The "Stuff" In My Purse And A Trip To Barnes & Noble

I reached into my “mom bag” yesterday searching for a pen.  I knew that, somewhere in the deep recesses of my gianormous purse, there was a pen to be found.  In my search, I discovered a collection, of sorts, that has been accumulating in my bag:  One strawberry ponytail holder, a Lightning McQueen matchbox car, children’s plastic sunglasses, a stuffed monkey, a silk rose, and a miniature leopard purse.  Needless to say, finding my pen took a little longer than anticipated.   

How does this happen to an organized and meticulous perfectionist?  I hate clutter and yet, my purse is filled to the brim with mini racecars and stuffed animals; it’s like the “City of Lost Toys” in there!  Not only does this excess stuff hide my essentials and turn me into Mary Poppins pulling out everything aside from the kitchen sink, but they weigh my purse down so that I feel like I’m carrying a five-pound baby around on my shoulder. 

I guess I could always downsize and use a smaller purse, but I really like all the extra space I get with my “mom bag”.  Plus, it’s very trendy, and I’m all about being trendy.  (Note: I’m “Wearing” Children.)

Another option would be to prohibit my children from putting anything inside my purse, but I can tell you right now- that is never going to work.  I’m a mom.  Moms have purses…big ones, and their kids know it.  They know that mom probably has a band-aid in that massive shoulder bag, along with a quarter for offering and extra paper for doodling.  Plus, the “mom bag” has to be available for toting all those miscellaneous playthings.  Who else is going to make sure those sacred toys make it home in one piece? 

After thinking about it for a bit, I realized the key to this “problem” I’m having is for me to daily unburden my “mom bag” of all the extra stuff.  It’s as simple as that.  There will be plenty of opportunities for my purse to be filled again the next day, but at least it won’t be adding clutter to clutter.

This got me thinking about God and the stuff in my own life – the never-ending clutter that amasses itself in my thoughts, my desires, and my heart.  I seem to collect all kinds of unsightly things such as:  Impatience, a critical spirit, jealousy, comparing myself, negative self-talk, laziness, fear - it’s a pretty nasty list.  Then there are the distractions that also jumble up and leave my life a mess:  Finances, unreached goals, blocked goals, searching for significance.  I find that I can so easily get bogged down with all of these that even when I am supposed to be having my quiet time with God, I end up thinking about all my “stuff” instead. 

Which brings me to today.  I love Barnes and Noble.  I love walking through those tall double-doors and instantaneously coming face-to-face with shelves upon shelves of books.  I have a little ritual I do every time I go to this beloved bookstore.  First, I head straight to the Starbucks in the back of the store and purchase my grande, soy, caramel macchiato.  Then, with a yummy coffee drink in hand, I start weaving my way through the various sections of the store until I reach the Bargain Books.  If I can find something particularly interesting for $5.98, then I’m sold and ready to hunker down on one of the soft and cushy B&N chairs with my newly found treasure.  Today was no exception as I headed towards the bargains, perusing the shelves of various topics and genres along the way.  I was on the hunt for something thought-provoking and engaging and somehow managed to end up in the “Self-Improvement” aisle.  I was dizzy with awe as I skimmed through a myriad of book titles claiming to hold the secrets to a fulfilling life:  “Rich Dad’s Guide to Financial Success”, “Personal Development – All-In-One for Dummies”, “Oprah’s Big Book Of Happiness”, “Live What You Love”, “Plato Not Prozac”, “How To Improve Your Marriage Without Talking” to name a few. 

Rather than feeling inspired to snatch one of these books up and take it home with me, I walked away feeling heavy-hearted.  There are literally hundreds of authors and book titles offering techniques and step-by-step processes to find inner-peace and fulfillment in life.  And really, the only thing these books end up doing is creating yet another pile of clutter.  It’s not just me; everyone is looking for something:  Personal satisfaction, fulfillment, a life-calling.  We are a society lost and internally dry and empty.  There are a lot of sad people in this world, and not sad because they have no food to eat or no roof over their heads; they are sad because they have too much of all those things, but lack peace.  We run ourselves ragged searching for “that one thing” that will complete us and make us whole.  Usually, “that one thing” is clutter.

