Stepmoms Chronicles: Stepping On Legos.

I had an amazing mother. 

She could do all of those must-know mommy things, like pull a three course meal from a can of corn. 

She could use that strange machine...what was it again? 

Oh um, I can't remember. 

You use it to sew stuff.

She was like the tear-wiping, bed time story-reading, lullaby singing goddess. 

Luckily my sister snagged that craft-loving, cooking, baking gene because this girl lost it along with all the other things like matching socks and how to tease your hair. 

Give me a puppy, I'm set for days. 

Hand me a crying child, I will look at you like I just saw my life flash before my eyes. 

So pretty much, I'm a "Pinterest fail," but in human form. 

Now now, I'm not downing myself. 

I think I'm pretty great, but...not a typical "mommy."

First: I'm a bonus momma; like those extra points you get that save your arse on a quiz. 

Kind of. 

I don't know nursery rhymes. 

I don't do spit up or snot. 

I have to consciously make myself laugh at a kids' joke so that I don't appear to think that was one of the dumbest things I've just heard. 

I'm really great at answering my stepsons' legitimate questions with sarcasm or blunt truth. 

Example A: 

"Britney, what happens to them bunji -jumping if that cord breaks?"

"Well kid, they die."

Not a very mommy answer, but I don't do well at the coddling bit. 

I could fluff this blog up and say being a step mom isn't hard and we all just know what we are doing all the time, but that would be a lie.

We're winging it, just like you probably are. 

But, I'm not just a step mom, I'm 24 and was also raised a lot like a dude. 

My father, now one of my best friends, bless his heart, had no idea what to do with two girls. 

Crying was stupid and unnecessary. 

I learned to suck it up real fast and I figured out things like sucking your own thumb wouldn't last in the real world. 

Now, I'm thankful my step kids are boys for this reason: I would break a girl. 

Either that or she would end up like me...which isn't all that awful. Okay she would be a boss. 

But anyway. 

I make this face when people start crying around me, like I've just seen their guts exposed. Literally. 

Before you go calling me heartless, hear me out. 

I'm not a typical mom figure and when I first stepped into this role I was hopping around injured like I was constantly stepping on Legos. 

Why? 

Because I had no idea what I was doing or how I was supposed to act. 

I spent the first six months thinking I was going to have to learn to say things like "aw, come here poor baby", spending my time buying mom jeans that make my butt look too long and chopping my hair into a bob. 

That was funny and you know it. Get a sense of humor. 

Finally, I asked myself: "what the hell are you thinking? That isn't you and it will never be you."

Not only were all these mom standards not imbedded in my personality, but that was OKAY. 

Not only was this okay, but the boys didn't NEED me to be anything but what I was and they didn't NEED me to try to scrounge up random garbage to offer to them. 

The boys needed me to be the classy, tacky, a little smart-assy girl I was to begin with. 

They have a mother that loves them, kisses their foreheads and can do all of that mommy stuff that I understand as much of as my spanish professor's lectures. 

So what did I have to offer? 

What do I have to offer? 

What do YOU have to offer, step momma? 

How about yourself? 

You might be the only parent with cut off tees and tattoos in the school orientation, but there is beauty in what you have to offer: DONT CHANGE. 

Your kiddos most likely already have a great mommy in their life-don't think you have to be mommy. 

For me, that's a huge load off. 

Am I saying you won't have to discipline, help with homework, feed (even if it is tater tots), hug, love, protect your step kids with everything you possess? 

Absolutely not, but you can do all those things as (fill in your name here). 

I can offer my boys things a biological parent can't, just like the biological parent can offer things to them I never will be able to. Also a good lesson to chug and swallow right now. 

I can offer my boys an "outside perspective," one not shadowed by rose colored glasses. I can tell them things I see in them that they might not want to admit is there and that mom and dad might not want to see. I can see those things and out of a desire to protect them from future destruction, point those things out without appearing to be a nagging parent (though I really am one). Trickery. 

