💩 "A Case of the Poo-tastic Monday's." 💩

It started off as normal as humanely possible. Feeding 5 kids Wild Berry Pop Tarts, filling and refilling water bottles & sippy cups. Then plopping down on my "Momma Perch" (a chair and a half that is like jumping on the lap of a life size teddy bear)

As the 3 younger ones finished, the 2 olders sweetly played a game of "catch" with their England hats (from their Nanny), and a ball. Then one-by-one, the toddlers entered the room. The lone Pop Tart eater was the beloved Squish. Then, as she finished, Daylon got a wet paper towel, and helped me wipe off the jelly goodness, that had encrusted her lovely wrist rolls. We laughed, joyfully doing this task together. All 5 were playing sweetly together. Fun games of "chase me" and "watch this". Then, the oldest came to report.

"Momma, Edyn pooped!"

"Okay, buddy! Let's make sure she's done, then I'll change her!"

He runs off. Then right after he exits the room, Daylon enters.

"Hey! Umm Momma! Edyn pooooooped! It's stinky!"

"Okay, bud! Khai just told me, I'll come check her, and make sure she's done!"

As I'm walking towards the giggles, and noise in my bedroom, I spot the Squish. She looked up at me with a string of snot out the left nostril, and a toothy grin so wide, her chubby cheeks squinted her eyes nearly closed.

"Maaa maaa maaa maa!"

"Squishles!"

She was crawling, so I scooped both my hands under her belly, and flipped her onto my shoulder. She squealed with delight, and I reverse flipped her, as I laid her on the floor in her room to change that burn-your-eyes sensation that was caged in the beloved diaper. 

At this point, I felt like a rodeo cowboy trying to wrestle a baby calf into the perfect position, so I could get those two sides off, to begin inspection.

Then she, like a good Squishy calf, did a 180, and was belly down, trying to crawl away. That's when I saw it. POO ON THE CARPET. 

What the whiskers? Size 6 diaper, don't fail me now!!!

And then I saw it. The cute purple "Wilderness Safari" tshirt she was wearing, had a chunky green goo ALL THE WAY UP HER BACK.

"Oh no," I said audibly. 

"C'mon Squish! Time for a happy bathy!"

I gingerly scooped her up, and was holding her about a foot away from me, as not to smear anything, ANYWHERE.

I walk through the pile of kids, in the middle of my living room, and a game of 20 questions ensued.

"MOM! Why does Edyn have green pudding all over her?!"

"Momma! SHE STINKS!"

"Yucky!"

"Das gwoss!"

"Guys! She pooped, its all over, I need to give her a bath!"

I started rolling the tshirt inside itself, as a way to corral the stinky goo, then stripped of the leggings that are SO skin tight, they look painted on, then took off the diaper, threw it in a Walmart sack, and chucked it near the trash can. I used the nozzle, so I could get a steady spray going on, to act as the most efficient way to remove the goo that was all the way up to her neck. Poo goo was on my sink, on my counter, on my hands, and all the while, she just kept cheerfully jabbering, and smiling at me!

Then my oldest walks in the room. 

"Uhh Momma??? What. Is. that."

I could tell he was alarmed, but was too busy de-gooing everything. My ponytail tried slipping over my shoulder, into the mess. 

NOT TODAY. 

I swung my long pony tail, over my shoulder, and looked at my son. His eyes were the size of quarters. 

"What's what babe?!"

He put his hand over his mouth, and pointed towards me.

"THAT, on your shirt!"

"My shirt??"

I glance over my shoulder, and see it.

A streak of poo goo all.across.my.shoulder. 

How could this happen?

How does POO get on my shoulder???

Why is it in a perfect, 6 inch long line?!

Then my Mommy brain started firing. Remembering back a mere 6 minutes before, and retracing my poo goo steps.

Mommy.Stinky.Okay.Scoopherup. THROWOVERSHOULDER. Laughing. 

When I threw her over my shoulder, the diaper that had reached max capacity, gently oozed a perfect line that would make cake decorators jealous, onto my shoulder.

"At least my HAIR is in a ponytail." I thought to myself. 

Then that silver lining was quickly debunked faster than the two guys from Mythbusters, as I remembered it almost dipping into the watery mess, and I swung it over my shoulder. 

No, friends, not the poo-free shoulder.

I asked Khai to stand watch as I ran to my bedroom, tore off the goo dress, wrapped my ponytail into a bun (SURVIVAL MODE, PEOPLE), and threw on the closest tshirt, and skirt I could find.

I ran back out, finished hosing off the Squish, got her washed, dried, clothed, and snuggled, then laid her down for a Happy Nappy.

This all happened the first 26 minutes of me being awake. 

The hilarity of it all, is I've got something huge, spiritually, physically, and mentally starting tomorrow.

So today was going to be my "rest day" L.O.L.

But you know what? Rest day, or not, I'm going to choose Joy today! 

I'm thankful for warm running water, to hose off whatever human needs it, whenever we need it. I'm thankful for size 6 diapers from Sam's club, that hold *most* of our needs, when we, at all times, have 3 kiddos in diapers. I'm thankful for the honesty of a 6 year old. (Who KNOWS how long it would've taken me to notice!) I'm thankful for the squishiest, loveable Squish you ever did see! I'm thankful that I'm at home, and could take care of this mini emergency, in the four walls of MY nest! I'm thankful for the strength God gives me each day. This season is where I earn those Mommy stripes! If it were easy, I'd get bored. It's definitely NOT easy, and I'm NEVER bored! And finally, I'm thankful for Light Roast Hazelnut coffee, French vanilla creamer, and Hershey's chocolate sauce. So that I could make the adult version of chocolate milk, to ease me back to a state of Joy. It's a choice, folks.

I have people warn me that I'll miss this phase. And I know without a shadow of a doubt, I will. 

