age segregation (our families do not have to be together at all times -- this is an extreme). Most of the time it is a reaction to the fragmented culture we live in. We are not to run to extremes; we are to be sober-minded and weigh our decisions based on God’s Word,

· Arrogance toward those who do not homeschool

· Crowding life with activities that don’t fit with God’s purpose

· Exclusive relationships -- an attitude of being better than others

· Judging other people’s children

· Being so consumed with “doing school,” there’s no joy. Love life! Live life with your children and learn along the way - even when not at the books.

· Saying no to ministry opportunities without thinking

· Unrealistic expectations -- there is a difference between living a life of expectancy and placing unrealistic expectations on yourself and others. If I don’t expect my husband to meet all my needs, then I won’t be disappointed when he can’t. If I don’t expect my house to look like House Beautiful, then I won’t be disappointed when it doesn’t; If I don’t expect my children to be perfect, then I won’t be disappointed when they’re not. The most unhappy people are those who live with unrealistic expectations. But the most content are those who live with a sense of expectancy about what God wants to do and can do in their lives. That’s called faith. And without faith, it is impossible to please God. If I expect interruptions, messes, bad hair days, feeling tired, growing old, dirty floors, noise, then I have a lot better chance of living happily. Abraham Lincoln once said, “Most people are just about as happy as they make up their minds to be.” I agree. The Bible calls it contentment. “Godliness with contentment is great gain.”

· Lack of prayer and dependence on the Lord is probably the biggest stumbling block for both those new to homeschooling and those who have been at it a long time. As I write this, we are finishing our tenth year of homeschooling let me remind you, we are still in process -- we haven’t arrived; we are always learning. And we’ll always be in process. We depend on God for our daily bread. Yes we plan, organize and schedule our days and years but God directs our steps -- one baby step at a time.

So that was my article. And now, after finishing our 23rd year of homeschooling, I am still in process. I am still learning.

Homeschooling a Preschooler

2011-10-22T12:35:00.000-07:00

I wrote the following fifteen years ago.

Now that I’m starting over (after 9 years of homeschooling) with a fresh-faced little preschooler (Jameson is 3), here’s an overview of my preschool curriculum and what I’m doing:

I’m spending a lot of time re-reading Ruth Beechick’s books: A Strong Start in Language, An Easy Start in Arithmetic, and A Home Start in Reading.

I’m spending lots of time reading fun, yet loosely-defined-educationally-minded books to Jameson such as The Three Billy Goats Gruff, Bob Books, Basic readers, Bible stories, The Little Engine That Could , Little Bear books, and everything written by Shirley Hughes.

I’m taking more interest in nature (again), such as turning over logs and bricks to find worms, staring at the detail in a bug’s back, discussing spider webs and granddaddy longlegs, and “Why do butterflies do their wings like that?” and “Why do ants like to bite me -- do they think I’m yummy?”

I’m collecting leaves, playing with dirt, making mud pies, and saying “ha - yah!” while waving a stick in the air. (It’s quite fun.)

I’m answering a lot of “why” questions that I thought I answered already.

I’m playing with bristle buddies, building towns with blocks, setting up train tracks, speaking for a plastic person.

I’m playing with water and measuring cups.

I’m getting dirty -- a lot.

I’m enjoying pretend food. I’m enjoying pretend people. I’m pretending -- a lot.

I’m painting with watercolors, using templates and tracearounds, drawing letters in the dirt and with chalk on the sidewalk.

I’m correcting a lot. I’m establishing my authority. I’m training my little boy.

I’m saying, “What a good boy! That pleases the Lord! That pleases Mommy! I’m so happy when you take turns. I’m glad you listened to your teacher.”

I’m saying, “What a naughty thing you did! You displeased the Lord.”

I’m looking at the sky to find funny shapes in the clouds. I’m noticing street signs and colors and dogs and cats and the man with the green hat or the big moustache in a fresh way.

I’m talking about how God made the world and how much He loves us.

“How did God put the stars in the sky? Did He glue them?”

I’m apologizing -- a lot. I’m seeing new areas of selfishness in my life.

I’m praying for the stuff hanging on our walls, one at a time.

I’m dressing and playing with teddy bears and bean bag cats.

I’m singing Who Made Mountains with the hand motions. I’m dancing in the living room again. I’m dancing everywhere again. Jameson laughs, but come to think of it, the rest of the family laughs too -- I wonder why?

I’m watching Lady and The Tramp, Charlotte’s Web, and Psalty again.

I’m bouncing balls, playing London Bridge, listening to Raffi, and making cookies -- a lot.

I’m finding great pleasure in watching a leaf bug walk across my porch for a long time.

I’m leaving a spider web suspended in the corner of the porch beside the laundry room window because there are baby spiders in an egg sack and it looks like a paper bag. Some people might think it looks like we don’t clean the porch but we know better.

I called the Mama spider “Leafy” because my Jameson called it “Leafy” and he cares about the babies. So do I. So does Carl. Leafy’s gone now but the egg sack is still there. What will happen to those babies?

I’m squeezing fat cheeks, holding little hands, hugging a little body, teaching a little mind, loving a little guy, shaping a little life, preparing a little preschooler for a lifetime of learning. Is that all? My God says He has set eternity in our hearts -- and for me, my greatest joy is knowing that God will use all of the above not only to educate my little guy but to help me build a relationship with him and to keep me fresh. God uses the time I spend getting into his world to allow Jameson to trust me -- to want to be with me -- and to remind me of His great love for children. I can just imagine the Savior of the world watching a leaf bug walk across the porch with a preschooler. After all, He took the time to create that bug and to create childhood. But by far, the greatest thing I’m doing, with grace for each moment, is preparing Jameson for eternity -- and that is my preschool curriculum.

Lessons from a Cat

2011-10-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

I thought about this cat we used to have. This beautiful orange cat who used to be excitedjust to be alive. I miss him. At one time in his life, he liked to catchmice; in fact, he seemed to like roughing it outside. There was a time when we had to call him and call him tocome eat the cat food we were trying to provide for him. Hewould rather chase and kill bugs, find disgusting mice and birds, and bring themup to the door to show us before he ate them. Actually, he was very useful to us. And his bed? Well, he used to likethe dirt and grass in the back yard – until he discovered the deck.

Then my sonJameson began to bring him in the house on occasion. Jameson also began to buy cat treats with his own hard-earned money. Well, the cat got used to carpet andcomforters on beds and fancy food in a cat dish.

Then he enjoyed lying around and having us bring his food to him and then he would decide whetherit was worth eating. When Jameson got tired of buying the fancy treats, fat cat started looking atthe regular food as if to say, “You expect me to eat this?” This, from a cat who used to be content withroaches.

He lost his contentment with animalthings. He wanted people things.

When I think about our cat, I think of how he is such a picture of people. In his early years, he was so happy just to be alive. He liked a pat on the head. A scratch under his ears. Some simple food. The warm sun.

The more we petted him, the more he seemed to demand to be petted. The more food we provided, the more he expected to receive. The more he had, the more ungrateful he seemed. Of course, it didn't matter to us because we adored this big lovable goof even if he, at times, was ungrateful. He was ours. We loved him.

And I was so so very sad when he died.

See, my cat was also a very good example for me. Like he did, I have Someone Who provides for me, calls me, feeds me, saved me, gives me warm sunshine, a bed, a life, a house, and freedom to live in the greatest country on earth. And that's just a start.

I don't want to be ungrateful. But so often I am.

Paul, who was in prison, wrote these words:

11 Not that I speak from want, for Ihave learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am.

I'm still learning.

Early Days

2011-10-07T09:34:00.000-07:00

Our family moved to South Carolina in in the summer of 1990 when my oldest child was eight. We had four little ones at the time and I was extremely focused on being Carl’s helper and my children’s mother.

In those early years as the new pastor’s wife, I taught children – both at home and in the church. Loved it. Still do.

After a few years and as our church was growing, some of the younger women asked me if I would teach mothering principles. I took their request to heart and began thinking through the most important things I had learned about mothering.

I began to write those thoughts down. That began my journey of writing and teaching a 6-week Bible study for mothers in my home. During those days, our fifth child was born and when he was a few months old, I invited women to my home in the afternoon for what I thought would only be a one time six-week Bible study to share with them the most important things I was learning. I was in process just like they were – I did not know all the answers – it was like sharing my journey as I was living and obeying what I knew.

It was a sweet time. My children helped me host the Bible study and they are the ones who took care of their baby brother upstairs during the study.

On that first day, my living room was packed. Women were crowded in the hall and kitchen. I was overwhelmed as I realized the longing of young mothers to obey God, know His word, and apply it in their lives.

I remember typing out notes and handing out copies that Kim Ray printed for me. I wasn’t professional about it. I just wanted to encourage women – I wanted to do it from my home – with my children helping me.

What I thought would be one Bible study turned into my teaching the same material periodically. I don’t remember how many studies I held in my home – but I do remember when our church built our first building, I began teaching it periodically there because it was a more central location – made it easier for women to come.

And they did.

At some point, God brought Lisa Kindwall to one of those Bible studies. She was a tremendous encouragement to me. Then my husband and Lisa, at different times, suggested that I teach the Bible study in a conference format. Friday night and Saturday. What? I was so nervous. My mom came. I love her for many reasons – but I especially loved her then.

Lisa was so instrumental. She put professionalism on my casual approach. Professionalism in the sense that she came up with many ideas that I still use as I teach at Woman’s Life or anywhere, for that matter. I am grateful to this day for her help in those early days of ministry.

After the first conference, I didn’t realize how much I would be teaching women. Things grew. I taught more and more. My children did ministry with me. They worked in children’s classes, ran the sound, encouraged. No way could I have taught the first thing without them. They put everything to the test. They were my biggest fans and my biggest encouragers.

Once, I was asked to teach at a Cru staff wives conference. It was there where the women presented me with a chalk/watercolor version of the header at the top this site (it's been tweaked a little). The original was done on some kind of large paper, which GraceAnna and I rolled up and brought home and eventually I had it laminated.

We still hang it in the Atrium at church for promoting the Mothering from the Heart Bible study each time I teach it. And if you look closely at it, you can see the paper wrinkles underneath the lamination.

God brought other women to make things more lovely. I am so grateful for the talents of a friend, Nancy Lynch, who painted several beautiful banners to help promote women’s events at church. Conferences. Spring Tea. In those days, we hung them near the street for women to see as they drove by. What woman would not admire her work?