I can offer my boys a more open, modern, real world side to life. This may not always be the case for all step mothers, but I am a young mother, still navigating my way through faith, knowledge, wisdom, politics, etc. and still seeking more and more from life. I have not yet settled into a way of thinking, part of me hopes I never do. (Who can't use some more knowledge?)

I can offer my boys a safe place to have a voice. It's not foreign to all of us that (typically) mom and dad are not the ones we want to go to when we have a struggle, an opposite view, a hurt. Though a parent figure, I am a safe haven to approach and to voice to whatever they might be fearful of projecting elsewhere. 

I can offer my boys a hell of a sense of humor. It might take some time for them to catch on to how great it is to chill out and know a good joke, but they will. Knock knock jokes just aren't funny. Stop lying to yourself. My mother may call me tacky, but that's really code for genius humor. Trust me. 

I can offer my boys a look into what a woman CAN look like. 

It can look like the kind that isn't afraid to speak her mind or enjoy a glass of wine with her dinner. 

The kind of woman that has a presence that speaks for itself-no entrance announcement needed. 

The kind of woman that knows that silence is powerful. 

The kind of woman that knows she can do anything a man can and isn't afraid to prove it to them by lapping their butts in a race. 

The kind of woman that works hard, works long. 

Step mom, you have unique things to offer your kids. Don't keep stepping on Legos and beating yourself up because playing mommy isn't your forte.

Strap on your motorcycle helmet, let down your hair, paint, write, work, don't work, do whatever it is you do that defines you. 

My boys will never see me trying to be what I'm not, that's a personal vow. 

They may not see me knitting and baking like a DIY Pinterest board, but they will see me come in from running 26 miles of hills, plopping on the couch next to their ruffled hair...

Cracking a joke and hugging their neck just as hard as any other mother could. 

Children don't know labels, only you do. 

So what do you have to offer? 

What are you going to STOP labeling yourself as and what are you going to START labeling yourself with? 

Women Christian Men Should Not Marry and other Fire Breathing Dragons

I recently stumbled upon a real knee-slapper of an article written by a fundamentalist preacher, entitled "10 Women Christian Men Shouldn't Marry." 

Here's a sample. Take notes guys this is futile. 

2. The Divorcee. Jesus clearly taught that unless the first marriage ended due to a partner’s sexual infidelity, a second marriage is to be considered invalid and adulterous.  A divorced woman, therefore, is off limits for a Christian man–unrepentant adultery being a sin that prevents one from obtaining eternal life (1 Cor 6:9).  “If she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery” (Mark 10:12). “And I say to you: whoever divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality, and marries another, commits adultery” (Matthew 19:9).

4. . The Feminist.  There’s no room within Christendom for the “Christian feminist.”  Though women and men have equal value in the eyes of God (Gal 3:28), they certainly have different God-given roles.  Any woman who tries to usurp her husband’s authority or even claims to be a co-leader with her man is gravely dishonoring the God who created her to be subject and obedient to her husband (Eph 5:22, Col 3:18, 1 Pet 3:1).   Eve was distinctly created “for” man, a point that the apostle Paul makes abundantly clear in 1 Corinthians 11 when he writes, “For man was not made from woman, but woman from man. Neither was man created for woman, but woman for man.” (1 Corinthians 11:8-9).  Men, your wife is to be your “helper” (Gen 2:18)–not your leader and certainly not your equal in terms of authority.  Look for a woman who agrees with you in this very vital God-ordained relational dynamic

7. The Childbirth Avoider. Do not marry a woman who is not willing to have children of her own.  In the Christian worldview, there is absolutely no room for two married, biologically capable, human beings to remain intentionally child-less.  If you are adverse towards having children, then there’s a simple remedy for that: single-hood.   However, if God has called you to marriage, then He actually expects children.  Both the New and Old Testaments are very clear on this teaching: “Did he not make them one, with a portion of the Spirit in their union? And what was the one God seeking? Godly offspring” (Malachi 2:15).  “Yet she will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith and love and holiness, with self-control” (1 Timothy 2:15).