And for all the rest of you "Survival Mode" seasoners. I see you, I know how hard it is, and I promise to tell you you have a cheerio stuck to your rear, if you'll inform me of any goo on my shoulder. 

👊🏻👱🏻♀️

Choose Joy. Speak Life. And Keep Marching.

Our footprints are leaving a legacy for our kiddos to follow. May it be a Godly one.

Oh... and happy Monday, folks! 

Share with a friend who *might* need Survival Mode encouragement!

Happy Fall, Y'all! Sweet Apple Butter, and Bittersweet Memories.

Fall is my absolute favorite season. My birthday, 3 of my kids' birthdays, my parents anniversary, my sisters' birthdays, GOOD GRAVY. LOT'S O' CELEBRATING.

However, even in all the celebrating, what I feel like God is revealing to me, as He gently whispers "Be obedient.", is that Fall, for some, is painful.

As the gently warm breeze switches to a harsh wind, no amount of pumpkin flavored everything can take away the pain.

A miscarriage, an excruciating memory, a difficult child, a feeling of inadequacy. All these things can't be brushed away, as quickly as we sweep leaves off our porch. They can't be erased, even as we try and flood our mind with new memories. The decadent smell of the perfect cinnamon/apple/crust ratio, can't cloud the imperfection of whatever we're carrying. For some, it's just not a Happy Fall, Y'all.

As I type this, I'm flooded with people who've asked me to pray.

A friend who has a toddler at Children's Hospital, trudging through the uncharted waters of all that is involved in every tiny decision made, that is quite literally, life and death.

A Momma who has a strong willed child, and is stomping through a dark forest, quietly whispering "Help!", as she waits for the tiny sliver of light to pierce through, revealing wisdom in how to reach this child's heart.

A mom, and wife, who recently found herself questioning every decision she's made, as her pastor husband revealed his addiction.

A woman who's fears and failures always reveal themselves, like clock-work, right at this time.



And even though I love fall, I can feel it. The bitterness of the cold. As you round a corner, that has been filled with warmth, only to hit the wind, and draw in that deep, freezing cold breath. It's often debilitating. Causing you to lose strength. Whatever bag, scarf, child you're carrying, you squeeze close to you. To try, with no avail, to avoid the harsh bitterness of the cold day.

But as I said, it's to no avail.

I'm not enough.

That Momma in the hospital, is not enough.

That Momma with the strong child, is not enough.

That woman with a book of lies, opened before her, that she'd never seen sitting on her bookshelf, is not enough.

And yet we keep trying to be enough.

We think if we just do more of _____, then the memories will fade. The bitterness will seep away, and we can go on, enjoying life, one bite of sugary pie at a time.

But you and I both know the roller coaster keeps on going. Gary Chapman has a book called "The 4 seasons of Marriage.", which you can find here. And quite honestly, it could be renamed "The 4 seasons of Life." Because whether we're married, single, divorced, a Mom, a daughter, or an estranged child, I feel as though we've all walked through these seasons:

Winter:
Emotions: Hurt, anger, disappointment, loneliness
Climate of Relationship: Detached, cold, harsh, bitter.

Spring:
Emotions: Excitement, joy, hope
Climate of Relationship: Vital, tender, open, caring.

Summer:
Emotions: Happiness, satisfaction, accomplishment, connection
Climate of Relationship: Comfortable, attached, supportive, understanding.

Fall:
Emotions: Fear, sadness, dejection, apprehension, discouragement, resentment, feelings of being unappreciated.
Climate of Relationship: Drifting apart, disengaging.

Quite honestly, I was shocked at his interpretation of Fall! I couldn't believe that he thought this is how Fall felt! Has he never been a part of #pumpkinallthethings ??? Apple Butter! Has he never experienced APPLE BUTTER? That's Fall to me!

But then, as I've been walking through Fall with others whom I deeply love and care for, I realized, maybe there's some truth to it.

And then I really searched my own heart.

And I realized, maybe I struggle with this, too.

Celebrations, apple butter, and everything pumpkin might just be my way of choosing joy, in the hard stuff. 

I wouldn't even call it avoidance, because, as I'm scooping apple butter on a biscuit, I can feel the spiritual attacks in my life.

Fall can be hard. First off, the LAYERS. For me, socks, boots, slip, dress, jacket.

Then multiply that by 7. Because, family.

The chill in the air is bitter. So much so, it causes me to RUSH the kids in and out the door. And the chill makes my bones hurt!

Look up at the list of "Climate of Relationship": drifting apart, disengaging. Fall causes a season of hurried business. So I sometimes forget to be intentional with my kids, and with Mark. Which inadvertently, causes us to drift apart.

And if left unattended, causes us to drift into Winter, where the Climate of the Relationship is detached, cold, harsh, bitter.

And if we're speaking honestly here, that scares me.

I don't want those things to happen!

You know what else he says? It's dangerous to stay in the seasons that we love. Look up there at Summer: Comfortable, attached.

The last thing I want, with my walk with Christ, is to feel comfortable. Like I've got it all figured out. Every time I pridefully think "Hey, I've got this!",  I'm quickly brought back down to the awkward self that I am. I fail daily.

So, what can you do?

First off, you are not enough to do anything. If you're reading my blog, and don't believe in God, that's your right. However, I do. I believe that in this life, as we all haphazardly try and trudge through, doing the best we can, we all begin to sink. We all begin to feel that feeling of inadequacy. Like we're not good enough. So for me, I go to God.

I have begged Him, on a regular basis, for a revelation.

"God reveal a word I can speak into this woman's heart, so that SHE KNOWS she's incredible."

"God reveal a moment I can pray with this woman, so that SHE KNOWS she's not alone."

"God reveal my selfishness, pride, and arrogance, so that I KNOW how foolish I'm being, and then give me the courage to seek forgiveness."



And then, that tiny little word, that feels like the warmth of a home, as you scurry in from the cold, or like the relief you feel when you pull the perfectly designed, and executed, apple pie from a warm oven.