I sat in a chair holding my Starbucks and began processing both my pen search from yesterday and my book hunt of today.  I was feeling rather convicted regarding the “stuff” in my life that God was bringing to mind.  In all the countless times I worry, fret, and react in a state of panic, I’m not being very godly.  It doesn’t matter if I wake up at 5:30 in the morning to spend time with God when I fritter the time away thinking about how unfulfilled I am.  This junk leaves my heart and soul in disarray rather than drawing my heart towards God.  I think about all of those “self-help” books, and they do exactly the same thing.  They don’t point towards God; they keep pointing to self.  Upsetting to me was that, as I skimmed through a couple of these books, I found at no place did they touch on finding fulfillment and meaning beyond satiating one’s own desires. 

I’m not about completely emptying my purse because there are some pretty essential things in there.  If I were to follow the advice of many of these self-help gurus, I would end up completely empty, as though I had completely dumped all the contents of my purse out on the floor.  What I’m shooting for is removing the “stuff” that bogs me down and keeps me from living life to the fullest.  I don’t want to be empty.  I want to be full, but full of the right things – the best things.  When I need to find something, I don’t want to sort through a bunch of junk in order to find it. 

Philippians 4:6-9

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things.”

The things I want in my “purse” are those that are true, noble, right, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy.  When I allow the clutter to pile up, it takes such a long time to find the truth.  When fear becomes another pile in my heart, and I don’t dump it immediately, then I end up anxious and worried.  While there are certain things I may struggle with for the rest of my life, I don’t have to let them stick around.  It just means I must continuously empty my “purse” - my life - of the clutter and allow the peace of God to settle inside and fill the contents with all that is excellent and praiseworthy.

This is no small task, both literally and spiritually.  It will require much discipline on my part, but God is faithful.  I don’t need to run to Oprah to discover happiness and a guide to life.  I just need to run to God, to His Word, and hide it in my heart.  It is when I do this that I will find the pen I’ve been searching for and the peace that transcends all understanding.

Do The Monkey

As I plopped back into my chair, heart racing and completely out of breadth from doing the “Monkey, Monkey” with the Wiggles, I had an epiphany, of sorts. Who says that stay-at-home moms don’t exercise? I’ve often beat myself to a pulp over the fact that by the time I’ve successfully taken care of all the needs of my household, plus managed to squeeze in a hot shower and throw on some make-up (we don’t want to scare the children), that I haven’t chiseled out at least thirty minutes for a heart pumping workout. I haven’t “Sweat To The Oldies” or knocked a lamp to the floor and stubbed my toe kickin’ it “old school” with Billy Blanks’ “Tae Bo – Advanced Total Body Workout” in years. (And, might I just add, both of these classics I happen to own on video-cassette – well, at least the Tae Bo one for sure - which simply proves how long it has been since I’ve been in workout mode!) The guilt plagues me. I see cute little mommies run by my house pushing their only offspring around in their top-of-the-line jogging strollers and I get depressed. I suppose I could pile all three of my kids into our six-year-old Graco deluxe stroller and go for a spin, but someone might get hurt - like me. I could seriously pull something you know. This morning Jackson, our number one Wiggles fan, dragged my mommy rear away from the computer and begged me to dance with him. So…I did. We “mashed bananas”, did the “monkey, monkey” and danced with Henry the Octopus. Once my little man’s love tank was full to overflowing from the quality time I spent with him cuttin’ loose with the Wiggles, I eased my way back into my comfy chair and that is when it hit me. I’m getting a workout every single day just keeping up with my three small “Monkey, Monkeys”! I’m climbing things – bunk beds, play structures and stairs – lifting weights (my children), and stretching almost every muscle in my body as I work my way through the house keeping it neat and orderly. I’m a workout machine!

Side note: I could seriously create my own workout video (I think they’re actually called DVD’s and Blu Ray these days). I could share all my fabulous moves with all the other stay-at-home-with-two-or-more-children mommies. I could be the next fitness guru, create and empire and retire at 40 – my…how the mind gets carried away.

Snapping back to reality…

I love being a stay-at-home mom. Even though I don’t get to don the cute workout clothes and jog around the neighborhood - inflicting envy on all the other women gazing out their front windows - I am grateful for what I do have. My workouts are small but come with big reward: Three healthy children - who keep me on the move all day long, sweatin’ with Dorothy the Dinosaur - and lots of hugs, kisses and words of encouragement when the workout is completed – “Mommy, you did it!”