Want to read more from this genius? This is the full spankin list:  

http://nycpastor.com/2014/12/29/10-women-christian-men-should-not-marry/

Ahem, anyway. 

First of all, we can all agree this guy is a total arse. 

This New York City pastor goes on to abuse scripture stating that among these women christian men should avoid include those who desire to travel. 

If this pastor found his ideal wife, we may never know...shes most likely sticking her cranium into an oven and studying proverbs 31 with a magnifying glass...

Or the more likely option- harvesting male genitals somewhere in Europe.

Let me be the first to raise my hand in the room, letting everyone know that yeah dude, I'm divorced. According to this bro, I am the untouchable of all things holy. You should probably just go back to where you came from because I'm currently growing horns, doomed for all eternity and I possibly breathe fire and burn bibles in my spare time. 

This guy is basically telling Christians to slap the scarlet A on every divorcee's chest, throw them to the lepers  

and get the hell away from them. 

What does jesus do with adulterers?

Ummm...he kicks the religious rock throwers in the balls and tells her to get up, brush that shiz off and start living life differently. 

Moving on...ah, child bearers. All fellas better back away from me because I'm not popping babies out anytime soon, more like ever. 

Even notice the author uses the phrase, "of her own," totally discarding a woman who only wants to foster, adopt or something really crazy-help raise someone's else's child as her own. 

Not surprising coming from a fundamentalist, but to take a portion out of context for his personal use, so literally that he implies women are SAVED through childbearing. 

I'm officially damned 2X over. 

Dang it. 

The feminist theory I will avoid touching on too much, as I will most likely begin breathing fire again and setting things ablaze.

Bail money is just not in my current budget. 

I am a Christian woman, but I do see me and my husband as EQUALS. 

*Le gasp*

He is my protector, a provider, but submission is often twisted behind the pulpit and again we take the word "for" a man so literally, we begin to place women in an apron and slap her on a shelf where she "belongs." 

I was made FOR one "being"-the Creator, Who has no gender...because divine cannot be confined to things like masculine or feminine. 

So...just avoid women with brains, with drive, with control of her own uterus and you'll pretty much be safe. 

I can just shorten the list for you here: 

1. Women who want their own identity. 

The Step Mom Chronicles; Finding Your Place.

I remember when our oldest had to be rushed to the Emergency room, bleeding immensely from his upper lip.
Jarrod hurried to his side as soon as he heard the cry and acted not only quickly, but logically.
As a father he didn't think twice about letting his hands form a cup for his son's blood to pour into over the cold wooden floor. 

I stood there, wide eyed and puzzled; feeling like a puzzle piece myself.
I was one of those frustrating puzzle pieces with strange, jagged edges that is so ambiguous you can't quite fit it anywhere you try to force it. 

Where did I fit into this equation?
Should I hold him?
Should I close my eyes and try to cup the blood myself? 

Before I could even react, Jarrod had swooped him up and made it half way down the highway. 
What did I do?
I cleaned up the blood.
I wiped the floor.
I wiped the walls of the bathroom.
I cleaned up the wreckage.

I threw the dishcloth into the washer, put the other boys to bed and then stood in front of my bathroom mirror. 
I was a mess. 
I looked like a frantic idiot, but had his blood all over my knees and on my shirt. 

As a step-mother (or bonus mom, as we like to call it-I can't get over the whole Cinderella gig) you're going to get blood on you. 

You're like a new culinary student, trying hard to please your professor, your peers and even yourself with your incredible abilities. 
You are trying to be a pro, but your hands are covered in band-aids from constantly chopping yourself up. 

The good news?
Everyone else's fingers are covered in bandages too, even the professor's.