That small reminder, that we are His:

Grace.

Grace is a nurse at the Children's Hospital, who just loves on you. Your worn out, no makeup, exhausted you.

Grace is a friend praying against the schemes of the enemy, in you and your husband's life.

Grace is God reminding you that the demons from you past, the painful memories, are not who you are, but rather, what He has given you the strength to walk through.



And Grace, sweet friends, is a big ol' dollop of apple butter, on a piping hot biscuit, that you eat all to yourself, after the kids go to bed.


My prayer, as we enter into Fall, is that we'd not dread it. Not avoid it. But also, not completely distract ourselves from the hard things.

I pray you'd enjoy that pumpkin candle, filling your house with delicious aromas. I pray you make that dessert, and enjoy it with friends.

But most of all, I pray whatever you're walking through right now, that you'd remember:


You're not enough, but thank God He is.

1 Thessalonians 5:18 "Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you."




.   .   .   .   .   .   .





I thought I'd add my recipe for Apple Butter on here! Enjoy it, and if you make some, tag me on Instagram (@sierrajodominguez) , so I can see your deliciousness!


Apple Butter

-5 1/2 lbs. apples (Whatever kind you like! I use Gala.)
-1 1/2 Cups White Sugar
-1 Cup Brown Sugar
-2 Cups Water
-1 tsp. Nutmeg
-1 tsp. Ground Cloves
-3 tsp. Cinnamon

Turn your Crockpot onto Low. Add water to Crockpot. In a bowl, stir together sugars and spices. Core apples, and cut into 1 inch chunks. Add all apples to Crockpot and pour sugar mixture over them. Stir until apples are nicely coated. Place lid on Crockpot, and simmer 8-12 hours. (Or overnight.) Remove lid, turn Crockpot on High, and cook 2-4 more hours. Apples should be a dark brown color, and smell like heaven! Take an immersion blender, or ladle mixture into food processor, blend until smooth. Ladle into storage container, and keep in fridge for 30 days. Or ladle into glass canning jars, place lids and rings on jar, boil in water bather for 15-20 minutes, and will keep for up to a year! Spread on toast, hot biscuits, or just eat like applesauce! Enjoy!

-Sierra for Dojo's Designs

My Growth Chart

Before I begin diving into my past, I wanted to share with you my present. The current life I live. The peace, the chaos, the joy, and the messiness.

I have found great peace in gardening. It took me close to 3 months to breathe that deep breath of satisfaction of "It is finished!" And of course, by finished, I mean just the beginning. Once the plants are in place, the signs are marked, and the watering begins, the plants begin to grow.

Before I sat down to write, I decided to see what my flip calendar's inspirational quote was for today. My husband usually has to update it for me, and today was no different. I hadn't even glanced at it since June 1st. But today's seemed fitting. Especially as I sit curled up under my covers, listening to the rain pelt my window, and the thunder boom around me. I'm breathing deep, going to that peaceful moment, where I simply say "Lord, here I am. It's not much, but I know it's enough." 

Does anyone else feel like this? Maybe I'm on my own, here, but I feel like I'm in a constant battle. The battle to soldier on for God, and the battle to selfishly retreat, curl up in a ball, and say "I'm done." The past 3 months have been a whirlwind. I have watched children of God give up. Retreat, and say "I'm DONE!" It defeated me. If we're being completely honest, I have ugly cried more in the past 3 months, than I'd care to admit. This soldiering stuff is hard. I've also watched children of God suit up. They ALLOWED the enemy to pelt them with piercing daggers. They winced in pain, and kept marching. They gave up control, and watched people RUN towards the cross. All because of the strength of their testimony. 

As I've been in this whirlwind, my peace, and my comfort?

All of this. A growing garden, and growing babies. My house that has been deep cleaned, imploded on itself, and deep cleaned again. A husband that loves, unconditionally. One who suits up, works hard, and still finds time to invest in us. 

This garden is where I come when the day is too hard. Watering plants gives. me. peace. Because I know I'm nourishing something. In a world that tries to choke us into distraction, I retreat to this garden, and find life. And yesterday, as the dishes were piled up, and the laundry was growing legs and arms, I stopped, and made signs for my garden. Because while I'm giving life to these plants, why not speak life, also?

My potatoes are growing (like crazy!).

These tomato plants smell heavenly. I planted spicy globe basil around them, to get rid of insects, so it smells like a pizza shop in New York. I learned that trick from a very Godly woman, who is an expert gardener. My old neighbor, Michele. 

These chives came all the way from Iowa! My uncle Ray who grows spinach leaves as big as my hand, packed these beauties in an old ice cream container, and sent me on my way, after a very FULL weekend of destroying my van (I hit a deer. The Iowa kind. Aka: HUGE.), throwing a surprise party for my Great Grandma, and finally journeying home with my Momma, and 5 kiddos. 

The vibrant green plants for the zucchini, and the vibrant yellow plants for the crookneck squash makes my heart skip a beat. Yes, I'm that nerdy.

A tribute to my Handsome Man. A pepper palace to support his love for all things HOT. The boys have loved watching them get bigger and bigger! And I just can't wait to make our first batch of salsa, with these beauties. 

Potatoes again! Purple and white! Last time I grew purple potatoes, I sliced them very thinly, and made purple potato chips. Mark chuckled, as I bounced up and down in excitement: "But babe, THEY'RE PURPLE!!! How stinking CUTE IS THAT!?!?!" "It's cute! Can we eat them now?" He asked playfully. 

The bell peppers, and the one that Daylon discovered. The PURPLE one! My absolute favorite color, and the one I cannot WAIT to put in my colorful salsa!!!

A simple garden, by a simple man and woman. 

But it's growing. 

By the grace of God, some great mushroom compost, so Jobe's plant food, and water, it's growing.

And honestly, if it hadn't been growing these past 3 months, I probably would've just given up watering it.