And that concludes my deep thought for the day - which is perfect timing because I do believe I hear my three “personal trainers” beckoning me back for another round of “Monkey, Monkey” and “Crunchy, Munchy Honeycakes”!

So…here…I…go…!

Africa, Bats and "Goat City" Smells (Part Two)

Africa. Experiences.

Even thinking about it now takes me back to the smell of chai and mandazis. I can almost taste the rich aromas of the coffee and tea plantations we drove by daily to get to school and church. Or the not-so-pleasant stench of “goat city” that, we too, had to drive through to get to school and church. I can see my white Keds turned red Keds from the red clay dirt that seemed to find it’s way into just about every nook and cranny of our lives. I can hear the sound of silence – sweet, calm and serene – on a typical night, where you can still see every star immeasurably scattered across the vast and boundless Kenyan sky. Coastal vacations on the white sands of Mombasa – the succulent salt air wafting through our hotel room beckoning us to put our toes in the sand and walk for miles. Reaching Mount Longanot’s highest peak - laden with camera, food and pretty much everything my mom thought we might need for a fun, “little hike” – as a family.

There are subtle, and then many not-so-subtle, moments when I look at my own children and it hits me that they are so “American”. I scratch my head and fret that because my adult life has led me to settle in the United States, my children may never have the opportunities like I had growing up. I stress about it…a lot. I hear “Americana” dribble from Sydney’s six-year-old mouth and I just want to cry. Will she ever realize that the world is much, much bigger and holds infinitely more, than her collection of Sleeping Beauty paraphernalia and stash of “golden” rocks hiding in her jewelry box? I know…she’s only six, but I desperately want her to know what I only wish I could have grasped as a little girl: that those experiences that take us outside and beyond the ordinariness of life, are the very things that open our hearts, minds and souls to a measureless world called “life”. I want my kids to actually have something to write about someday. I want them to be able to remember “the time we…”. I want them to breathe air that doesn’t smell sweet, or lose their shoes in something really disgusting, catch a parasite or two, sit in a room with five different languages carrying on conversations, set up a picnic five feet away from a python. I want them to know that there is ministry far more dangerous than an internship in Detroit; an adventure far more exciting than a vacation to Disney World; and a cultural experience far more unique than Canada.

My brain is a never-ending tirade of an unsatisfied wish list. I thought I was weird growing up because my experiences were so out-of-the-ordinary. Yet, here I am - the grown-up me - realizing just how extra-ordinary those adventures actually were. Even as I write this, I find myself challenged to take all of those encounters and incidents, collect them warmly in my heart, and allow God to use them through me. They are a part of my life story. They have shaped me and made me the woman I am today. While my children may not grow up overseas and share the same stories I write about, their's too will be great. They have me for their mom, and through the telling of my own experiences, their minds will be opened to endless possibilities of the places they can go and the things they can do! Maybe they won’t grow up in Africa, but I am certain they will have a desperate longing to go there someday, taste the nyama choma, smell the maize crackling on a make-shift grill along the street, and hold the tiny, orphaned, diaper-less babies.

Experiences. My experiences. They may not grace the pages of a book or magazine, or be the topic of conversation at the next social gathering, but my experiences will hopefully inspire and encourage my own children to reach for the stars and seek wild, insane adventures of their own.

Africa, Bats and "Goat City" Smells (Part One)

Experiences.  

I wish I could say that I have always appreciated the life story God chose for me. Take my childhood in Africa, for example. God in His infinite wisdom called my parents/family to Kenya. I have spent a lot of time wondering of what use my experiences could be: a good party story or outrageous testimonial? How does one make sense of so many random situations and off kilter scenarios? Life in Africa, life in America after Africa - each holding bizarre and embarrassing moments that still remain a mystery to me.

For instance, the time my sister, mom and I were sitting in the Dairy Queen drive-thru placing our orders for three Snickers Blizzards. In Africa we were accustomed to enunciating our words thoroughly so that we could be understood. My sister and I, 11 and 13 years of age, sat mortified in the back seat of the car as we observed the skinny, pot holed faced teen-age kid in the drive-thru window making fun of our mom who was clearly articulating our order for “threeeee Ssss-nick-errrs Bliiiiizzzz-are-dssss.” We wanted to die. And what made it all the more horrifying is that EVERYWHERE we went, my parents had to announce to everyone – the check out girl at JC Penney, the waiter at Denny’s, every employee at the mall, for that matter – that we live in Africa. As if, by simply looking at us they couldn’t already tell that we were not “from these parts”!