I know we often feel like that jagged puzzle piece I mentioned earlier. 
We are constantly trying to shove our way into an empty place, only to get booted out again because we don't quite fit. 

You have a corner jutting out here, a curve where there should be a corner there and oh, are you even from this puzzle box? 
I think you got mixed in by mistake. 

That. 

It's easier to feel that way than to keep trying to fit into places you're told you don't belong into-either by someone else or yourself.

It's easy to listen to your voice, the world's voice, a biological parent's voice over the Truth's voice. 
Why are we listening to anyone but the One who created the concept of family in the first place? 
Um, hello.
What does He have to say?

John 10:10"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly."

We often apply scriptures like this to HUGE spiritual battles and we may not feel like our roles as step parents are included in that, but what bigger battle ground is there than the one in our own home, our own heart?

The enemy comes to steal your confidence as a step parent, kill unity in any way he can and to destroy the peace in your home, your family and within yourself. 

The good news? 

You have the biggest, baddest dude drawing the sword out for you. 

Psalm 46:1-3

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.  Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,  though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. "Selah"

First of all, boom.

Right? 

Even if the earth is blown to smithereens, God is saying, "Yo, I got you. Just Chill and watch me handle this." 

Okay, maybe that's from the New International Britney Version, but you get the idea. 

And the word Selah? Though an exact interpretation has never been pinpointed, it is often said to be a break in a song, a word telling you to "stop and listen" or "stop and think on that."

So do it. 

Stop.

Listen.

Meditate on that. 

The last bit of good news? 

You are right, you don't fit into that puzzle.

How is that good news? 

That old puzzle was broken. Half the pieces are missing from the box.

That puzzle was split down the middle and was incomplete.

You are a piece from a brand new box.

That box holds the puzzle only you can complete. 

Get to it. 

Put On Your Dancing Shoes

I have known what was on my heart to write to kick off this new year, I just hadn't discovered how to convey it in the proper way. 

We all do New Year's resolutions, or goals. Maybe you just focus on one single word for that year. 

This year, I haven't found what I want to add to my life, but I have found things I want to take away. 

Last night I attended a beautiful wedding reception filled with fancy dresses, high heels and bow ties around young mens' necks. 
Me and my husband made our way onto the dance floor as a slow song began to make its way into the air.

I rested my head onto his shoulder and my gaze lined up with a young girl in the middle of the floor. 
She was wearing a white tulle dress with fake flowers embedded in her flowing blonde hair. 

Nobody was around her. 
She didn't appear to belong to anyone but herself. 
Her shoes were nowhere to be found as her feet made love with the wooden panels below her. 
She was spinning,waving her arms over her head and cared less about the fact that I was staring at her dancing there all alone.

I smiled and observed her practice her grooviest moves for an audience of one. 

My face dropped as amusement soon turned to sadness when I realized she would one day not be so free to move on the dance floor, barefooted and ignorant to the stares of others.

She would grow up and begin to care. 
She would grow up and begin to know her hair was frizzy, her feet exposed and she would soon grow older and begin to scrutinize how her body looked in that beautiful tulle dress. 

So I watched her dance while she could.
I was a little jealous honestly; I had already lost that part of me long ago.
The part that will hit the dance floor alone, having a party of one, hair down and unaware of anything physical about myself but the feeling of my feet moving to the beat.

When had I lost that? 

When had I traded my dancing shoes for shame and embarrassment?
I had somehow misplaced the dancing shoes I had slipped off to cut loose and when leaving the floor put on body shaming instead.

Last night I decided I wanted to leave that behind in 2015.
I want to leave shaming myself and others for what they bring to the dance floor behind. 

No more changing ten times, leaving my closet looking like the mall threw up. 
No more pulling and tugging at shirts.
No more missing out on the best dancing songs life has to offer because I'm afraid to take my frizzy hair down and cut my body loose.

Every body is made for dancing.
Size 00 to 20, a girl should dance when her song comes on.