She even painted a stunning, sparkling version of the header at the top of this page. What a gift. I wish I still had that banner. I don’t know what happened to it. And believe me, I have searched and searched for it because I would still be using it.

Then at some point, God brought Rhonda Morris in my life. She created Titus 2 silhouettes which she framed and gave to me as a gift. I asked her if she could take the image of the mother and child and cross and do a silhouette. She did. That is the image you see at the top of the Mothering from the Heart Facebook page.

I wish I had kept a timeline of all that has happened over the years with exact dates and pictures. I wish I did. What I am sharing today is all from my not-so-perfect memory. I don't remember everything but I am so grateful.

God used and continues to use so many talents, gifts, and hearts of many women. God knows who they are and what they have done and are doing for His kingdom.

I love Hebrews 6:10

God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them.

Some Women I Admire

2011-10-05T19:07:00.000-07:00

This post is a simple list of women I know and admire. They are listed in no particular order. Some I know well, others barely. Some older, some younger. The top of this list, of course, are the women in my family - Mama, Hope, GraceAnna, Maureen, and Chesed.

But this list is not about them.

I am teaching Biblical Friendship at Woman's Life - and as I wrote and worked through the first message, I have been thinking of many women outside of my family that God has brought into my life - who have enriched me, challenged me, made me laugh, made me think, made me re-evaluate, made me "shape up." These are just a few I've been thinking about lately and next to their names, I wrote the first thoughts that came to my mind when I typed their names. I think I'm going to do this periodically because there are so many more women who mean so much to me . . . this is only the beginning . . .

Gaye Spann - Such an encourager.

Stephanie Fowler - Friend for life.

Charlotte Cushman - Helper. Funny. Gets it.

Michelle Young - Got to know this woman working with her on Wednesday nights with the children. For years. And she took the challenge to memorize Psalm 34. And said it in front of all the children. Love.

Brittany Sutton - Sincere. Lovely. Heart for God.

Sarah Jayne Johnson - Enduring. Happy countenance even in trials. Thinker.

Mariah Bywater - Faithful. Faithful. Faithful service to the Lord whether here or in China.

Deborah Walters - Steadfast. Great hugs. Encouraging words - always.

Gloria Singleton - Cheerleader. Cheerleader. Cheerleader. Smart.

Rose Beck - Happy countenance. Servant.

Claudia Gay - Loyal. Loyal. Loyal

Gaye McNair - My "Lydia" ;-)

Elizabeth Clemmer - Prayer warrior.

Carla Skinner - Teachable. lovable

Julie Fink - Steadfast walk. Never gives up. Cheerful.

Cathy Simmons - Friend for life, no matter what.

Cindy Smith - Makes me laugh. Has my back. Low maintenance.

OK - I've got to do some other things . . . but I'm not finished. Too many great women have touched my life . . .

Luke Time

2011-09-10T10:19:00.000-07:00

Luke came to visit.

On Saturday morning, he helped Granddaddy do yard work. He picked up sticks and though I didn't hear their conversations, I can imagine they discussed what it means to sweat and work hard and what it means to love and live for God.
That would be typical of time with Granddaddy.
I'll have to ask Luke about it later.

On Thursday, we went to Mama and Daddy's. We picked blueberries. The season is almost over but we found a few. Luke ate most of his berries as he picked them and then wondered why he didn't have any to bring home. Of course, when he expressed his sadness over all his berries being gone, Mama went inside and brought out a bag that I guess she had been saving for such "emergencies."

Mama always does things like that.

Luke stayed with Mama while GraceAnna, AudreyKate, and I drove to Florence to run some errands. Mama played little cars with Luke and then Mama and Luke played checkers. Mama said she taught him how. And he won!
He told her, "Let's play again and I'll let you win."

On Friday, Luke and I went to the dock in our neighborhood. It was a fun breezy day.

Luke looked out at the water and at boats in the distance.

Luke wanted to find fiddler crabs. He tried to be still so they would come out, but somehow he just couldn't.

He thought a reed might help.

He looked and looked as he poked around somehow thinking his poking would bring them out. I told him poking around did just the opposite. I think he learned something.

But he kept looking and poking.

He stared in the distance.

I know, it looks like he's fishing but he's crabbing - Luke's way, of course.

We had to move off of the boat ramp when a boater came so we sat in the swing and watched and then decided we'd try to take pictures of ourselves. We'll only post two of them because these are the only ones we like. I especially love Luke's eyes in this one.

Then . . .

We decided to go back on the dock to watch the boater take off. After he left, we decided to relax. Then I got up and sat on the bench and looked out at the water - thinking about how fast time passes. I was thinking about all the times I took Jameson to the dock when he was three on a day just like today - and now he's in college.

This is Luke's photo of me. When I heard the click of my phone, I asked, "What was that?" He said, "I took your picture, Amma." And he actually did. I look so serious. But that's when we both got back down on the floor.

We talked about his rocks and a dime we found. We had been throwing rocks in the water to see whose could "plunk" the loudest. His did.

Luke, the photographer, again. He wanted to take a picture when I was looking at him. He took lots of pictures. I deleted all the ones that captured just my arm or my legs or half my head and the ones with his finger in the lens. Then I thought I should have saved those. Those would have told a better story. After all he is only three. Next time I'll be smarter.

Leaving the dock. He gets to ride. I get to pull. I get lots of good exercise.

At home, cleaning up after lunch.

Being with him has been some of the most refreshing days I have had in a long while.
I needed Luke time. As I write this, I have one more day . . . until . . .

Push Play

2011-08-30T12:13:00.000-07:00

I love the song Just Fishin’. It makes me cry. Every. Time.

This song reminds me of all the minutes, hours, days, months, years God gave me with my children - molding, playing, schooling, reading, singing, nagging, praying, interfering, spanking, hugging, bossing - doing all the things I did that both amused and annoyed them.

But I had an end result in mind. I wanted my children to be a blessing in the world. And I wanted to enjoy them as they made the journey to adulthood. I didn't know how much time I would have with them. I wanted to please Christ with the time He gave me.

So when I hear this song, I cry. Every. Time. To me, the song represents what I always knew - time is ticking.

The end does come. Chapters of a book close. A movie rolls the credits. The last notes of a symphony fade. And the time of my life that I knew would come – has come. My children are grown. Every one.

I mean, I was always conscious, really conscious that it was coming. And because of my mental awareness, I was always pushing the pause button in my life. I wanted to drink in every moment God was giving to me. I wasn't sad that time was ticking - I was only sad if I was wishing for another time of life - like some time in the past or some time in the future. No, I wanted to enjoy my "now" time. I really didn’t want to look back one day and wish I had lived more fully in the present.

So as I woke up each day, I didn’t want to rewind nor did I want to fast forward. I just wanted to push play and live in the present.

However, when life seemed to be on fast forward without any pushing from me - I pressed pause.

For me, I think it was actually the "live deliberately" button.

The present – that’s what we have. Sometimes it's hard. Sometimes it's so painful, we find ourselves wishing for another time. But even in the painful times, God wants us to let Him work. He wants us to be still and know He is God.

The past is good. It gives us a foundation on which to learn from our mistakes and build on our "did-this-right" moments.

The future is good. It gives us a hope on which to plan ahead, number our days, and live with purpose. We can smile as we think about the future. We can smile as we think about the past. But we can only smile at the past and the future if we are living, really living in the present.

I don’t know, God gave and is still giving me a real sense of every-moment-matters. The happy ones. The painful ones.

So when I think about all the amusing and annoying things I did with my children, I am reminded that so much of the time, they thought we were "just fishin'." But actually, we were doing so much more.

So now, as I wake up each day, I'm living in the present. I'm thankful for the foundation of the past, I'm thankful for the hope of the future, but I'm living in the joy of the present.

And you know what? When I spend time with my children's children - they, too, think we're just fishin' . . . but we are doing so much more.

Happy fishin'

Same Love, More Love, Different Love

2011-08-04T08:34:00.001-07:00

So I was thinking about my daughters-in-law this morning and feeling very blessed to have two such wonderful girls married to my sons. I think about how much Chesed is the perfect fit for Jeremy and how much Maureen is the perfect fit for Jordan.

I hear lots of horrid mother-in-law/daughter-in-law stories. And they are just that - horrid. Two women loving the same man - for different reasons.

I had a conversation with my 5-year-old grandson, Jack, a few days ago as he was sitting at my kitchen counter drawing volcanoes.

Jack: Amma, who do you love more - Daddy or Granddaddy?

Me: Well, I love them the same, but the love is different. Your daddy is my son - my little boy all grown up. The love I have for him is a protective love. Your granddaddy is my husband - and the love I have for him is a chosen love.

Jack: Hmmmm . . .

Jack didn't seem too impressed with my answer.

Me: You'll understand what I mean one day when you get married and have children.

Jack: Well, Amma, even when I get married, I'm gonna love my mom more. I will. I just will.

Then he went back to drawing volcanoes.

His words reminded me of conversations I had with my two boys long before they were married. Back in the day when they were little guys. Yeah, they thought they'd always love me more, they just would. They thought they'd always want to live with me and they thought no girl would ever steal their hearts from me. That would be yuck.

But their perspectives changed. Their hearts were turned - even stolen. That's what we pray will happen in the lives of our boys. We try, even in the middle of our sinfulness, to give our sons a role model for choosing a good wife. One who will help and not hinder, one who will encourage and not break down, one who will do him good all the days of his life.

Men forge manhood - but we, in our roles as wives and mothers, are the models for our sons' future wives. We try to be what they will one day want in a wife.

If we're wise, we realize that we give them their first glimpse of womanhood. We realize that as they grow up under our tender mothering, they will one day need a tender mother for their children. We give them a picture of what to look for.

That is a sobering task.

I have often asked myself over the years if I would want my sons to choose someone like me. Would I want them to have the kind of wife that I have been for their dad?

I'm thankful for the goodness of God in bringing these girls to my sons' attention. I'm glad my boys love these girls more and different. I am glad those girls stole my sons' hearts . . . because in their stealing, God gave these wonderful girls to me.

I am blessed beyond measure.

O His Love

2011-07-27T17:42:00.000-07:00

I heard the story of George Matheson today and God used it to greatly encourage me. I looked up his story to fill in the details and this is what I learned:

George Matheson was engaged until his fiancé learned that he was going blind. There was nothing the doctors could do. Upon learning this news, his fiancé broke up with him telling him that she could not go through life with a blind man.