Adjusting to America was painful. As I sat in my math class at Jackson Middle School in South Bend, Indiana the only voice ringing in my head - as the boys ruthlessly made fun of my wild, multi-colored floral Palmetto jeans - was my mom’s, emphatically drilling the words, “Nine, Ninety-nine!” into the heads of my sister and me as we were shopping at the outlet mall for school clothes. We were on a tight budget and the maximum amount of money we were allotted to spend on anything was, “Nine, Ninety-nine!” To this day, when I am out shopping, I still hear my mom chanting, “Nine-Ninety-nine!” It’s insane.

Kids would talk about T.V. shows or some pop culture trivia that I was completely clueless about, and I would just sit silently. Nobody wants to hear about the Kikuyu woman who died during one of our church services, and after a bunch of people ran over and laid hands on her during worship, she came back to life and started pounding on a drum and jumping up and down. Stories like that just weren’t “cool”. Or the time we were driving out to another Kikuyu church and had to stop our car so that a herd of elephant could cross the street (elephants have the right of way!). And the countless stories of the obnoxious hawks (kites) that would swoop down during lunch time at school and snatch the food right out of our hands…well, who really cares about that?

Nobody wanted to hear the story about the time a bat flew up and hit me on my bare rear end while on a school camping trip. Or about the camel safari that left me constipated for a week. Or the time I got malaria. Or when my foot was only a few inches away from stepping on a coiling cobra. Or when my sister and I were on a safari in Swaziland and were chased by a herd of elephant…on foot (we forgot to give them the right of way)! Oh no…the American kids wanted to hear stories from the guy who spent a few weeks of his summer working in Detroit. Detroit! Are you kidding me? But alas, perhaps it was God’s gentle way of keeping me humble so that all my “experiences” wouldn’t go to my head.

Of course, the time I actually did open my mouth to say something it turned me into a “freak”. I asked the girl occupying the desk beside me if I could borrow a “rubber” – which, by the way, in Africa a “rubber” is an “eraser”…just clarifying. Of course, you can only imagine the uproar of laughter that sprung up in the classroom – filled with twenty junior high boys! All I could think was, “what did I say?”

I was “That Girl From Africa”. Not Meryl Streep from “Out Of Africa” – I could only wish – but “That Girl…” That shy little girl, who so desperately wanted to belong and be just like everybody else, but whose parents had to follow the call of God so that I could grow up in an exotic, life-transforming place called...Africa.

(End Part One.)

Battle Picking...

Pick your battles.

Man...with three little ones I am learning how absolutely right on this advice is, and how much I need to adhere to it. Here are a few battles I have decided are not worth fighting, and in retrospect have been the best decisions I have made thus far in my parenting experience:

* Allowing my daughters to pick out their own outfits - When I broke down and finally relinquished control over what my girls were allowed to wear, or at least how they wore their outfits, mornings in my home became refreshingly sweet, calm and smooth. When they were babies and toddlers I controlled everything in their lives, down to the shoes on their feet and bows in their hair. But here they are - Sydney is 6 and Brooklyn is 4 - and of all things...they have their own opinions. Imagine that! I want my kids to learn to think for themselves, take responsibility for their decisions and learn how it feels to succeed, and sometimes fail, on their own. The simple act of deciding what they wear on their bodies is one step towards gaining confidence in themselves to make the next choice, even if it is a small one.