I have heard body shaming on every side, from telling a thin girl she needs to go "eat some meat" to telling a plus size woman she should be on a treadmill.

I can't make the world stop the shaming, but I can start a movement by beginning with myself first. 
A beautiful thing happens when a woman shows others she's not afraid or ashamed of her body.

Honey, find your dancing shoes. I know they're buried in that closet somewhere.
Cut loose. 

You weren't designed to be a wallflower at your own party.

It's a new year and it's time to get the hell off that wall and not care who's looking.
Bust out your best moves, bust through the barriers you built for yourself because your main jam just came on.

Leave body shaming behind.

Put on your dancing shoes. 

The Ugly Truth About Porn.

I remember the first time I found it. 
It was hidden in someone's house I was at.
I was seven. 
He had a wife. 
He had a daughter not much older than me. 
Yet there it was, staring at me in all it's grotesque glory. 
The woman on the front was exposed and seemingly happy about it.
My face turned hot and I rushed to stuff the magazines back where I had found them.
Maybe he wouldn't notice they were most likely out of their normal order.
I didn't fully understand at the time what exactly this meant, but I knew I hurt for his wife.
I was a child, but I knew she would be pained by what I had just found. 
So I shut up and shut down.
I left the magazine in their secret place and never went back there.

Then, years later I was back at that house again, staring at those magazines.
Or so it felt. 

I was a woman myself now. I had forgotten all about the man's dirty magazines.
Until now.
My hands were shaking and my heart was trying to find a way out of my chest.

The only escape route was through my mouth with muffled sobs.
I was supposed to be in the shower.
The water was on, so I pressed my face into the bathroom towel.
I screamed.
No words in particular, just a mixture of anguish and confusion.

I was that little girl again, shoving those magazines back into the wall where I had found them; yet this time, I was the woman totally oblivious to her own shortcomings.

Shortcomings? 
I'm sure you're lost.
What does a man looking at porn have anything to do with my own worth?

If you're a man, you may be thinking that by looking at porn, that doesn't mean you love your wife any less or find her any less beautiful.

You may be thinking that it's only natural, that the only one affected by these images is yourself.

You are wrong. 

The ugly truth about porn is that it affects every woman you touch, especially your spouse.
You are mixing the poison, but she is drinking it. 

I could go into the biblical aspects of porn and beat you over the head with scriptures, but we have all heard them before.
We have heard the sermons, seen the moves and witnessed the marriages torn apart.
I have no need to go there.
You already know those things.
I'm here to let you in on the things you don't.

Not only are you destroying the hearts of the women in your life by subjecting yourself and them to these idolized images, you are paying the industry that exploits someone's wife, someone's sister, someone's mother and even someone's daughter on the front cover every month. 

Men, but enough on you. This blog isn't necessarily intended for men suffering with an addiction to porn.

This is mainly directed towards the women currently being inflicted with the pain porn brings or the women who have been in the past. 

That's the ugly truth about porn: It is a poison that doesn't just leave your system in a short time. It remains stagnant in your mind for as long as you let it, making itself comfortable in the bed of your heart.

It's cozy there.
Those images you stumbled upon are engraved in your mind and on your broken heart.

They visit you when you're getting into the shower or trying on your once favorite dress.
They visit you when he tells you how beautiful you look or in your bedroom. 

They meet you everywhere.

I wish I had a secret 5 step solution to ridding yourself of the pain that porn has caused you.
But I don't. 

Whether you were a seven year old girl rummaging through the things of a man you looked up to or a grown woman searching your spouse's search history, porn is poison and it can kill a special part of you if you let it. 

That part of you is the part that let's you love yourself again.
That part of you is the part that likes the way you look in your favorite dress again. 
That part of you is the part that doesn't argue when a man calls you beautiful.
That part of you is the part that doesn't hide in your bedroom closet when intimacy comes calling. 

A little uncomfortable?
Maybe. 