Well, he did go blind while studying for the ministry, and his sister took care of him for years. In the pastoral ministry, the Lord richly blessed him and brought him to a church where he regularly preached to over 1500 people each week during the years his sister cared for him. But one day, his sister got married.

His whole family went to the wedding, leaving him alone. While they were gone, he wrote the words to the hymn, O Love That Will Not Let Me Go, because of the intense pain of knowing his sister would not be there for him anymore and also because her marriage reminded him of the heartbreak and mental anguish he had experienced for years after he lost both his eyesight and his fiancé.

People said he had been a brilliant student and some said that if he hadn’t gone blind he could have been the leader of the church of Scotland in his day.

Looking back over his life, he once wrote that his was “an obstructed life, a circumscribed life… but a life of quenchless hopefulness, a life which has beaten persistently against the cage of circumstance, and which even at the time of abandoned work has said not “Good night” but “Good morning.”

O Love That Will Not Let Me Go

1. O Love that will not let me go, I rest my weary soul in thee; I give thee back the life I owe, That in thine ocean depths its flow May richer, fuller be.

2. O light that followest all my way, I yield my flickering torch to thee; My heart restores its borrowed ray, That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day May brighter, fairer be.

3. O Joy that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to thee; I trace the rainbow through the rain, And feel the promise is not vain, That morn shall tearless be.

4. O Cross that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from thee; I lay in dust life’s glory dead, And from the ground there blossoms red Life that shall endless be.

My God, I have never thanked Thee for my thorns. I have thanked Thee a thousand times for my roses, but not once for my thorns. I have been looking forward to a world where I shall get compensation for my cross, but I’ve never thought of my cross as itself, a present glory. Teach me the glory of my cross. Teach me the value of my thorn. Show me that I have climbed to Thee by the path of pain. Show me that my tears have made a rainbow.

~ George Matheson 1842-1906

Taking Last Place

2011-07-16T06:30:00.000-07:00

Taking last place. Mothers are good at this. At least, we're supposed to be good at it.

I always thought my mom liked the boniest pieces of chicken. I always thought she preferred those. It wasn't until years later that I realized she "preferred" them because she was taking last place.

Choosing to take last place is unheard of today. We like to be the first. The best. The brightest. The wittiest. The prettiest. The hottest.

But we're not. Most of the time mothers are simply cleaning messes we don’t make. Caring for people when they are sick and needy. Meeting the needs of our children. Lying on the floor cleaning toilets. Sweeping up dirt that we didn't bring in.

Washing clothes that we do not wear. We clean throw-up, whether it is thrown up by people or animals, we clean spit-up, we wipe bottoms, we lose sleep at night with sick children, afraid children, can’t-sleep-husbands and children. We do all these things just because . . . we love our family . . . just because . . . we are called by God to do them. We certainly don't get paid to do them. And no one tells us how smart and witty we are as we take those cobwebs hostage.

It is humbling. Especially in the day in which we live when women have so many choices, when we so believe these kinds of things are beneath us, when the world has trained us to think we are such wonder women – hot mamas – smart women –

Yet God’s calling is a humbling calling.

God promises to revive the spirit of the humble. His words - Isaiah 57:15:

For thus says the high and exalted One Who lives forever, whose name is Holy, “I dwell on a high and holy place, And also with the contrite and lowly of spirit In order to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite.

Isn’t that a great promise? When I do the most humble things, recognizing that I am not too good to do them, God revives my spirit ~ He revives my heart. God reviving, refreshing, encouraging my heart is so much better than way I so often want to revive my own heart.

My ways are usually because my pride is wounded. God knows all about the pride problem. So often we think we are better than we are, that we deserve more than we get, that we are treated oh so unfairly.

He knows all about our desire to put ourselves first, the desire to be noticed, the desire to look out for ourselves because, as we tend to think, nobody cares about all the things I do around here. He knows.

In Luke 14 Jesus tells a parable in order to teach the people about humility.

And He began speaking a parable to the invited guests when He noticed how they had been picking out the places of honor at the table; saying to them, “When you are invited by someone to a wedding feast, do not take the place of honor, lest someone more distinguished than you may have been invited by him, and he who invited you both shall come and say to you, ‘Give place to this man,’ and then in disgrace you proceed to occupy the last place.

But when you are invited, go and recline at the last place, so that when the one who has invited you comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher’; then you will have honor in the sight of all who are at the table with you. “For everyone who exalts himself shall be humbled, and he who humbles himself shall be exalted.”

So often we just do not want to be humble. So often we just do not want to take the role of servant. So often we want the place of honor - at least every once in a while.

Yet, being a wife, a mother, a listening friend for someone who is hurting, being at home, raising children, helping with grandchildren, taking care of aging parents – all those little things that no one sees offer no immediate rewards in the eyes of the world.

Yet God notices. He remembers.

I think about God’s word a lot. I think about how His words are so different from the words of the women on the latest television programs, or the women starring in the newest movies, or the women being interviewed in latest issue of a magazine subscription.

And I am reminded, if I do what God has called me to do, if I go and recline at the last place, He will say to me at the appointed time, “Friend, move up higher.”

But taking the last place is humbling and sometimes you have to wait a long time . . .

You know, I’ve tried to live and teach the reality that humble service is noble service. And it's true that most of us spend most of our lives in humble service. We have a choice as to whether we do it unto the Lord, whether we do it from a right perspective, whether we do it out of sheer love for our Savior OR whether we just gut it out or choose not to do it at all.

But when we carry out humble service for His sake, we are most like Jesus. He spent most of His earthly life in humble service.

Cleaning messes He didn’t make, healing and touching people who were dirty and gross. In fact ~

God the Son left all the glory of heaven to become a man ~ to be an embryo in a woman’s womb ~ to go through the birthing process, to be a little child, to be brought up by two sinful parents, to be baptized by a sinful man, to be tempted in the desert by the devil himself, to go without food, to be beaten, despised, rejected, homeless, spoken against, abused, criticized unjustly ~ and then to be stripped naked, hung on a cross, dripping blood ~ and think about the fact that at any moment He could have stopped it all.

Yet He didn’t stop it all. He didn’t stop it because of the joy set before Him – you and me – Hia death and then His triumph over death – was the only way you and I could be brought into a right relationship with Him.

When I think about that ~ how can I demand the place of honor that belongs to Him alone?

I think I’d rather take the last place. At least in my humble moments.

I love Micah 6:8 ~ He has told you, O man, what is good; And what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, And to walk humbly with your God?

I love Isaiah 57:15 ~ For thus says the high and exalted One Who lives forever, whose name is Holy, “I dwell on a high and holy place, And also with the contrite and lowly of spirit In order to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite."

I love James 4:10 ~ Humble yourselves in the presence of the Lord, and He will exalt you.

And Job 5:14 ~ So that He sets on high those who are lowly, And those who mourn are lifted to safety.

And Luke 1:52 ~ He has brought down rulers from their thrones, And has exalted those who were humble.

And 1 Peter 5:5 Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you at the proper time.

Humble, quiet years of doing the next thing - the things that just must be done - are just that: humble and quiet and last. No one notices. Things like loving a husband by ironing some shirts. Loving children by sitting on the floor playing with felt, drawing on paper explaining God's goodness to a little mind who doesn't have a platform. Scrubbing a tub that has been graced with mud and dirt. Instructing a child how to properly brush his teeth. Facing trials that you never thought you'd face with a quiet strength. Praying for people who have hurt you because God wants you to, not because you want to. Reading, rocking, singing, and sometimes just sitting because a child needs you. A season of small children, small meals, small things.

A season of first things first. A season taking last place as you build into little lives. Little things like rescuing a baby duck, finding dead birds in the yard, talking about spider webs, and baby raccoons.

Reading inspiring stories. Making a baby laugh. Letting a baby cry. Sending a pouty child to be alone to work it out alone.

Teaching God’s truth to children ~ in the family, in the family of God, and sometimes to children in the neighborhood.

I want to value the small things in life. I want to value humble, simple service. I want to value living a quiet life of obedience to God in the everyday moments of life. Finding great joy in simplicity and being quiet.

Long ago, when Adam and Eve rebelled against God and chose to disobey Him in what they perceived to be a small thing. Satan convinced Eve that it was no big deal to sin against God. But it was. It was the biggest deal of her life ~ even though it seemed small. Just a bite of a piece of fruit? Seemed like such a small thing.

It was big. Both she and Adam made a huge mess. But God didn’t give up on them. In fact, He set out to clean up a mess He didn’t make.

In fact, He sent His Son to take last place in the world.

His Son is Jesus . . .

Scripture tells me ~ although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

Jesus took last place . . . but God wasn't done . . .

Therefore God highly exalted Him, and bestowed on Him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those who are in heaven, and on earth, and under the earth, and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Things I’ve Learned about Lois

2011-07-10T12:22:00.000-07:00

I have my two-year-old granddaughter staying with me for a few days. It's been so fun to learn Lois.

She adores popsicles

She hates anything to do with sleeping besides “I wake up”

She has a killer giggle

She wants to do it herself – all by herself – yet she says, “I help you, Amma” when she realizes she can’t always do it by herself

She loves oatmeal for breakfast

She gets a little overwhelmed by boy-cousin-energy but loves being in the middle of it

She is happiest in the mornings, yet she’s happy all day – except when she hears the words “It’s time for a nap,” or “It’s time for bed,” or when she has to take off her kitty cat pajama’s.

Her blanket is her constant companion.

She loves Claire’s book. Actually it’s a book I had for all my children but last time Lois was here, she heard me say, “Claire loves this book.” So now it’s “Claire’s book” and Lois always wants to read it.

She loves, loves, loves Granddaddy and sharing popcorn with him.

She has a special affection for Uncle Jameson

She takes off her shoes in the car

She adores her sandals, Winnie-the-Pooh, and Donald Duck.

She builds tall towers with Duplo's, just like her daddy used to do.

She is particularly fond of her kitty-cat pajama’s and very reluctantly lets me take them off in the morning. But putting them on again at night makes going to bed much less painful.

She often asks, “Where’s Daddy?” I say, “Daddy’s working,” and she’s content. Then she asks, “Where’s Mommy?” I say, “She’s at home, you’ll see her soon,” and once again, she’s content .