I guess that's my whole point:

How quick are we, as children of God, to give up? When we feel we aren't growing, and as our dry soul is begging to be quenched by the water, only God can give. How soon do we say "I'm done."

Equally, someone on the brink of knowing there is something bigger.

You can feel it. And as you gingerly put your big toe into the proverbial stream of belief of a God that is there, a Savior that is His Son, how quick are you to retreat? To draw back, at the first sound of an attack. Only to say in disbelief "See. Why would God do this? I knew it was safer not even thinking about this whole "Christianity" thing."

But that's just it:

Retreating yourself, versus allowing God to say "Take a break.", is the catalyst in anyone's life, where you either run away from God, or run to His rest. When we retreat ourselves, we miss out on the blessing of watching God fight for us. We gave up too soon. When we allow Him to say "Take a break." we see full circle the reason we are going through, whatever it is we're going through.

My "Take a break" has been my garden, and as it has slowly proved itself, I've been able to find joy in the middle of this chaos.

It used to be that I would control the situation. On more than one occasion, I took off my wedding rings, threw them at my husband, and said "I'm done!" I'd storm out of our first starter home, go to the back yard, adjacent to a growing field, and cry.

"I can't do this anymore, God! I said forever, but now I'm DONE. I made a mistake! I don't know what I want, but it's not THIS."

Me, reasoning with God, myself, justifying, angry, and not wanting to be consoled.

My heart burning in anger. My eyes burning from the salt of my tears. My throat aching as I tried to hold back crying.

The gentle breeze coaxing me to relax. To allow the cool breeze to aid in cooling my temper. Breathing deep, the smells of wheat growing, and fresh cut grass. I would clench my eyes shut, not wanting to believe that it would get better from there. "Knowing" that I could survive. I had done it before, why was this any different?

Then, as my words continuously spun through my head in a whirlwind, I allowed my eyes to open. Slowly, at first, allowing the light to adjust. My eyes would focus on two pieces of silver.

An engagement ring, and wedding band held firmly into the hand of an extended arm.

His long legs crossed, as he sat across from me, and his dark eyebrows furrowed, as he stared directly into my eyes.

"I said forever, Sierra. And I meant it. That's why I gave you these," he said, softly.

I took them back, and they glided onto my fingers as easily, as they did when I told him "I do."

Tears streamed down my face, as I said "I meant it, too."

A simple exchange, from two simple people.


I think back to then, "then" being 7 years ago. Our exchanges now are less of me throwing my rings, and more of us feeling the old cycle beginning, we both will draw back, as not to hurt each other. Then a few minutes later, come back together, agreeing that it was an attack, and it was not welcome in our marriage.

That's what I would consider growth.

Two shattered individuals picking up their own pieces, and shards of each other, carrying them to the foot of the cross, and saying "Lord, here we are. We're not much, but we know it's enough."

And as faithful as He was to make our paths cross, to take our brokenness, and turn into into something that could be used for His kingdom, He faithfully sews seeds into our hearts. He waters them, and delights in watching them grow. He plucks the weeds out of our soul that do not please Him.

Our selfishness,
Our pride,
Our reluctance,
Our fear.

He casts them away, and continues sewing seeds. He calls us His, and asks for our obedience.

"I will follow You, Lord."

Because if we allow the weed of fear into our heart, it will choke out our passions, our love, our excitement, our desires.

Fear is debilitating. But fear in God?

Liberating.

I've felt God speak two words, for the past month. I've brushed it off, in an effort to ignore His calling, allowing my fears to take over.

Be obedient.

Two simple words, for a simple woman.

Those two words spoken to my 19 year old, freshly married self, would have sent me into a tizzy. One full of arguing, justification, and resistance.

Now?

I silence myself, and say:

"I'll follow You, Lord."

I don't know where it'll lead, or what He's calling me too, but now, I don't care. I know He'll tell me when to suit up, and when to sit down. He'll retreat me, when I'm weary, and He'll revive me, when I need to march. He's stirring desires in my heart, that will make me "put myself out there", if you will. And to be hones, I'm scared. But I can quickly choose to to turn that fear into a fire. One that will cause me to fall more in love with Him, my husband, and my children. I trust that. I believe that.

That's growth.


Keep marching.




P.S. If you have any questions about the garden I'm growing, or the one He's growing in me, feel free to ask.

I'm Terrible At Resting

I have a terrible time resting. I can wear exhaustion well, but when it comes time to actually rest? It eludes me. That's why God gave me a Mark in my life. 

This Mother's Day was no different. The day before, I worked for 9 hours, at the Grand Opening of my hubby's work.  Then, Saturday night, I crashed, and woke up in a fog on Sunday morning. I woke up to a son who whispered, "Mommy, I made you something." 

I allowed my eyes to open, fuzziness was all I saw, since my contacts weren't in yet. But as my eyes adjusted, I saw this:

Our 5 year old, completely on his own, prepared gourmet cereal for Mark and I, arranged it beautifully on a gold platter, and added an apple. (He actually didn't even know it was Mother's Day!)

It absolutely melted me. 

Then Mark went out with the kids, so I could get some more sweet, sweet sleep, before the rigmarole of Church began. 

I came to, a short time later, and checked my phone, for the time. 

10:35 a.m.

I quickly jumped out of the bed, ran to the bathroom, to shake loose old curls, and wipe off leftover eye makeup.

I walked out, into the living room, to a very calm home.

"Babe, we need to get ready for church! I can throw shoes on the kids' feet, you go get dressed for work!"

"We're not going," he said casually.

"I thought maybe we could just rest today, since we had such a busy weekend."

My heart rate quickened, as thoughts started racing through my Type-A, planner brain. They fell out of my mouth as soon as they entered my brain.

"But babe, the kids are good to go, I can get ready on the next 5 minutes, and so can you, we could make it! I really wanted to go! We're learning about honoring your parents... I wanted to hear that message."

"I know honey," he said calmly.