But the ugly truth about porn is that it is uncomfortable.
Poison isn't going to feel good, no matter how much you coat it in rationalizations.

I wish I could tell you that one day I woke up deciding I wasn't going to let the ramifications of someone else's choice destroy me anymore, but I can't. 

Every day you will have to remind yourself that the images you saw are not beautiful. 
Not only are they an unrealistic expectation for all women, but they are bought with an awful and ugly price. 

Porn is not beautiful.
It is a drug that destroys so many men, good men, and their families. 

How you reconcile is your own journey. 
Maybe you are picking up the broken pieces of the trust you had in a marriage.
Maybe you are starting over and struggling with falling back into the mindset that every man is going to break your heart in the same way.

I'm no self help book, but from experience, there's one thing you can not do if you want to heal: hide. 

Hiding from your spouse, whether they were the one who hurt you or simply the one getting the brunt of your hurt is the worse thing you can do.

You are only continuing the process of  poisoning those around you by sleeping in your infection. 

When you have a deep cut or burn, medics don't tell you to hide it, ignore it and just shut up about it.
They treat it with immediate care, washing the wounded area with haste and with no concern if your wound is exposed so that they might get in and fix the issue at hand before extreme infection ensues. 

Honey, expose your wounds.
Expose the things that hurt so that they might heal.
I was embarrassed for too long, so I hid my wounds and prolonged the process of ridding my blood of porn's poison.
The dark things can only be lifted from you when you let a little light in.

I'm not going to tell you some frilly, feel-good version of the truth.
Porn freaking sucks and so does the healing process-for everyone. 

You can read as many self help articles as you want, receive friendly advice from everyone on your contacts list and pray until you are blue in the face, but you have to get up and do something to start the healing process.
Not your husband, not the man who hurt you, not the man with the dirty magazines hidden in his wall.
They can't help you.
Only you can. 

Am I saying prayer and advice from Godly, experienced women won't help?
Of course not.
But sitting on your butt and expecting someone else to come in and save you is crap and only makes you a victim.
Harsh, but the truth is usually a little prickly to the touch. 

If you want to heal your marriage or your heart from a previous relationship, you have to decide to do it.
Change out of those victim panties and let's do this. 

Some practical, cut the crap insight?
Let him call you beautiful without rolling your eyes.
Stop throwing the covers over your head or jumping out your bedroom window every time he walks in.

The poison might have been mixed for you, but you don't have to keep drinking it.

If your husband is the man who hurt you, don't hide from him or make him sleep in his infection forever. 

If, like in my case, you are with a wonderful man who longs to love you through the wounds of your past, let him love you.
Don't make him pay the price that porn took on you from someone else's pocket.

Dance in the shower.
Get that dress on.
Let your hair down.
Be beautiful again and own it.
You freaking deserve it.

The ugly truth about porn is that it hurts like hell.
The beautiful truth?
You don't have to live there.

The Proverbs 31 Woman and Social Media

"She is clothed in strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue."

           -Proverbs 31:25-26

If you're a woman, you've read or heard this verse before.


It's plastered on motivational posters at women's conferences.
It's written on our prayer journals.
It's the caption of your Facebook photo.
You hang it around your neck and buy t-shirts with it drawn in a fancy feminine script on the front.


It's easy to wear.
It's simple to read.
But, is it as simple to understand and to LIVE out loud?


I know, I know, parts of the verse don't seem to apply to us anymore in 2014.
Nobody "dresses her family in scarlet" anymore.
But, I believe there is still a real, relevant message contained within this snippet of scripture that we can apply to a modern part of life.


Social media.


It's great to strive to achieve proverbs 31 status by respecting your spouse, loving your children and providing a nurturing/hard-working presence within the walls of your own home.
But, are we neglecting one of the largest influences that we have on others as Christian women?


Let's break a part the snapshot of the verse above and ask ourselves individually if we are truly living out the Proverbs 31 identity in the cyber world as well as our living rooms.
First, let me say a quick prayer for myself before digging deep into my own heart and possibly finding things I don't want to see. YIKES!