She loves to sing loudly – a Broggi trait. Don’t know if it’s a Coppenger trait so don’t know if she’s doubly blessed.

Raising Daddies

2011-06-28T05:47:00.000-07:00

I know it's a week and two days past Father's Day. Our children expressed love and appreciation for their dad and I expressed love and appreciation for my dad. And I have felt love and appreciation for so many men I know who are doing such a great job as fathers. I am so grateful for them.

But as Father's Day has come and gone, I realize I didn't express love and appreciation to my two oldest boys who are now dads.

I spent a good part of my life raising daddies. I remember when these dads were little boys. I remember those days as if I am still living them. Partly because my boys trust me with their children and I get to spend time with them. Every time I have them, it's like jumping into a time machine and traveling back into the '80's. Lois is a little feminine replica of her daddy. Jack, Luke, and Claire each have a different image of their daddy stamped into their being. It's no mistaking to whom each of these children belong.

Yet, my memory of raising daddies is as crisp and clear as a beautiful fall day. My grandchildren just bring it into even sharper focus - if that's possible.

I love how they remind me that I can never erase seasons of my life from my memory. I love how, when I look into their faces, oftentimes I feel as if I'm staring into the faces of my boys. It's like having time with my little robust warriors all over again - except the two girls hold dolls and tuffed kitties rather than sticks and random car parts. But the two boys? It's ALL the same. They're boys. I love, too, how they show me that some seasons of life are so indelibly etched, it's very easy to remember and go back as if no time has passed at all.

As far as these grown-up daddies are concerned, I can still hear their little voices and see their little faces. And sometimes when I look into their faces today, I stare at the strong jawlines when they read stories to their children, I study the broad shoulders on which their children sometimes sit, I gaze at the big masculine hands they use to wipe a tear from a child's face and I am captured by these tall adult masculine men - yet, I also see the little boys they once were.

The little boys who were sometimes afraid and wandered into my room at night and climbed into our bed - on my side. I think about the "nighttime" pallet I kept tucked away, yet close enough, because the two of them plus the two of us couldn't fit very well or very comfortably in a double bed. They were always in competition as to who would wake up first during the night - because the one who wandered in first got the bed - the other one got the floor. I slept many nights during that short season of life with my arm dangling from the side of the mattress holding a little boy's hand.

It's so true, some memories are as crisp and clear as a beautiful fall day.

And sometimes when I hear their voices today, I listen intently to the deep sound that comes out. Wow. Who are these men? And I hear, "Who's that trip trapping over my bridge?"

I remember their little voices - the coos, the baby giggles - that grew into childhood squeals of rough boy-times and then of course, the I-sound-like-a-woman days. Oh the frustration in their voices when they answered the phone, "No mam, this is not Mrs. Broggi but I'll get her for you." Indelibly etched. I always told them that sounding like a woman preceded sounding like a man. I told them it was a good thing because it meant sounding like man was coming. At the time, they didn't believe me.

Well now, they sound like men. They act like men. They look like men. Real men. Not the sissy types. Not the wimpy types. Not the metro types. Not the womanizing types. Not the lazy types. No, they are real men.

They are the kind of men who know and love God. The kind of men who know how to sweat and work hard. The kind of men who knew how to find and pursue good wives. The kind of men who would lay down their lives for their wives and now, their children.

The kind of men who also knew how to leave their mother and father and cleave to their wives. The kind who know how to provide for and protect their families.

Happy Father's Day. A bit late - but hey . . . I've been busy raising daddies.

He Bleeds the Gospel of Christ

2011-06-16T11:45:00.000-07:00

My anniversary is coming up. Thirty-one years. I declare I am just not old enough to have been married so long.

With June 28th on the horizon, I've been thinking about my husband and I've been remembering all the reasons I married him.

I was also remembering how, like most young women, I had a mental list of what I wanted in a husband . . .

On my list for husband were things like this: he would be taller than I was, he would be rugged, and he would definitely be handsome. He would love to laugh and I, of course, would be the center of his world. He would look into my eyes and tell me that I was the most beautiful thing in the world. He would work hard to provide a living for our family of at least six children. He must love children. And he would definitely be southern.

Growing up in the South, I never thought I would marry a boy from anywhere else. For me, however, it wasn’t just a southern thing – it was a Carolina thing. North Carolina – where I came of age or South Carolina - where I was born.

Well, I remember the first time I laid my eyes on this Massachusetts boy. I was a student at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill. It was my junior year. I was very involved in the ministry of Campus Crusade for Christ and some of my friends and I went over to a sorority house one Sunday evening for College Life. College Life was a meeting filled with singing, skits, a testimony or two and a message to share the gospel with the students who came. On this particular night, a tall, lanky, dark-haired boy dressed in very non-preppy clothes got up to share his testimony. He opened his mouth and spoke in what sounded like a foreign language to me and most of my friends. He said in a distinct New England accent something like, “My name is Carl Broggi and I grew up in Worcester, Massachusetts.”

Everyone laughed, including me. Who was this guy? Worcester? How do you pronounce that? (Just so you know, it’s pronounced “Wista.”) Please understand, we weren’t laughing at the content of what he said – just the way he said it. He didn’t say y’all and hey.

Sometime later, I heard that he was the new staff guy on campus who had raised his support very fast. I also heard that he shared the gospel constantly and students were praying to receive Christ with him all the time. I heard him teach a few times at our Crusade meetings and learned so much. That’s about all I remember about him that year.

At the time, I was still dating my high school sweetheart but by the time I entered my senior year, we had parted ways. I found myself back at Carolina ready to share my faith with students, lead a Bible study on my hall, finish my studies, get my degree, and prepare for the mission field. I kind of liked being my own person – not in a relationship.

I dated some but I was focused. I was free. And I was ready for God to use me with no strings attached. I thought I was ready before but I was really ready now. It was at the first Campus Crusade leadership meeting where I had a conversation with that new staff guy – Carl Broggi. He asked me about my summer and my relationship. I told him about both. I also told him about my plans for missions.

Not long after that, after another Crusade meeting, I headed over to the local ice cream shop with a group of friends. Carl was one of the guys with us. Standing in line, he asked me if I would like to go to dinner with him on Friday evening.

I was a bit surprised but after thinking for just a moment, I agreed. I was not interested in him the least little bit – after all, he was not a southerner, not a Carolina boy, not preppy, not a student, and he drove a Volkswagen bug. Not exactly a cool car. But he loved the Lord and I thought I could learn a lot from him. And to be perfectly frank, I had no idea that he was really interested in me. He might have been thinking, “She’s not a northerner, she is too fashion-conscious, she’s a student, and she drives her daddy's Buick.” Well, anyway – at the time, he seemed too godly to be seeing a girl as anything but a sister in Christ.

But just to make sure he wouldn’t think this was a “real date” or anything, I offered to pay for myself that night. I don’t do that anymore.

When it became evident to me that he was interested in me as more than just a sister in Christ, I’m not sure. But at some point, I knew. And I was very uncomfortable with it. So uncomfortable that I told my friend Cathy I didn’t like it.

I thought she would empathize but instead she quipped, “Well, what’s wrong with Carl?”

Nothing was wrong with him. In fact, there was so much right with him. But I still didn’t like his interest in me. Really – he just wasn’t a Carolina boy - not a southerner in any way, shape, or form. In my opinion he didn’t know how to dress and his accent was so different and that Volkswagen . . . well, everything I said seemed stupid. And I knew it was stupid. Especially since I thought I was maturing as a believer. I had a lot to learn.

Carl did drive with me one Saturday to my parents’ home. Mama asked, “Who’s this man you’ve brought home?” She asked it like there was more to Carl and me than friendship and I didn’t like that either. Suddenly I was wishing that I had stayed in Chapel Hill.

Yes, Carl was a nice person. Yes, I liked him as a nice person. But that was it.

As time passed, I grew to really like Carl. He was funny, yet he was serious. He was tall. He loved the Lord. It was difficult not to be impressed with his knowledge of the Bible and his love for God’s Word. He was 23 years old and had only been committed to Christ five years but he had a zeal for the Lord unlike any I had ever seen in a young man. His heart seemed to beat to share the gospel with people - any person. It was like he was in debt – and the only way to be released of the debt was to deliver the gospel. He had fervor, still does, to make Christ known to anyone who would listen. He possessed a boldness to keep right on teaching and preaching Jesus as the Christ no matter what.

I didn’t have this boldness even though I had been a Christian since childhood.

I had so much respect for this Carl Broggi. I was impressed but I was not in love. It wouldn't be long, however, before I learned respect is the foundation for real love.

I could tell Carl loved me. And by Thanksgiving, Carl asked me to marry him. I said yes. I’m not even sure why I said yes other than somehow I knew Carl was God’s choice for me. We began planning a June wedding – to take place after I finished my classes and internship and before staff training in Colorado.

He talked to my dad. I met his family. He kept working at his job and I was finishing my degree.

Sometime in the spring, I was walking across campus back to my dorm after my last class. I had to go through what we called the “Pit” – it was an outdoor brick courtyard between the Student Union and the Bookstore.

As I was approaching the Pit – I could tell a crowd had gathered, as it often did – and I could hear someone preaching. I could also hear jeers and hecklers.

As I got closer I could tell that it was a traveling campus preacher – one who had been at Carolina before and one whom so many students hated. Then I heard a voice change – almost as if someone was handing off a baton. And this voice was familiar. In fact, too familiar. I soon realized that Carl had stepped in to help the preacher and he was preaching Christ with the boldness and compassion that I had only read about in the book of Acts. As the issue of Christ took center stage, the jeers and the heckling increased. It didn’t seem to bother Carl.

I stayed back, near the wall – embarrassed – I just wanted to slither into the bookstore unnoticed. Then some girl I barely knew said to me, “Isn’t that your fiancé?”

“Um . . . well...” and I ducked away. Inside the bookstore, someone else I barely knew came up to me and said something like, “Why aren’t you out there? Isn’t he your fiancé?”

I am so ashamed to say it – but I just wanted to get away. Though I had been bought with the blood of the One they were preaching – I didn’t want to be identified with them. So, instead of standing there praying for the preacher, for Carl, and for the students who so desperately needed Jesus Christ, I slithered my way back to my dorm and all I could think of was how Peter denied Jesus.

Carl and I never discussed it.

Then, a few months later on June 28, 1980 Carl and I walked the aisle and said our vows before God and man. I became Mrs. Carl Broggi.

