My Life as a Super Extra Ordinary Mom

Join us during the month of March as we cover our children in prayer.  We will use Stormie Omartian's "The Power of a Praying Parent" study guide as a resource. #ProtectOurSeed. #IBelieveTheChildrenAreOurFuture #PrayingParents Day 1 - Becoming a Praying Parent Father, as we commit the month of March to praying for our children we begin by praying for ourselves as parents. We release any feelings of guilt and condemnation we have felt in the area of parenting. We thank you for covering any mistakes we may have made and for your grace and mercy. You have selected each of us to serve as a parent. We do not take that for granted and know that we can do all things through you, even being the best Mom and Dad our children need. Ephesians 6:12 tells us that we do not wrestle against flesh and blood and with that knowledge we stand with our armor of God ready for the fight. We know that in James 4:7 we are to resist the enemy and he will flee. So we are joined toge...

It was a warm sunny day and our entire family was out enjoying our new community.  My husband and I stopped to admire a beautiful bed of flowers near the pool gate.  There were splashes of yellow and pops of purple, truly a lovely display of greenery and a warm glimpse of spring.  Suddenly, sporadic movement within the flower bed caught our attention. As we approached, scuffling and flapping noises grew louder.  Upon further inspection, we discovered two birds trapped under a protective wire mesh!  Mesh that was intended to keep animals out was serving as a temporary confinement for these small creatures.  Clearly our presence near the bed startled the birds and caused this recent flurry of activity.  It occurred to my husband and me that those two birds represent how many of us experience life- seduced and trapped. We imagine the birds saw the flowers from afar and were seduced by what they saw. The vibrant colors enticing them ever closer to t...

Nina, my three year-old has developed a strong sense of identity.  There have been a number of instances where in my determination to not call her one of her siblings' names, I have called her "Sweetheart," "Honey" or even "Sweetie," to which she has replied, "My name is not Sweetie.  My name is Nina."  Initially, I chuckled at her cuteness and figured it was a one time occurrence.  But she has remained consistent.  Whether it is a family member or a cashier at a store who has made the mistake of calling her anything other than Nina, she has been quick to offer clarification. I was born with the name Shatanese over 4 decades ago.  My mom always told me my name came from an Egyptian queen.  I never researched this information and have chosen to live with a sense of mystery surrounding the origin of my name. Throughout my life, I have often been asked, "What does your name mean?"  Or, "What is the origin?"  These types o...

I have a secret.  I have never told myself that I am awesome.  Hard to believe?   I was conversing recently with friends and family when the topic of self-esteem came up. "What exactly is self-esteem and how do you tell someone how to increase it or obtain it if they do not have it?" I asked. "It's a state of mind," my husband responded. "It's what you tell yourself every day" our close friend chimed in. She continued by saying, "Self-esteem is telling yourself that you are awesome on a regular basis." Telling myself I am awesome regularly?  Hmmmm....I had to think for a moment.  I realized I have never viewed myself as awesome.  I mean, of course, I have viewed things that I have done as pretty good but not necessarily rising to the level of awesome.  Could this explain why high self-esteem for me has felt at times as an elusive characteristic that only others possessed? Intrigued, I looked up the definition of awesome and...

I have heard the word "perfectionist" used at times to describe me.  I have repeatedly denied these claims as I do not ascribe to being a perfectionist.  I do not wake up each day and say to myself, "I am going to be perfect today."  I do, however, detest making a mistake.  What I did not realize is that I was creating a nearly impossible existence for myself and possibly for others around me, such as my children. What drives the need to avoid making a mistake?  Perhaps growing up as a performance-driven, people-pleasing child had something to do with it.  Achieving and doing well in school was something I could control.  I was involved in numerous clubs and attempted to be the best at everything.  Now as an adult, that same drive has manifested itself as a type-A personality who is seen as a perfectionist. A dear friend encouraged me to "STOP striving and start enjoying His blessings and His love." "He is NOT judging your performance,"...

"The results from your tissue analysis have returned.  Your right breast and lymph nodes were clear.  The other masses near the cancerous tissue were benign.  Mrs. Reese, your pathology report is all clear!" It took a moment for the words to sink in.  My pathology report was clear!  Really?  No radiation or chemotherapy is needed?  Praise God!  It all still seemed so surreal and happened so quickly.  From discovering a mysterious lump in one breast to undergoing a double mastectomy to receiving an all clear report-WOW!  A miracle had just occurred!  Thank you, Lord!  Now my focus could shift fully to healing. Previous life experiences have shown me that healing is a process.  It is full of ups and downs, twists and turns, expectations and disappointment.  There is pain and relief, progress and delay.  There are moments of peace as well as some exceptionally difficult moments.  I do not know if I thought ...

I was lying in my bed when my fingers came across an unfamiliar mass. "Honey, does this feel weird to you?" My husband's fingers carefully searched the area. "You probably need to contact the Doctor first thing on Monday morning," he said in a concerned tone. After the initial breast exam, I was scheduled for a detailed mammogram and an ultrasound. "And...stop breathing...". This phrase was repeated several times as the tech took pictures of my carefully placed breast.  She returned to my side to re-position it.  She was so close to me that a strand of her hair became caught in my lipstick, helpless, much like I felt at that moment. My left breast, a piece of my anatomy that had served in a variety of capacities throughout my life, was under inspection.  It had nourished six children, enticed during intimate moments and offered support to beautifully flowing dresses.  Now it was being squished, stretched, pulled, prodded and pushed. ...