* Letting Jackson, my two year old son, wear his Disney Cars jammies to church (last night) - Who would have thought that a BOY would have such a strong opinion about what clothes he wore on his body! My son has five different pairs of Disney Cars jammies, and that is all he EVER wants to wear. One exception is his Cars t-shirt. Since we only have one t-shirt and five pairs of jammies, you can see that there is often a struggle to get him to wear regular clothes. When we are at home I let him wear his jammies, but when we go somewhere like church, playgroup, Bible study, etc. I kind of prefer he wear normal "going out" clothes. Getting him dressed for such occasions can sometimes be a nightmare. Yesterday evening, however, I decided this battle was NOT worth fighting. Why make him wear a t-shirt and shorts for a grand total of two hours? Who really cares anyway? Of course my mind starts churning about comments that might or might not be made. After all, I am a pastor's wife. What will people think? I hate to admit that there are times that I really do worry about what other people think of me. Not last night - my son wore his beloved Cars jammies to church. Our whole evening was blissful. He was so happy and so proud to wear "Lightning McQueen" on his chest. There are plenty of other battles worth engaging the physical and mental energy in, but not this one...not last night.

* Quiet time activities - In a perfect world, or at least my perfect world, quiet time would mean my children sit and read, draw, colour, listen to music or watch a movie...in perfect silence. I mean, when I am having quiet time that's what I do! Here's what I've learned in my six years of parenting...children don't know how to be 100% still and quiet. There must be some sort of chemical or hormone or biological something in their little bodies which makes refraining from talking, singing, twirling and creative play nearly impossible. Unless my children are actually sleeping, their bodies never stop engaging in activity. Still, I am a firm believer that a little down time/quiet time is needed every day (especially for me). In order for all of us to enjoy our quiet time I have lowered my expectations. Instead of forcing them to sit still and read or watch a movie, I have given them freedom to play quietly. They are allowed to talk and interact, however, when the volume gets too loud or they start running and jumping I will, and do, step in. By being more flexible on this I find that I don't have to disengage from my own quiet time as much in order to deal with them. Let that battle go! (By the way, Jackson still takes naps...BLESSING!)

* Taking toys/books out of the house - Okay...this one was kind of a back and forth issue with me. It seemed that every time we would let the kids take a little toy to church it would somehow disappear...forever. I got tired of losing toys. In order to deal with this issue we made a new rule that toys and books were not allowed to leave the house. Then there were those "transitional" life moments that came: new class, new teacher, new friends, etc. The need for something comforting began to arise more and more. Discovering this simple need to hold on to a lovey, a small toy or even a little book began to make leaving the house in a timely fashion an actuality for us. The agreement we have on this is that they leave their toys in the car once we have arrived at our destination. If they are carrying a bag with them they are permitted to take the toy inside the school or church, but it MUST stay in the bag. So far, we have not lost a single toy or book!

Other battles I have let go of, (but don't feel the need to elaborate on):

* How they decide to decorate their bedroom * T.V. viewing in the morning * Playroom clean-up - how they do it, not if they do it

Just as my children are a work in progress...SO AM I! Some of the lessons I've learned may be "no brainers" for most moms, but maybe there are a few others out there like me that are "late bloomers" in the area of "battle picking". For those in the latter category, I hope my words are an encouragement to you. Choose your battles wisely, my friends...choose wisely.

A Premature Goodbye

Two years ago today my grandmother passed away. She was 81 years old. Nanny had shared sixty beautiful years with my grandfather, left behind a son, two granddaughters and three great-grandchildren. Her legacy was one of strength, self-sacrifice and trust in God. She had weathered the Great Depression as a child, went to work during World War II, took in my grandfather's siblings when their mother passed away, raised her family while working full time and remained devoted to my grandfather through sickness, health, feast and famine. Still, as I sat through her funeral I couldn't help but feel that Nanny had left us way too soon. I don't think I would ever have been ready to let my grandmother go - there's never a good time to say goodbye. Today I received word that a friend of mine from high school had to say goodbye to his eight month old baby girl two days ago...on Father's Day. I have read his blog to catch up on this saga, and I find myself sharing in this family's grief. Oh God, how could this be? This precious baby girl, who only had eight months to share with her family, is now in the arms of her Heavenly Father. I can not even imagine the sorrow, the questions...the premature goodbye. I know that God is with them - I hear the strength in the words they write. I also know this is only the beginning of a long road through the grief and the pain.