Well, it’s been nearly thirty-one years, five children, two daughters-in-law, one son-in-law, and seven grandchildren since then. I am still impressed by this man and I know what real love is. It’s not the stuff that Hollywood offers and it’s different from what I thought love was in my pre-Carl days. It’s deep. It’s not about being northern or southern, dressing preppy, or driving a cool car.

A few years ago, I was reminded of all the reasons I was impressed by and grew to love this man. We were in Vienna, Austria on our way home from one of our Ukraine mission trips. We had a day in the city and wanted to see as much as we could. Our hotel was near an open market area where we found ourselves taking in the cathedrals, parks, and even an Austrian public school. There were all sorts of ‘artisans’ in the square, including two mimes. One was dressed as an angel, standing on a pedestal. The other was dressed like the grim reaper. Seizing the opportunity, my husband stood beside the angel and using them as props began preaching the gospel.

It was like he was part of their act. Or, I should say they were part of his act. At first, I thought, what is he doing? Then my mind flashed to Carolina’s pit and Carl’s preaching. For half a second, I thought about ducking into a nearby bookstore. But I didn’t - I knew God was giving me a fresh opportunity to stand my man and be identified with him.

See, years before in Carolina’s pit, I had slithered away. Well, in Austria’s pit, I was not going to slither away. In fact, I got out my camera and took some pictures. I felt like saying, “That’s my husband! Listen to him – he’s got a message for you that you don’t want to miss.” I told our children, “Be proud of your dad – pray for him – and pray for those who listen.”

A crowd gathered – some laughing, some standing, and some pausing before they turned away. But some were listening. Out of the some who were listening emerged four teenage boys. When Carl finished preaching, these boys approached him and began asking all kinds of questions about the gospel. I was in awe of this man – who was tired from preaching and teaching non-stop in Ukraine. This man who had been sick with a stomach virus the entire time kept giving out the gospel and answering people’s questions. He was amazing.

Still is. And let me tell you, this wasn’t an isolated incident. This is how he lives his life. Always ready to share the message of salvation. This man I married bleeds the gospel of Christ. He lives to share the gospel with anyone, and I mean anyone who will listen. He’s never wavered – he hangs tough.

Other reasons I love and respect this man? He is faithful. He is gracious. He is business-like. He doesn't return evil for evil. When slandered, he perseveres. And I, who know him better than anyone, who has lived with him for nearly thirty-one years, who knows all his flaws - I am still impressed and I am more in love today than I was when God opened up my heart to him. The world can’t touch the love that God gives, deepens, and grows.

I’ve been to lots of weddings over the years. I am always reminded that the ceremony is just a doorway into a lifelong marriage. I am reminded that the real beauty is not the wedding itself – as important as that is – the real beauty is the covenant kept. A wedding is a sacred trust and a picture of Christ and His bride. A marriage is really about God. Our wedding invitation so long ago declared, “God has called the two of us to be one flesh, united in Him, to reflect the image of His Son.” That’s what it’s all about. Reflecting Him.

Now - about that mental list of a future husband? Well, Carl is taller than I am (lots), he's definitely rugged (you should see him under the hood of a car or working in the yard) and handsome. He loves to laugh - loudly. From time to time (though he’s not given to overdoing it), He looks into my eyes and tells me that I am the most beautiful thing in the world. He works hard and we are content. He makes a living that has always provided for me and our five children. He does love our children and I guess now, after thirty-three years in the South, he is definitely southern. But . . . I am not the center of his world. That place belongs to God and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

I am thankful today that God, in His sovereignty, brought Carl to North Carolina thirty-three years ago. Who, but God, would have ever placed a Boston College graduate from Massachusetts on a Carolina campus? Hey, I guess I really did marry a Carolina boy after all. And I realize now that at the top of my "husband" list should have been this:

His heart must bleed the gospel of Christ.

Sam's Story

2011-06-08T13:17:00.000-07:00

Once there was a boy named Sam who was quite happy that his mother was going to teach him at home. He always had fun with his mother. She read books to him, they sang songs together and played lots of games. She would often let him help make cookies and she even let him count out how many cookies the dough would make. She would teach him how to do chores and he liked to help her with the younger children.

Sometimes, Sam’s mother took him for nature walks to look at bugs. She never wanted to touch them but Sam did and she loved buying books about bugs for him.

And whenever Sam caught an interesting-looking creature, he would run to his mother with excitement, “Mama! Mama! You won’t believe what I found!”

Sam’s mother looked with wonder at all of Sam’s discoveries and she would let him keep his creatures for a few days before he had to let them go. Together they would show Sam’s dad and his little brother. Sometimes Sam would draw a picture and make up a story about his adventures with bugs. And he often thought, “I can’t wait to be able to write real fast so I can write my stories down.”

Being at home for “real school” was going to be great, he thought. He loved to learn.

Sam was so excited when his school books arrived. He and his mother opened the box and Sam grabbed a book about science. He began to pore over the pictures.

“Hey this is cool!” Sam exclaimed to his mother when he spotted a picture of a chrysalis. “I’ve seen one of these in our yard. Look at it, Mama!”

But his mother quickly took the book from Sam, closed it and told him that they needed to be put away while she set up his school schedule.

For the next few days, Sam’s mother was busy working on lesson plans and scheduling.

“Mama,” Sam interrupted, “I want to try to read this book to you. I’ve been practicing in my room. Will you listen?”

“Not now Sam,” she replied. “I’m trying to figure out which readers I should use for your school.”

Another time, Sam was playing on his porch and he found a huge spider with an egg sac and he ran in the house shouting, “Mama, Mama! Come look at this spider! I’ve never seen one like it before. I wonder what kind it is.”

Sam’s mother was hunched over the table making a list of science project materials that she needed to buy. She heard Sam say something about a spider on the porch so she quickly got the broom, went outside with Sam following close behind her, and then she killed the spider and swept the nasty web off the porch.

“There,” she said as she shook the last of the web from the broom. And she quickly thanked Sam for reporting the spider and went inside to finish making her science list.

A month passed and Sam’s mother was beginning to feel pressure about schooling 180 days of the year. How will I do that and run my home too? I mean, I have math lessons to teach and grammar rules and history lessons. Then there’s the laundry, and . . . what in the world am I going to do with the baby and my toddler?

Just then Sam entered the room. He announced, “You know my birthday is next week and I made a list of 10 friends I want to invite to my party. I wonder how big the cake should be, Mama. And how many paper airplanes should I make if I want to give each of my friends at least three?”

“Not now, Sam. I can’t think about your birthday when I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to teach these math lessons to you and how I’m going to home school 180 days of the year and how I’m going to keep up this schedule. Just go, OK? Call Ben -- he should be home from school now -- and see if he can come play with you,” she said. Ben was a couple of years older than Sam and he was so cool.

Sam left the room. Ben came over and they began playing Stratego. Sam said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let your men be Santa Anna’s army and my men can be Colonel Travis and all the guys at the Alamo.”

Ben looked puzzled. “Who’s Santa Anna and who’s Colonel Who?” Ben asked.

“You know, history guys,” Sam announced. “The Battle of the Alamo.”

“WHAT? History? I hate history!!” Ben exclaimed. “I don’t want to play if we have to play history. History’s boring.”

Boring? Sam had never thought that the adventure stories his mother had read to him were boring. But come to think of it, she hadn’t read any of those since they started home schooling. And he couldn’t even look at his history book unless it was time for his history lesson. Maybe Ben was right. Maybe History was boring.

It wasn’t long before Sam began to hate history too. He lost interest in bugs, spiders, and he wasn’t even excited about reading. He forgot how to make up stories and really didn’t care about learning to write really fast anymore. He stopped coming to his mother to tell her about stuff because she was always so frustrated. She never seemed to have time for him anymore. He wondered what was wrong with his mother. What happened?

“I don’t know what’s wrong with Sam,” his mother confided to one of her of home schooling friends. “He used to love to learn -- and now he hates school.”

Her friend suggested she try a different curriculum so Sam’s mother spent a lot of money trying every kind of curriculum on the market hoping to catch Sam’s attention. She couldn’t imagine what went wrong. She had bought the best resources, had a schedule full of all the lessons to be taught, and she even made Sam keep a journal. She bought classical music tapes, got the whole Charlotte Mason series, and even tried doing unit studies. With all her effort, Sam began to say things like “school is boring,” and “I hate math.”

Sam’s mother was tired of trying and she even commented to one of her friends that Sam just didn’t like to learn. She didn’t know what happened.

Sam began to sit in front of the television, play computer games, or he was off with Ben and his friends. Sam’s mother didn’t even know some of the kids he began to hang around with. She knew that she should stop letting him do all those things but he was bored and it was just too much work to deal with it. Sam’s mother began to wonder about this home schooling stuff. And she was tired of trying to figure it out.

When Sam reached the teen years, he rarely talked to his mother. Except for one day. He happened to be walking in his yard and he noticed a huge spider. It was like none he had ever seen. Something stirred in his mind and without thinking he ran into the house shouting “Hey mom, you’ve got to come . . . look . . . at . . . this . . .”

But he saw her look of frustration so he decided she wouldn’t care anyway and he went to play computer games in his room. Sam’s mother didn’t even know he had come into the house.

Sam eventually graduated and even went to college. His fondest memories of his education, however, were the times he was a young boy when his mother was excited about his learning. He never forgot.

I wrote this story many years ago as a note to self: never lose interest in my child's learning.

Scotty McCreery

2011-05-27T07:46:00.000-07:00

So I followed American Idol all the way to the end. And one of the things that I couldn't help but notice is that though the program continually pushed immoral and provocative music/performances by the "stars" in our faces - especially in the finale - America chose the boy next door who loves Jesus, his mama, his daddy, his sister, is not ashamed of who he is and what he stands for, and who sings old country. Amazing. I, for one, will keep following and praying for this young man. He is truly a breath of fresh air.

The Lord declares, "For those who honor Me, I will honor"

Mothering from the Heart, Part 3

2011-05-24T05:39:00.000-07:00

My new baby was due November 21st. Carl and I were thrilled. We were moving to Texas for seminary. Our boys were thriving. I loved being a mother and I loved my life. I loved being home with my boys even though some thought I was wasting my college degree. How do you waste a college degree if you take the training of young minds seriously? Seriously.