"But I think what's best for our family today, is just to rest."

Rest? I've already rested. I'm good to go! 

Or so I thought...

We proceeded to move at a snail-like pace. One where I just sat by my husband, and marveled at the whirlwind, that is our children.

Then, Mark asked the kids to come to the living room, and asked them to share their favorite thing about me, and also their favorite memory:

Khai (5): I love how Momma always plays games with us. And she makes us laugh!

Daylon (4): I love how Momma tickles us to make us laugh! And when she takes us on dates!

Asher (3): I like when Momma chases me, and tickles me! 

Ellyn (1.5): I yuv you Mommeee!

Then, Mark said his favorite thing:

"I love that you were really the first person in my life to show me true love. You encourage me when I'm weak, and pray for my insecurities. Even at a young age, you loved me, unconditionally. I'm thankful for that."

(Go ahead and picture me ugly crying on the couch, as I looked at what God has given me.)

And I want this to be my main point:

Had I not rested, I wouldn't have ever heard those encouraging words. Those words that can build up my foundation that I stand on, as a wife and Momma. 

Am I a sinner for not going to church? 

No. 

(Though, some would staunchly disagree.)

Did I get the adorable picture of me with all my kids, dressed exquisitely, outside our church, to post to Instagram? 

No.

(And that's okay, too.)

But I did get this picture:

And this one:

Just a Momma, with her pile of kids. No make up, leftover hair, on a Sunday. 

And it was wonderful.

I took my 3 boys on a date to Zaxby's, to pick up lunch for the family, then we took Mark to work.

We came back home for Happy Nappy's, and had a quiet day.

The only time I was on my phone, was to make this video:

https://youtu.be/3qK8FgoZ4fI

Something God has put on my heart, as a way to encourage ALL Momma's, in all walks of life.

It's not a perfect video, there are typos on my cards, and I'm glad for that, too. Because I'm not perfect.

And I don't ever want to be perfect.

Its overrated.

Especially for Momma's. We Moms need rest, more than we need the perfect makeup tutorial, or perfect outfit.

I didn't even wish my Mom and Mother in law a Happy Mother's Day.

(Go ahead, gasp, and clutch those pearls.)

But they know I love them. And if they knew the chill day I had with my family, they'd be just fine without a Facebook message, or text.

Because my Mother's Day wasn't a Happy Mother's Day. 

It was a Joyful Mother's Day, because I rested.

Then, I went to see God's Not Dead 2 with a group of beautiful ladies. 

And so literally, I sat in a movie theatre chair, and ate nachos without sharing, while slurping on a $5 Mr. Pibb. It was so wonderful. 

So, that's all I've got.

Just remember to rest.

"Come to Me, all you who are weary, and heavy burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28

Get Out of Your Grave.

This particular post is not going to be popular, among the masses. It probably won't get many likes, or accolades. Some might even scoff, or turn their nose up... But to me? It's the most important thing I could ever write about.

Writing about love stories, soup recipes, and my kids, while it be very mushy, it's not all that I am.

I am a firm believer in a man that changed the world.

He did a lot in His life, but most importantly, he died. 

...And then came back.

Pop culture has created plenty of alarming movies regarding resurrections, but this is not one of those stories.

In fact those stories completely freak me out.

This one doesn't.

Step back in time with me...

Imagine for a moment, the feel of hot earth, underneath your foot. The sandals, unlike what we wear now (Chacos for me), get hot as the Sun beats down on the straps. Causing your feet to ache, dry out, and crack. Keep walking.

Smell how refreshing the water must've been. Along a bank of a rushing river, as you dip your fingers in the cool current, it causes your body to perk up. 

I'm thirsty, you think.

So you scoop up the chilly liquid, and allow your lips to cool, as you draw the water in. Your body, now cooling from the inside, thanks you.

You can hear a constant noise. Markets up and running. People talking, bartering, shouting, sometimes arguing. Soak it all in. 

You hear the words "Hosanna!" being chanted from inside the city walls. Beckoning all who are near, to come see what everyone is cheering about.

You allow your feet to move you towards the noise. The energy is electrifying as crowds are pushing to follow this chant.

Hosanna!

Your eyes shift to focus on the image before you. A man.

His smile is kind. As are His eyes. 

There is a safety that you can't explain, you just feel it.

You probably think life can't get any better.

And then, like a brutal slap to the face, here you stand. 

Your whole world is silent. Deafening, really. It feels as though you're holding your hands over your ears, but the silence still creeps in. Your mind is reeling. You allow your memory to trail back to the cool water, filling you up. But now? You feel as dry as the earth you stand on. But the thought of water makes your stomach churn. 

I'm thirsty, your body screams.

Be quiet, you think.

I need water.

No, I need to suffer. 

The battle between your head, and heart is constant, as your eyes continue to photograph each memory before you, and stores it up in the filing cabinets in your brain. As you blink, you can almost hear the "click" of a camera, while your body continues to watch.

This man.

Click.

Laughter.

Click.

Hosanna!

Click.

Son of God! 

Click.

Traitor.

Click.

False prophet.

Click.

LIAR!

Click.

Drag him to the leaders!

Click.

He's done nothing wrong!

Click.

We don't care!

Click.

All these images crowding your brain in the span of a few short days. And then, like a drumstick to a metal bell, the words clang out:

Crucify him!

The beatings.

Click.

The laughter.

Click.

The blood.

Click.

At this point, you can feel the acidic liquid trying to escape your throat, as you watch. Your body, trying to relieve the pain inside, dry heaves. You swallow hard, and allow hot tears to fall from your eyes. You don't even bother wiping them away. 

And then you see the guard, raise up the hammer, and your world goes into slow motion. His face grimacing, as he uses his full body weight to raise up this hammer. A groan, from the depths of his stomach escapes, as he has built up momentum, and is now coming back down, to hit his target.