I struggle as I write this, my mind swirling with thoughts of my friend and his family. I look at my own little brood and a flood of emotion washes over me. I want to scoop each one of my children up and squeeze them tight - how grateful I am for their health, their energy, their smiles, their cries, from the hair on their heads to their wiggly little toes...every detail. While I'm dealing with temper tantrums and sibling rivalry, my friend is dealing with the pain of never again hearing the sound of his little girl's cry. The perspective is convicting. We may not have much - our house may be too small, our bank account sadly deficient and holding on to our sanity may be the only thing we accomplish on any given day. However, I am so thankful for all of it. I'm thankful that my home is filled with the sounds of children laughing and crying, jumping and running. This perspective, while convicting, brings me to a fresh awareness of how blessed I am. Not blessed because of any external or material thing, but I am blessed in the little things. And for these blessings, I am truly grateful.

Thinking back to my grandmother, I recall all of the experiences I was able to share with her, the conversations we had, the Christmases, the stories. Even if I think my time with her was too short, saying goodbye was filled with hundreds of memories that I can hold on to for the rest of my life. While I wasn't prepared to say goodbye to Nanny, it was not premature. God knows how many years, days and months we will live on this earth. "All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be," Psalm 139:16. Whether we get to live eighty years, or life ends at eight months, God has ordained each one of those days. It is more difficult to understand the purpose of only eight months, but somehow God's plan will unfold in time. In this moment I see this baby's departure as a premature goodbye, but as time goes on I am certain God will prove me wrong. He will reveal a purpose beyond what I, or her family, could possibly comprehend.

My heartfelt prayers go out to my friend, his wife and their families today. I realize nothing I say will ease the pain of their loss. I know that God is with them. He will guide them through the grief, be a listening ear in the wee hours of the night when the pain seems most intense and hold them tightly in His grasp when they feel they are falling apart. Like I said at the beginning, there's never a good time to say goodbye, however I would imagine a premature goodbye would be the most difficult one to say.

In conclusion: I will keep praying for my friend. And as I pray for this family, I will continue thanking God for each moment, day and year that I am so blessed to share with my own family. For God has ordained each one of our days, and I want to cherish each one, no matter how few or how many we get to experience together.

My "Ah-Ha" Moment

"Children are not things to be molded, but people to be unfolded." - Unknown

I had an "ah-ha" moment this week.

My husband and I are taking a parenting class. Part of our homework was to take a behavior assessment, and then do a simplified one for each of our children. There are four main temperaments: The "Doer" - takes charge, doesn't believe in the word 'no', strong-willed, intense; the "Expressive" - talkative, demonstrative, energetic, social, 'life of the party'; the "Relater" - warm, caring, laid back, sensitive to the needs of others; and the "Thinker" - analytical, processing, reserved, thoughtful, introspective.

Here are the results we found in our family:

Dad - High "Doer" and "Expressive"
Mom - High "Relater" and "Thinker"
Child #1 - "Doer"/"Expressive"
Child #2 - "Expressive/"Relater"
Child #3 - "Doer"/"Thinker"

Three out of five in my family are "doers", one is highly "expressive", and then there is me. The relater. The thinker. The temperament that craves peace, tranquility and calm, rational thought and step-by-step process. If I were to describe my family in three words they would be: "DRAMA", "INTENSITY" and "PASSION". Do you see where I might feel a little like a duck out of water?

Here is my "ah-ha" moment.

I have often felt discouraged and much frustration as a parent because I can't seem to keep my home quiet and calm, and my children soft-spoken and reserved. When I am out with my three little ones there is much bustle and energy, noise and opinions. For a long time I have believed that somewhere along the way I messed up - that I haven't been training and leading them adequately - and, therefore, something must be wrong with ME. Then we did this behavior assessment. My perspective has completely changed. I came to the realization that with the temperaments represented in my home, there will always be commotion, noise, energy, passion, drama, excitement, talking, expressive story-telling, and intense outbursts of feeling and emotion. My home will NEVER be sedate. My home will always be ALIVE. You've heard, "The hills are alive, with the sound of music..." Well, my home is alive with sound of Slaters.

And that's okay. Realizing this has helped me look at my children, and even my husband, in a new light. Instead of molding them into a shape or design that suits me – or even the perceived expectations of others - my challenge as their mother is to unfold what God has ordained and woven together in my womb, with His guidance and help. It's not about letting them go wild and unruly - that would be irresponsible. It's about discovering them, learning them, nurturing their strengths and applying godly instruction to make them into the people that God designed them to be.

In conclusion, God blessed me with these little ones. He has given me everything I need to train them up, guide them and discover all the beauty and potential that lies within them – unfolding, not molding.