I was already missing North Carolina though. In the back of my mind, I thought we'd be back. I've been going to Carolina in my mind for years - just like the song - I could see the sunshine, I could feel the moon shine, it was like a friend of mine. I would be back to Carolina.

Duke students gave us a going away party. My sweet friends from church gave a going away lunch for me and I still have the wreath hanging in my home. I think of them.

All this excitement. Yet, this time in our lives was also the beginning of an incredibly painful journey for us. Just before we left North Carolina, my mom noticed a lump in my neck and I immediately went to the doctor.

I underwent numerous biopsies and tests which pointed to cancer because of “questionable clusters of cells” and my young age. Any treatment was limited because I was in the first trimester of pregnancy - the normal course of action my doctor wanted to take would now be a threat to my unborn baby.

So he recommended a physician in Texas and suggested that I see him as soon as we moved.

Within a month of moving, my placenta ruptured and I was rushed to the hospital only to find out grim news. Danger of hemorrhaging. Baby would probably die. But if she did survive, she would most likely suffer brain damage due to oxygen depletion.

This was how I found out that my baby was a girl. I’ll never forget the words of my doctor, “I’m afraid you are going to lose this baby, and I would rather you be pleasantly surprised than utterly disappointed. A 20-week-old fetus cannot survive outside the womb,” he had said. This life was not a fetus - this life was my baby girl. How I pleaded with God for her life.

I made it through a week at the hospital as they were trying to keep my contractions at bay and hoping the rupture would heal itself. I finally came home but was told "not to move." Not even a shower. We hired a teenager who lived on our street to come every day - I taught her to cook from the sofa. She became a Christian that summer.

Not long after I was confined to bed, Jeremy who was 3 years old, began to have trouble walking. He was consistently waking up screaming out in intense pain all through the night, “My leg hurts, Mommy!! Mommy!! My leg hurts!” His calf muscle was tight and swollen.

When Jeremy was a baby and began to crawl, we had noticed Jeremy's calf seemed larger than normal. We were told that it was probably because he was preferring that leg - working it more - when he crawled and it would balance out with time. But as Jeremy grew, it only got bigger.

Crying out in pain was new, however. So now, with a new pediatrician who thought differently than our previous one, we were referred to a neurologist. This man immediately suspected a serious problem and so another journey began - test after test -- some with sedation and even one with 14 needles injected into Jeremy's little leg to determine the nature of the tumor. Yes, they were calling it a tumor rather than an enlarged calf muscle. Very scary. We were becoming familiar with Texas Hospital for Crippled Children - too familiar.

In the early days of Jeremy's journey (it would last 2 years), I couldn't go with him for the tests because of being confined to bed rest. That was so hard. These were the days before cell phones yet I still remember one phone call from Carl after one of the tests. We had attached one of those long cords to our kitchen phone and our babysitter brought the phone to the sofa. On that day, Carl was speaking so softly it was difficult for me to hear him. Speaking softly is not normal for Carl. I knew something was wrong. He managed to tell me that Jeremy's doctor had said, "I am sorry but the probability of muscular dystrophy is very high. Your son's toe-walking, the pain in the muscle, the tests - all of these things point in this direction. We will continue with testing because we don't know for sure. But I don't want you to be in the dark."

I was stunned. I just held the phone. I was no expert on muscular dystrophy but I knew enough. The hot tears felt like burns on my face . . .

I wanted a definitive answer but there was no answer. The only answer was “Wait." I didn't know then how much God would develop my faith continually with that simple word - that simple command - wait.

Time ticks slowly when you wait.

Through the waiting - through the "don't knows," God is working. Perfecting.

Phrases like "we just don't know yet," and "wait," became familiar friends.

I was pregnant. I had the tumor in my neck. I was waiting. I had no choice.

I never felt God had forsaken me - though I did feel afraid. I knew the truth of His Word. I did, however, feel like there was an intense dark storm cloud hovering over me and no matter which way I went, it followed me. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t get out from under it. It seemed a strange irony that the doctor had said he didn't want us to be in the dark . . . because I was.

I'm just so glad God is light and in Him there is no darkness at all. I'm glad that even though I was under a storm cloud, He was there with me. I'm glad that no matter what was happening in my life, He was leading me. I'm glad that darkness could not overwhelm me because even the darkness was not dark to Him. Even the night was as bright as the day. Darkness and light are alike to Him.

All of these things happened one month after we moved to Dallas - 1500 miles away from family and the closest friends we had ever known, and before we even had a chance to make new friends. We were still adjusting to a new place, adjusting to Carl’s new schedule of post-graduate studies and working, and yes, I felt incredibly lonely.

No family, No friends.

I remembered how Job expressed this to the Lord when he faced heartache,

“You have become cruel to me, With the might of Your hand You persecute me.”

But I knew God was not cruel. And I knew He was with me.

Once again I was faced with the truth of God’s Word. Was I going to believe Him and continue to walk with Him? I knew that I had chosen to walk with the Lord moment by moment at that Christmas conference -- it had already been settled. But I needed God’s grace to continue. And even in the pain of those years, I knew God was working His plans and purposes out in my life. He was preparing us for ministry, this was true. Just not in the way we expected.

Obeying God seemed to bring about more trials in our lives. We knew we were obeying God, we knew we wanted to serve Him with our whole lives, we were indebted to Him.

I loved my husband and I loved my children - more than life itself. I wanted to raise my own children and I wanted to do this for His glory. I somehow understood that God wants His people to raise a godly heritage - that He gives children as arrows to be aimed - not as possessions to be spoiled and coddled but as a ministry unto Him. I wanted to raise mine for Him and I was willing to sacrifice my life for the task.

Facing so many trials all at once in our young lives was like a crash course in what it means to really trust and praise God. Trouble came like a tsunami and God used it to show me yet again that I am not promised one more day on this earth. Just like the days I spent laughing and walking with my nineteen-year-old friend on campus - one day he was there and the next day, he was gone.

So now, in my twenties, God was sharpening my focus again. He was using trials to help me focus even more on what really matters. What if I only had one more day with my husband? What if I only had a three short years with my little boy? What if my baby died in my womb? What if she was born with disabilities? What if life was hard and it wasn't the American Dream? Didn't I want God's Dream more? What if God's dream for me was different than I had thought it would be? How would I live? Who would I praise?

Would I still want to serve God with my whole life? Would I still love Him and praise Him? Would I accept from His hand, with joy, both kinds of blessings - both joy and heartache?

Because really, hard things are blessings too. They are special gifts from God. That's why James tells us to consider it all joy when we encounter various trials. No, it's not the trial that is joyful. No, the trial is hard and long and often very painful. Lots of tears. Lots of sleepless nights. Lots of crying out to God. Lots of pounding the floors of heaven. Lots of seeking, asking, knocking.

But the reason I can consider trials - the reason I can think about trials as a joy - is because of what God is doing in me through the trials. He says that the testing of my faith is good for me. Testing produces endurance. Then He goes on to tell me to let endurance have its perfect result. The goal in my walking through trials is so that God can perfect and complete me - so that I will lack nothing.

That's the promise of James 1:2-3. So, in making God's word real to me (which is what I had asked), God was asking if I would I consider my trials all joy. Would I really look to Him to perfect me, complete me, and give endurance to me through trials? Is that what I wanted?

Over the years of my life, I have grown to love James' letter. I love the promising of wisdom in the middle of trials. I love the assurance that God really does give wisdom - that He really does produce endurance. That He really does answer.

I also love the exhortations all throughout the letter - to live what I say I believe. To not just be a hearer of God's word, but a doer. To show my faith by how I live. To guard my tongue. To submit to God. To do the right thing - which is rarely the popular thing. To pray when suffering. To pray always.

God was hurting us - yes, He was. The pain was real and it was from His hand. Yet more than hurting us, God was perfecting us. Carl has often quoted this poem in sermons he has preached and still today, the unknown author speaks to my heart:

When God wants to drill a man,

And thrill a man,

And skill a man

When God wants to mold a man

To play the noblest part;

When He yearns with all His heart

To create so great and bold a man

That all the world shall be amazed,

Watch His methods, watch His ways!

How He ruthlessly perfects

Whom He royally elects!

How He hammers him and hurts him,

And with mighty blows converts him

Into trial shapes of clay which

Only God understands;

While his tortured heart is crying

And he lifts beseeching hands!

How He bends but never breaks

When his good He undertakes;

How He uses whom He chooses,

And which every purpose fuses him;

By every act induces him

To try His splendor out-

God knows what He's about.

He Called That One Right

2011-05-19T14:42:00.000-07:00

My son Grant called me a couple of months ago and said, "Mom, are you following American Idol?"

"Um, no, I forgot about it."

See, last year was the first time in the 9 seasons I had watched the series. I didn't know how it worked or anything. Yes, I knew Kelly Clarkson won the first year. And, I have been a fan of Carrie Underwood. And I like Chris Daughtry's music but I didn't even know he had been on Idol.

So. That was pretty much my knowledge of the program . . . until last year. Sometime in the middle of last season, I heard about Tim Urban and I was impressed. So I began to tune in. I watched it even after he was voted off because, like so many others, I became captivated. It was fun and entertaining to see the competition and hear about the contestants. No, I didn't like a lot of the guests or performances or commercials . . . would mute/turn away . . . until the Idols performed or were interviewed and coached.

But . . . that was it. Then Grant's call came and he continued, "Mom, you would love this guy - Scotty McCreery. He's from Garner and sounds a lot like Josh Turner. And I know how much you love Josh Turner. I just thought you might like to watch him."

So I did. And wow, did Grant call that one right. It's not just about Scotty's talent and his voice, it's about his character. It's not so much about what he sings but what he says. See below:

Mothering from the Heart, Part 2

2011-05-18T04:19:00.000-07:00

The Early Years

I was the 3rd child in a family of four children and spent my early years growing up in rural South Carolina.

My dad became a pastor when I was little and he and my mom are the ones who gave to me my first glimpse of Christ. They told me how Jesus died on the cross to take the punishment for my sins. They told me He was God. They told me He rose from the dead. I don't really remember specifics of conversations but I remember growing in my understanding and these are the things I came to know and believe. At a very young age, I knew enough to know I was a sinner. God opened my eyes and I trusted Christ and entered into a personal relationship with God. I didn’t know much about God then but I would learn very soon that He knew all about me.

As I grew up, I had a soft heart toward the Lord and wanted to obey Him. Of course, I didn’t always obey Him. I was a stubborn child. But God was always working in my life.