You whole body jumps, at the sound of the hammer connecting with the nail. You close your eyes, as the hot acid tries escaping your mouth. You beg your mind to go back to the water. The riverside. The cool refreshing breeze.

Was it a lie?

YES! Your mind screams.

But I thought this man was going to save us?

HE'S JUST A MAN. How can a man save you?

But the water? The faith? Hosanna?

IT'S ALL A LIE. You're a fool for believing it!

Your mind wars with itself.

Please, God. Let it not be a lie.

Hush. He can't hear you.

At this point, you're sobbing.

Your eyes keep opening to see if what you're looking at, is real.

God? Are you there? I can't feel You!

That's because He's not REAL.

I thought you loved me?

He's not real!

I thought this man was going to save us? 

HE'S JUST A MAN.

If you really loved us, God, You wouldn't allow this to happen!

That's right! 

I can't watch this anymore. I trusted You! I felt PEACE when I was with this man! WHERE ARE YOU NOW?

He's gone. He wasn't ever really here. You believed a LIE.

You turn to walk away. 

As the sound of the hammer continues to drive the nails, you allow your head to turn back, to look at this man. 

He's bleeding profusely. Writhing in pain, as the nail goes through His hands and feet.

He's just a man. Dying a sinners death.

Hot tears fall, and this time, you push them away. 

Don't cry over a man, you fool.

For a moment, your heart aches. 

I trusted you. But you, God, have betrayed me.

And as the men heave the cross up, you turn to walk away. The sound of your sandals hitting the earth matches the sound of the cross falling into the hole in the ground with a thud.

You walk back down the mountain, and perch yourself on a large rock. You can no longer see the cross, but you can hear the noises. 

People wailing. 

Guards laughing, and heckling for the mans items.

And then you hear His voice.

"My God! Why have you left me?"

And you keep your eyes closed tightly, and are startled when you feel the first drop. 

Water.

Another drop. 

You allow your eyes to open, and see the darkest sky you've ever seen, as rain falls.

"It is finished."

Your head snaps in the direction of the cross. The mans body is now slumped over. 

He's dead.

A guard walks up, draws his spear, and stabs his side. Blood and water gush out.

Hot tears roll down your cheeks again, but this time, in anger. 

How could I have been so dumb to believe in this man? He's just a man. 

You get up, and go home. 

Sleep eludes you at night, as you toss and turn. Remembering that feeling you had when you were with Him. You felt warm inside, and cooled and refreshed on the outside. 

You wake up from another nightmare, and are dripping in sweat. Now, you're cold on the inside, heart hardened, and you're body is radiating heat. 

I'm such a fool for believing.

You wander, throughout your day, as if you're in a trance. You can hear people talking, and you feel yourself responding, but your whole body is on auto pilot.

Your feet move, but in a blink, your day is over, again.

And again, you toss and turn at night. 

LEAVE ME ALONE, GOD!

Your body screams, as you try to sleep.

And then, you feel it.

You're alone.

• • • • •

What do you do if you've lost your faith?

If you start second-guessing everything that you've ever known, and felt?

Everything that you once turned from, now is enticing. It sends electricity through your body, making you feel something.


The better it feels, the more you feel yourself pulling away from reality.

That's the deceptive beauty of sin.

It wraps it's arms around you, and causes you to look back, at a God that now disgusts you.

Thoughts flood your mind.

If he loved me, why would he allow sin?

Why wouldn't this feel bad, instead of good?

Is it really that bad?

Does he really even care?

And in the same split second it took for your heart to be on fire for a God that is real, that's the same amount of time it took for you to decide:

I. am. done.

Done with the songs, the joy, the feelings. I'm done.


Then your frustration continues to fill your mind with questions:

Why won't you fight for me, God?

If you really love me, you would be here. 

Maybe this is all a lie. 



This, however, is not a blog that allows people to wallow. The reason I have created a banner across the top that reads: Choose Joy, is because that's what it's all about.

A Choice. 

Everything in life revolves around a choice. You have to make it.

That's all it's ever been about.

And you know it.


Here's the problem with how we've viewed our relationship with God: If we don't feel it, it's not real.


Unfortunately, this is a devastating blow to our ego, when we stop feeling Him.


But, I can say this with great confidence:

Your feelings about God have nothing to do with whether or not He is real. 



The ending of that story, wasn't the end.


He died. A gruesome, painful, ugly death.

And then there is that tiny 3 letter word that is the catalyst for greatness:

But,


He came back to life.


If you've never heard this story, your mind is probably freaking out. But it's true. That man died, and 3 days later, he wasn't in the grave where they buried him.

Now let me pause, for a moment.

A brief side-note, in an epic story. The news that this man was no longer buried was delivered by a

woman. 


One woman tore through the streets of her city. 

Her hot sandals pushed her farther. Her lungs burned, as she tried to draw in a deep breath. It was pointless. She was running too fast. She didn't care what she looked like, she ran.

She ran down the mountain, sliding, allowing her feet to go the way they knew. Once she hit level ground, she took off in a dead sprint to the home she was familiar with. The entire city, in a trance, over one man's death, suddenly saw this woman running. She didn't care who watched, what she bumped into, she didn't stop.

She marched.

She marched towards unbelief, and ran. it. over. 

She bursted into the door of a house full of disciples. These men had been great leaders, and were now HIDING. Afraid of what the soldiers would think, if they found out these men believed in the man that just died.

She told them about the God that they believed in. How He was alive.




The entire catalyst of the greatest story ever told, was a woman. Her word is what caused the bridge of disbelief to be destroyed. She didn't just go with what she felt, she went with what she knew in the depths of her soul, to be true. Her faith. 

AND THEN SHE RAN.

She destroyed the enemy's schemes. The lies, unbelief, and fear that filled these men's hearts. She destroyed it all, like the rush of a mighty wind, blowing through that door. 

She ran towards the unbelief! 