After middle school, our family moved to North Carolina. Moving to NC was one of the best things that ever happened to me on several levels. It was in North Carolina that I went to college, and it was in college where God caused my faith to grow exponentially. See, it was in college where I was increasingly challenged in my beliefs. It was in college where I saw another pastor’s daughter throw away her spiritual heritage and this bothered me.

College for me, however, was the place where God grabbed my attention.

While other high school graduates sometimes go to college and "lose" their faith, or party so hard they can't seem to recover, just the opposite happened to me.

It was there at that secular university, God made me realize the important things in life. Was my faith real? Was it a living-out kind of thing or was it something to be hidden and only spoken about when the situation was a comfortable one? Was it worth defending?

For me, Chapel Hill was the place where I was challenged to the core of my belief system. God's grace became so real to me.

It was there I faced the death of a close friend and that one event made me see how short this life really is and how I needed to live for Christ - not just say "I believe," but live my belief.

I'll share a little of the details:

By October of my sophomore year, one of my closest male friends was killed in a drunken car accident and I was devastated. Partly because of our friendship, but mainly because he had spent a couple of hours two weeks before confiding in me about his growing drinking problem. He was asking for help - I knew that - and even though I knew I should talk to him about Christ, I was silent. I remember feeling as though my heart was going to beat out of my chest - I felt such compassion for him and truly wanted to share the difference Jesus had made in my life. But I was afraid - so I didn't.

When I got the news of his death - I lived with guilt until Christmas. My then boyfriend asked me to go to a Campus Crusade for Christ Christmas Conference. I had never even heard of Campus Crusade before. But it was at that conference where God answered questions for me:

What was the purpose of my life? Can God be intimately involved in the everyday life of a 19-year-old college student? How can I glorify God with my life?

It was there that I pleaded with God to walk with me moment by moment, to show me how to have a heart that beats for Him, to help me concentrate on what matters most. And I can still remember riding home from that conference in a car filled with other college students, with my head against the window, pleading with God to get me off the roller coaster. I told Him that I wanted to know His Word as I had never known it. I wanted to know His presence every moment in my life. I wanted to obey Him.

Fast forward to 1984. I was now married to Carl and he was the Director for Campus Crusade at Duke University.

The ministry at Duke was thriving. And in those busy years of discipling and training students, becoming a mother and being involved in our church, I didn’t know then how God would use the events of one night to further shape me.

Carl was away from our home in Durham, North Carolina.

I was a young mom with 2 small babies. Jeremy was 2 and Jordan was about 4 months old. Carl had traveled to Texas to help write Bible study materials for Campus Crusade. I didn’t think much about being alone for a week. Of course, being alone at night sometimes caused me to be fearful. I was 25 years old.

Occasionally I would be gripped with fear when Carl was gone and he traveled quite a bit in those days speaking at conferences and retreats and training other staff in evangelism skills. But this time, I was OK. Jeremy and Jordan were so full of energy that I would just fall into bed at night out of exhaustion.

On the second night of Carl’s trip I remember putting Jeremy in bed with me. The crib was in our room - so Jordan was always with me. It just seemed more comforting to have us close together when Carl was away.

Sleep felt good that night.

Later though, I found myself coughing in a half-dazed state, knowing I needed to get up. I was so sleepy, so drowsy, I felt as if I couldn’t move. Yet I continued to cough. In my dreamy state, I thought I smelled smoke but because I was so sleepy, it didn’t seem real. I fought the urge to get up. Something’s burning - but it was like a dream.

“Get up!" I felt as though someone was standing over me, as if shouting at me, “Audrey, get up!”

I got up. I was coughing and wiping my eyes and through the dark foggy room, I could see flickering light coming from the kitchen that cast eerie shadows throughout our home.

I soon realized it wasn’t fog -- the house was filled with smoke. I quickly stumbled to the kitchen and saw a smoldering towel on the stove. In my haste, I grabbed the edge of the towel and threw it in the sink not realizing I was creating greater problems. Flames burst upward into the kitchen cabinets from the fiery fragments of the towel left on the burner. I now had two fires - one in the sink and one on the stove with the flames reaching like arms for the cabinets.

I don’t remember details of how I put the fires out but I do know I unleashed a whole box of baking soda. I do know I turned on the water in the sink.

I do know the fires went out. And I do remember the smoke thickened. I opened up windows and doors at 3:30 in the morning. How I grabbed the boys, I don't really remember but I do know I carried them out into the night air as the smoke cleared. At that point, I wasn't even afraid as I sat on the steps and cried.

A breeze was blowing. My children slept in my arms. I kissed them both as tears rolled down my cheeks. I looked to the heavens. The sky was as clear as I had ever seen it. The stars were as many and as bright as I could ever remember. And in that night air, God brought two passages of Scripture to my mind:

Psalm 127 says:

"Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it: Unless the Lord guards the city, The watchman keeps awake in vain. It is vain for you to rise up early, To retire late, To eat the bread of painful labors; For He gives to His beloved even in his sleep.

and Psalm 139,

“O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; You understand my thoughts from afar. You scrutinize my path and my lying down, And You are intimately acquainted with all my ways. Even before there is a word on my tongue, Behold, O Lord, You know it all. You have enclosed me behind and before, And laid Your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend to heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the dawn, If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, Even there Your hand will lead me, And Your right hand will lay hold of me. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will overwhelm me, And the light around me will be night,’ Even the darkness is not dark to You, And the night is as bright as the day. Darkness and light are alike to You . . . And in Your book they were all written, The days that were ordained for me, When as yet there was not one of them. How precious are Your thoughts to me, O God! How vast is the sum of them! If I should count them, they would outnumber the sand. When I awake, I am still with You."

God impressed some great truths to me that night. That He is the source of all I need - as a woman, as a wife, as a mother. He is the One Who protects. He is the One Who will build my house. As I gazed into the heavens that night, I sensed His presence. He was answering my prayer - He was getting me off the roller coaster, He was helping me to know His word, and He was allowing me to really know His presence through His word. I knew He was the One Who had awakened me. And there, as I felt the breeze, I asked the Lord to continue to show me His ways. I wanted His way - the good way - and I wanted His grace to walk in it.

I loved the Lord before that night but after that night I loved Him even more. He woke me up. He saved my life. He saved the lives of my children.

I knew what Jesus taught in the gospel of John, “If you love me, you will obey me.” That night was the beginning of my wanting to obey God with all my heart and of my knowing God’s presence in my life in a whole new way.

Just as God had met with me in a car full of college students, He had now met with me in the darkness of the night holding my two babies in my arms.

_______________________

Just as my Chapel Hill days had been an exciting time in my life as a single girl, so my Duke days were an exciting time in my life as a wife and mother. I had a handsome husband who loved God and me with all his heart. We had two young children, a growing ministry at Duke University, full days loving and serving God - and then the opportunity to attend Dallas Theological Seminary to further train for ministry. God was directing our steps. We saw many students come to Christ and then go into full-time Christian work. We had a wonderful church family and felt fulfilled as a young couple. Then I found myself pregnant with my third child and I had no idea the trials we were about to face . . .

Mothering from the Heart, Part 1

2011-05-11T07:57:00.000-07:00

When I speak of mothering from the heart, I always think of a particular passage of Scripture.

In Matthew chapter 22:36, Jesus was asked a question by the Pharisees. The narrative tells that the Pharisees' question was to put Jesus to the test - they had no heart to grow and learn. But for those of us who do have a heart to grow and learn, Jesus' answer stirs us:

“ ‘Teacher, which is the great commandment in the Law?’ And He said to him, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the great and foremost commandment. The second is like it, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments depend the whole Law and the Prophets.”

Jesus was quoting Deuteronomy 6:5. God was speaking through Moses to the children of Israel, His chosen people:

“Now this is the commandment, the statutes and the judgments which the Lord your God has commanded me to teach you, that you might do them in the land where you are going over to possess it, so that you and your son and your grandson might fear the Lord your God, to keep all His statutes and His commandments, which I command you, all the days of your life, and that your days may be prolonged. O Israel, you should listen and be careful to do it, that it may be well with you and that you may multiply greatly, just as the Lord, the God of your fathers, has promised you, in land flowing with milk and honey.

Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord is one! And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.

“And these words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart; and you shall teach them diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up.”

I remember being impressed with these verses - learning that in order for me to pass down God’s truth to my children, I must not just know it or be able to recite Bible verses or be familiar with Scripture, but it must be on my heart.

How can I pass down the truth of God’s word to my children if it is not on my heart? How will they see it? How will they know what is most important to me? I realized that my heart needed to beat for God. God used my children to show me even more that I needed His truth on my heart. So it has been my prayer since day one of mothering that I would grow in my understanding of what it means to have a heart that beats for God. What it means to walk with God moment by moment trusting Him for every detail of my life. What it means to live out in my home, before my husband and children, what I say I believe.

In my own life, God has met me. He has come alongside so often to refresh my heart as He has revealed areas of my life He wants to change.

What I am beginning here in my blog is the heart and soul of my life's message. I teach a Bible study for mothers periodically in my home church. In the beginning, it had a different title but then it morphed into Mothering from the Heart because I was learning that mothering is less about following some formula or someone's book rules and more about having a heart that beats for God. God really gives no set of "rules" for mothering - but He speaks about the heart all the time. And He gives plenty of principles for living. And He gives women the responsibility of mothering. So it seemed to me that I needed to get my heart right, learn His word, obey His word, and then trust Him one baby step at a time.

These blog posts won't be so much about rules of mothering as it will be about the heart of mothering. It will be mostly about perspective. It will be mostly about keeping our minds and hearts focused.

It is my prayer as I attempt to blog, from my notes, what I have shared for many years, that women will be affirmed and encouraged (and sometimes admonished) to live our lives well. I will not so much write things that you do not know (except personal stories), but I will write to stir your hearts to live out what you know. It is my desire that we obey what we know. As we do, God continues to reveal more of Himself to us. John 14:21:

"Whoever has my commands and obeys them, he is the one who loves Me. And he who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love him and show Myself to him."

We’re going to look at a lot of truth from Scripture as I blog. We’re going to take a look at where we’ve been as a culture of women, where we are now, and where we can go from here. That’s why I love Jeremiah 6:16:

“Thus says the Lord, ‘Stand by the ways and see and ask for the ancient paths, Where the good way is, and walk in it; And you shall find rest for your souls.