Instead of playing it safe, and letting her emotions take over, she took those emotions, and bridled them into fuel. Fuel that made her run, and knock the enemy flat on his back. 



Then it happened.


Like a dying flower, receiving it's first drop of water, these men perked up, one by one. Some required more belief, than others. So, the Man just showed up... Showed them where the nails had torn through his flesh and muscles.

He was alive.


Every feeling these men had about this Man came flooding back.

Love.

Joy.

Peace.

Patience.

Kindness.

Goodness.

Faithfulness.

Gentleness.

Self-Control.

Because, instead of basing this Man's existence on what they felt, they allowed their faith to take over. They believed.

And the fire that had grown cold, had the tiniest embers, that that Man ignited.

That's all He ever asks for. Faith tinier than a piece of dirt. Even that small of an amount, is enough for Him to breathe life back into, adding kindling, fueling the growing fire inside of you.

Until one day, you run again.

You trample the enemy's lies about you. You trample your disbelief, in a very real God. You feel like your lungs and heart will explode with the excitement that wells up in you, as you run.



If you're in the threshold of unbelief. I dare you to turn around. Ask God to show you that He's real. Ask Him to re-ignite your soul. Like jumper cables to a dead battery, or paddles to a dead body, all it takes is a spark. Then there is life again.

Belief. 

Fear in God, not fear that your faith isn't real. 

Trust. 

...and finally...


Love, again. 

Resurrected from the depths of your soul. You walk away from the grave you've buried yourself in. Shackled in sin, dying, bleeding out, in unbelief.

You get up, slowly, marching, at first.


Then, in unabandoned love,





....you run.




Keep marching.



Men, walk away from fear.

Women, walk away from letting your emotions run wild.

Instead, run away from fear, to a fear of a Holy God, rise up to the leadership that God gave you.

Run away from insane emotions, to emotions that capture the amazing power of God's love.



Just run. 

If Passion Had A Name...

After Mark and I started hanging out, it was never that we were "boyfriend/girlfriend". He was 26, and never even formally asked me to be his. We were just us. He worked at the hotel, and I worked at the video store. He'd get off work late, and come help me close the store. It was just us. We talked about the world, politics, religion, passions, future plans, etc.

One April night, there was a chill in the air. Enough of one to make me shiver. He slipped his puffy vest off, with ease, and helped me slide my arms into it. I stuffed my camouflage, man wallet, adorned with a little Razorback (Judge not.), into the vest, and forgot about it. The next day, I was back at the video store, and the chime of the door rang. I said the standard greeting, and looked up. Immediately my heart started beating harder, and my stomach did flips. He came in hurriedly, with the wind that blew in behind him. His shaggy hair, messy, on top of his head. His smile, brilliantly white, as he looked deep into my eyes.

"Hey Mark!" I said with enough enthusiasm to let him know I missed him, but not so much so that I accidentally yelled it.

"Hi! You, uh, left your wallet in my-." He said, as he struggled to pull the giant rectangle out of his pocket.

"Ahh! Thank you so much!" I quickly grabbed it from his hands.

"I didn't even realize! But, I've also lost it on way too many occasions, so I rarely even remember to bring it." I was chatting, nervously.

Deep breath. You sound like you've drank too much espresso. 

I drew in a quick breath, closed my eyes, and forced myself to speak calmly.

"Uhh. Sorry. You were talking, and I interrupted! What were you saying?" I said, as I casually rested my head on my chin, and my elbow on the counter. All the while, bouncing one foot, behind the counter, in an effort to expel my nervous energy some where.

"Yeah! As I was saying, there's your wallet. I, uh, looked in it, and saw on your license where you lived. Then, I uh-" He pushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes, in his own nervousness.

"I was going to bring it to you, last night, but then I thought that might've been a little creepy. So, here I am, and there it is."

"Yes, that would've been creepy!" I said, as I stifled a nervous laugh.

"But I'm glad you chose to come to my work! It brightened my day!"

I could hear my heart beating.

"Well, good!" He said, with a smile.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and looked like he was searching for something to say.

"Well, I gotta go!"

My heart sank.

"What? You're not going to hang out, like normal?" The disappointment on my face was beyond obvious.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm going to play tennis with my buddy Jason. You need to meet him. He's awesome!"

"Okay! Sometime soon?"

"Definitely!"

He started out the exit, and quickly turned, with his hand still on the door.

"Oh yeah! I left something in your wallet for you. It made me think of you, so I thought you should have it."

He flashed a smile, "See ya!"

"Bye!"

My heart exploded.

My cheeks were flushed a brilliant red, and like a child unwrapping a Christmas present (because, remember, I LOVE presents), I quickly picked up my wallet, ripped it open, and along the length of the wallet was a hand woven bracelet. I ran my finger up and down the length of the bracelet, feeling the texture of the intricately woven braid. It was a dusty tan color, and every few braids, whoever made it, wove in a beautiful lilac, purple color. My face was radiating heat, and my coworker asked me if I was going to keep staring at it, or put it on.

I laughed, nervously, and asked for help, in tying it. A simple knot, secured it firmly around my bony wrist. I kept feeling the texture between my fingers, and would get nervously excited, every time.

That bracelet, was purchased in Mexico, about a month before we met. He had went to visit his Mom and brother, and was at a local street market. He saw a tan bracelet, with silver string woven every few braids, and sitting beside the silver one, was a purple one. He thought they looked really cool together (and probably got a 2 for 1 special), so he bought them both. He quickly tied the silver one around his wrist, and stuffed the purple one in his bedside table, when he got back to the States.

The night he let me borrow his vest, we played the game "20 questions".

"What's your favorite color?" I asked, playfully.

"Well, I like a lot of colors, but I guess if I had to pick a favorite, it would be silver."

"Silver?!"

"Yeah! It's a cool color!"

"Well, sure, but I've never heard of someone's favorite color being silver." As we walked beside each other, I jokingly nudged him with my shoulder.

He nudged me back, smiled, and said "Well, it's mine."

"What about you? What's your favorite color?"

"Purple!" I exclaimed, without hesitation.

Mark laughed, "You sure? You didn't seem excited enough about it!" He said, sarcastically.

I smiled, "Yep, I'm sure."

"You know what color I think goes perfectly with silver?" He said, almost whispering.

He stopped walking, and looked at me, intently.

"What?" I asked, perplexed.

"Purple."

My cheeks flushed, I smiled, nudged him with my shoulder again, and started walking.




I'm an all-or-nothing kind of gal.

Either I'm 150% in, or not interested, in the slightest.

I've been told I'm passionate.

Which is very true. When I wasn't pursuing God, I was passionately, without hesitation, pursuing the world. When I started pursuing God, I passionately dove into who God was calling out of me:

A woman.

A wife.

A Momma.

A writer.


Chosen.

His.

And with the proverbial "snap" of my fingers, I was reeled from the season of searching, to a new life. Mark was an important part of that life, and I didn't even realize it. Sure, I liked him, but the thought of marrying him? Honestly, I didn't think I was worthy enough. He was the catalyst in silencing the many lies I had filled my heart with.

You're too energetic.

You're not good enough to be talking to Mark.

God isn't going to want damaged goods. 

Mark isn't going to want damaged goods.

He silenced them all.

About 6 weeks into "us", he showed up at my house, flustered. Mark was never nervous, but was peacefully, confident, anytime we were together. So this change in personality was definitely alarming.

He came through the back door, hurriedly, and I jumped, as the springs banged it shut. He stood at the threshold of my bedroom door frame, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Hey, uh, we need to talk." He said, nervously, as he slowly walked into my room.

"Okay?" I said, cautiously.

I was sitting on my floor, organizing DVD's that were in a pile, in front of me. I stared, intently at them, as questions reeled through my head.

Is he about to break up with me?

He can't! We're not even officially dating, right?

I wonder what he finally decided was "enough"?

"Can you please stand up?" He said, firmly.

"Why?" I asked, guarded, as I slowly got to a standing position.

I crossed my arms nervously, and threw up my guard. "You're really freaking me out."

He crinkled his forehead, confused.

"What? Freaking you out? Okay, sit back down, sit back down." He said, motioning for me to sit down on the floor, with him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Well you did! What's going on, Mark?" I sounded annoyed. (Defense mechanism.)

"Okay, okay!" He pushed his shaggy hair off to the side, took a deep breath, and just stared into my eyes.

"I.............I L-O-V-E you." He stammered.

He pushed out a deep breath, and his shoulders relaxed, as if he'd been holding his breath the whole time he'd been there.

"Did you just spell the word "love"?" I scoffed. (Again, defense mechanism.)

He suddenly looked confused, "What? Yes. I spelled it. Can we not focus on the fact that I spelled it, but rather, on the fact that it is now, out there?"

He was exacerbated, and I was enjoying it.

"Fine," I said firmly, as I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

"I L-O-V-E you, too."

I set my jaw firmly, and looked at him seriously.

He smiled, and my defense was cracked.

"Thank you."

He grabbed my hand, and gently caressed the top of my hand with his thumb.

"Thank you, Mark."


At that nanosecond, I realized: My life is going to be nothing that I imagined.

I didn't know what God was going to do, but that was when I realized who I was going to do it with.

The gentle wind, to my passionate flame. Coaxing me to burn bright, but remain controlled.

Mr. Dominguez.

Even today, when I called him, and was having a challenging day, with teaching 3 boys the importance of respecting their Momma, I started rambling about a couple fears in my heart, and also intertwining certain things that I thought were coming up in the near future. Sputtering through requirements for future endeavors, and the excitement/nervousness that comes with that. Talking way too fast, because I was on my second cup of coffee, for the day.

He always encourages my passion. Helps me reel it back when I'm coming in too hot, and helps push me to jump, when I let cautions overtake me.

The gentle wind to my passionate flame. 

I recently started reading a book (Fervent By: Priscilla Shirer), and the first chapter was on, you guessed it, Passion.

The excerpt I've sent to about a hundred people is this:

Because as much as someone who is passionate, will go at something, with gazelle-like intensity (thanks Dave Ramsey for that analogy), they'll also doubt themselves in new territory. They'll allow a lie,

(You're not good enough.)

to slip deep in their soul. I've done it, more times than not. The difference is what are you going to do, the split second after the lie enters your heart?

Two options:

1. Allow that lie to sink deep, like a rock dropped into an ocean. A small bloop, as it breaks the external surface of earth, and enters the internal depth of the ocean. Sinking quickly, without hesitation, deep into the bottom, where it gets dark, quiet, and lonely.

2. Listen to a word, a sentence, or look at a picture, that reminds you who you are. Who you are in Christ. Beg God to take your thoughts captive, and dig deep, pluck out that tiny rock that's sinking. Grab it, before it's gone, and takes root. Remind yourself that you are important. You matter. Your passions matter.


We all are passionate about something.

It's when we lose that passion about that unique thing, that we lose ourselves. My passion has always been facing life head-on. Pursuing whatever I'm doing with a fervent strength. Going at it with everything I am, so that at the end of the day, I'm exhausted.

I'm passionate about speaking life in this world.

I'm passionate about seeking God, with everything that I've got.

I'm passionate about standing with my husband, hand-in-hand, and facing life together.

I'm passionate about my children, encouraging them to obey, love, and forgive in all moments.

I'm passionate about my small business, and making sure that I'm blessing people. 

I'm passionate about choosing joy, in circumstances that seem completely void of joy. 

And ultimately, I'm passionate about telling people about a God that somehow saw goodness in me, and pursued me. And about a man, His Son, who died for me. 

Those are my passions.

I'm so grateful I have a husband that isn't intimidated by my passion, but rather breathes life into it.






What are you passionate about?


Keep. Marching.