But they said, ‘We will not walk in it.’

“And I set watchmen over you, saying, ‘Listen to the sound of the trumpet!’ But they said, ‘We will not listen.’”

With all the voices in this world - we must decide to whom and to what we will listen.

Check back often - I will post as much as I can but please remember, I am living life - not just writing about it. I love the blogging world because I believe it can be such a ministry tool and I absolutely love to write but . . .

I also know the temptation for women to blog instead of live. God wants us to live and this blog world of mine will be the overflow of my life - and I pray that God will be glorified through every post and that those who follow my perspective and those who stumble upon it will be encouraged . . .

And I'm sure at times - I will interrupt Mothering from the Heart to blog about my grandchildren. ;-) And of course, anything else . . .

Much, much, much love for our Savior ~ and you . . .

Thoughts about Children . . .

2011-04-19T08:43:00.000-07:00

All children were created by God and will live forever.

All children are sinners and, even if saved, still choose to do what is wrong.

Because of this, all children need a mother and a father to guide and teach and train them.

Yet, even though children are sinners, all children are born with a knowledge of God and are ready to learn about God.

All children are teachable and if normal, are eager to learn.

And it seems to me, all children are good at memorizing. They learn Psalm 1 after a few times of hearing it. They learn a song after a few times of singing it.

Though sinful; God has placed within children a desire to please adults, especially mommy and daddy.

"Good job!"

"I'm so proud of you!"

"So glad God gave you to me!"

These are statements children love to hear and each one well-placed at appropriate times in their lives motivates them to please even more. Hebrews tells us, "And let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds." So why not consider how to stimulate our children to love and good deeds? Think about it - as a mom, I can set a motivating tone in my home.

It seems to me that most children respond to the call to live noble lives; they want to do right. They copy their role models.

It seems to me as I've taught children for thirty years now that they readily believe the Bible is God’s Word and are willing to see God as holy. They are captivated by Bible stories - especially if the one teaching is captivated.

Children respect prayer and are willing to be taught how to pray. In fact, they love to pray. They don't wonder what to pray about, they pray what's on their hearts and minds.

Children want to do well and like to compete in a friendly sort of way.

A child’s concept of what is right and wrong is easily shaped and molded.

Children are gripped by illustrations and stories. “When I was a little girl like you . . ." and "When your daddy was a little boy like you . . .”

Children love to sing. They do not care if they can carry a tune or if they know all the words.

Their emotions are easily stirred. They laugh, cry, yell, scream in fright, and squeal with delight.

Children are capable of making real heart-felt decisions.

They all respond to love.

Children view all women as mommies. Therefore, women (whether they are mothers or not) have a great opportunity to influence children.

Children view all men as daddies. Therefore, men (whether they are fathers or not) have a great opportunity to influence children.

Once, the disciples asked Jesus a question, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?"

His response still amazes me. Jesus called a child and placed him in their midst and then He spoke these words:

"Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever then humbles himself as this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever receives one such child in My name receives Me; but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a heavy millstone hung around his neck, and to be drowned in the depth of the sea."

Wow. What a responsibility we have toward the children God gives to us. The positive command - receive them. The negative rebuke - don't cause them to stumble. Then the warning - better for you to drown in the sea with a dead weight around your neck than to harm a child.

Another time, the disciples were rebuking parents who were bringing their children to Jesus. Jesus got angry and He said these words:

"Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God."

The positive command - let them come. The negative rebuke - do not hinder them. Then the reason - the kingdom of God belongs to them.

Psalm 78 records:

For He established a testimony in Jacob
And appointed a law in Israel,
Which He commanded our fathers
That they should teach them to their children,
That the generation to come might know, even the children yet to be born,
That they may arise and tell them to their children,
That they should put their confidence in God
And not forget the works of God,
But keep His commandments

Thankful for the opportunity TODAY to tell another generation about the mighty works of God . . . the children who are born and those yet to be born.

A Norman Rockwell Moment

2011-04-08T04:39:00.001-07:00

"Your children are so well-behaved," the woman said to me as I stood in Olan Mills quietly signing in.

Obviously she had been watching my little family and me since we came in. Jordan, who was 4, and GraceAnna, who was 2, were sitting quietly in a chair while Jeremy, who was 6, was reading Bible stories to them.

Grant was in my arms looking around and smiling at whomever he saw. It was very pleasant. Idyllic. Picturesque. A Norman Rockwell postcard. Mama and her little ones doing errands together. Clean, scrubbed, cute clothes, freckled faces, smiles.

The woman continued, "I am always so frustrated when I take my children anywhere. They would never sit like that and my baby would be squirming out of my arms. And I only have three! How do you do it?"

Let's see. How do I do it? It was my time to give great words of wisdom.

I could do that, of course, because she hadn't been there the last time my little family was in Olan Mills.

That day had started innocently enough. All I had to do was get the children cleaned and dressed and smiling before Carl came home because we were going to have a family picture taken.

"Why do we have to get dressed up for the picture, Mom?" Jordan had yelled to me from the bathtub."

"Because I want you to look nice."

"But we don't usually look nice, don't you want us to look like us?"

It was a good question. But in my experience, at least back in 1988, the pictures should look nice even if in real life the children didn't. Have things changed?

As I made it to the bathroom to finish checking the children, I said, "Just get dressed, Jordan."

I did mange to get everyone ready just as Carl walked in the door. We all rushed to the van, buckled up, and everything seemed fine. I even sighed a sigh that meant something. Something like, "Wow, I did it. Everyone is clean and scrubbed, fresh faces, fresh clothes, and now my man is here." We're off to get that Norman Rockwell photograph.

But then Grant started crying.

"Give his pacifier to him," I instructed Jeremy.

"OK, but where is it?" he asked as he searched the car seat and the floor of the van.

I said, "Jeremy, check the diaper bag." As I said those words, I could see the diaper bag still sitting on our kitchen table. I had forgotten the diaper bag. Good mom.

Oh well, we were almost there. Olan Mills was just a short distance from our home. I probably won't need it, I thought to myself. Grant will stop crying as soon as I take him out of his carseat.

We pulled up in the parking lot and everyone got out and went inside. Everyone, that is, except me. And Grant. He was still crying and I didn't want to take a screaming baby into Olan Mills. I didn't want to bring chaos in.

So I bounced him gently and sang to him as I tried to console him. In gratitude, he spit up all over the front of his picture-taking clothes. I wasn't concerned however because I had more picture-taking clothes in his diaper bag . . . which was at home.

It took me awhile to use enough wipes that were left in the van (thanks, honey, for not taking them out last time you cleaned) to make Grant presentable. I finally made my way inside to join my well-behaved family. Carl was with them so, of course, everything would be fine. I should expect to find the photographer snapping photos of an angelic family in the waiting room.

But that was not to be. Instead, as I walked in, I heard a big crash and a little girl scream. The scream sounded familiar - like one I had heard many times at my home. Then I saw water seeping down a hall.

Some ill-behaved boys . . . our boys . . . had climbed onto the coke machine to reach the paper cups for the water cooler and in the process the water cooler toppled over. And because GraceAnna was usually close to the boys, and this time was no exception, somehow her dress got soaked. Grant started crying again. I think I handed Grant off to Carl as he was trying to clean up the mess but I really can't remember. Maybe he was still in my arms. I can do many, many things one-handed and I'm not sure Carl can.

I do remember taking GraceAnna to the bathroom and standing her under the hand dryer to dry her dress. It was then I noticed how weird her hair looked. Messy sticky weird. I grabbed one of the random combs (I know, I know - eeyew) from the Olan Mills mirror room and began to comb it. It was like glue.

"Carl," I yelled. "GraceAnna's hair is sticky." I didn't really care who heard me. Grant was still crying anyway.

"Um, Mom," Jeremy said, "I think it's vaseline."

"What?"

"Vaseline. She was playing with the vaseline before we left the house."

I didn't even want to know. I didn't even wonder how I missed that. I didn't even care.

Maybe a photographer can disguise vaseline in a child's hair. Maybe a photographer can photoshop a throw-up stain on an infant's clothes. Maybe a photographer can make a baby stop crying. And maybe a photographer can make me smile. Maybe.

So, how do I do it?

All I know is we have a family photograph with Carl's hand strategically placed on unhappy baby Grant, three very cute children, and a mom who is MIA. And don't even ask me about Grant's un-socked feet . . .

They Make Me Smile

2011-03-12T07:56:00.001-08:00

As I was leaving GraceAnna's house to run some errands this morning, "Smile" came on the radio. I immediately began to smile because fresh in my mind were images of my newest grandchild and really, I was already smiling. This song just made me smile bigger - if that's possible. Images of each of my grandchildren - Jack, Luke, Lois, Claire, and now AudreyKate make me smile.

With each child God placed in my arms all those years ago, I smiled. And now with each grandchild, I smile even bigger. I'll be blogging more later but for now, this song says it all.

This is for Jack, Luke, Lois, Claire, and AudreyKate.

AudreyKate has Arrived!

2011-03-08T04:40:00.001-08:00

AudreyKate Anne Castleberry

Born: March 3rd, 4:26 p.m.

6lbs 12 oz

19 1/2 in.

My Little Girl, Mid-1990s

2011-02-21T09:25:00.001-08:00

While cleaning out shelves in an old school closet to make room for my home office books and files, I came across an sketch pad filled with drawings made by my daughter. Below is a sampling of the artwork I found and in mama-fashion, I couldn't help but reflect on those days - especially since my little girl is about to have her own baby girl.

Life in the Broggi home . . . circa mid-1990's:

First we get dressed. And sometimes we're disappointed in how we look. And sometimes the flower on Mama's hat is disappointed as well. Oh dear.

Then we do school. We are not sure of the answer to the math problem but we are raising our hands anyway. Mama is wearing her glasses and is dressed up so she will look like a real school teacher.

Then we go jogging near the sideways house. We like to keep fit. We say, "Jog, Jog, Jog," to stay motivated.

Then we scrub floors in our best dress. Though we have gained a little weight since our morning jog, we are Cinderella. Like her, we scrub with a smile on our face, singing a happy tune.

Then we try on a fancy hat and consider what we will do the rest of the day while holding a delicate flower in our hand and wearing our heart choker necklace. We like bling. The sun is shining on the Broggi home.

Oh yes, we go shopping. And we're loving the heart-shaped purse, the belt, the flower necklace, and the ruffle skirt.

We are happy.