"Jesus, pry open my heart and my eyes to what breaks You. Where in my thoughts, my heart, my relationships, my interactions on the internet and in person can there be a better reflection of You and not Britney? Show me the things I don't see, even the ugly, fleshly things. Help me recognize my short-comings and instill wisdom in me. Amen."

Now, let's do this thang.


"She is clothed in strength and dignity..."


First question: What clothes are you wearing on social media?


Is it strength and dignity? Or is it negativity, self-pity, low self-esteem, bitterness, busy-ness, unforgiveness or gossip?


Strength here is not referring to an overpowering woman. To me, it can be the strength to restrain from lashing out, strength to take pain and use it for her own betterment. Strength to use wisdom and remain in silence instead of using her words as a weapon.


Are you clothed in wisdom? Or are you clothed in pettiness?


Are you clothed in dignity?
Or are you standing there on social media, totally stripped naked of all the beautiful garments a lady in Christ would wear?


When you update the world, are you clothed in all things good; grace, mercy, love, compassion, patience, wisdom & truth?


Or are you clothed in all things fleshly?
Before word vomiting all over everyone's newsfeed, I should be asking myself:

"Are you wearing what Britney would pick out to wear today? Or are you going to let Christ lay out your wardrobe for you?"

As for me, I want to hit my knees before hitting the post button.
I guarantee once praying about whatever issue I am about to blast on social media, I will no longer feel the need to post it any longer.


Honestly, airing my dirty laundry is stinky.
It stinks and nobody wants to smell it.

 "...She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue."

Second question: What is on your tongue? 

Obviously, we are all human here.
We make mistakes.
We let our tongues flap wildly more than they should.
This is why God has laid all of this onto my heart.

What is on my tongue?
Honestly, a lot of the time things that I am not proud of.

I'll tell you something, it's not always "faithful instruction".
I'll tell you something else, I'm not always speaking with wisdom!

But, I strive to do both of these.
Especially on social media, as lately this has been my focus.

Did you know your Facebook page, your Instagram or even your twitter feed could be a testimony? 
Even a witness? 
A light? 

Your thoughts are reaching hundreds, sometimes thousands of people, ladies.

You have the opportunity to say so much to someone who is hurting, lost or just seeking someone full of hope, help and positivity with the click of a button.

Unfortunately, you also have the opportunity to destroy, to hurt, to break, to wound, to slander, to gossip...also with a click of the button.

How you use social media is in your hands and though you aren't using your actual tongue, the same principal still applies.
The tongue (in this case your fingers) has the power to destroy or to build up, to degrade or to encourage. 

Proverbs 18:21 - Death and life [are] in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.

So, what's on your tongue on social media?
Just because the words do not ever pass your lips, does not mean they do not have extreme power. 

Life is not always grand, but are you approaching your hurt with the Cross in mind or something else?

You do not have to pretend everything and everyone in this journey is always okay, but you do have to answer to how you reacted along the way. 

Matthew 12:36-37 

"I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak, for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned.”

I desire to speak with wisdom on social media. 
I desire to NOT speak with wisdom on social media if need be.

I desire to have delightful things on my tongue; faithful instruction, encouragement, hope, grace.

The tongue is a double-edged sword and I choose to lay it down and to stop using it as a weapon of destruction.

I pray that Christ is the first we approach when we have something to say, not our status'; whether that be a story of success or one of pain.

I know I have a lot of heart-searching to do and personally need to ask God where I stand with Him on social media.

I long to be the Proverbs 31 woman not just to my family, but all who are touched by the consequences of my reactions.

Lastly, replace words in verses about controlling the "tongue" or your "lips" and replace it with the word "thumb," for social media.


"When there are many words, sin is unavoidable, but he who restrains his thumbs is wise."-Proverbs 10:19

Silly exercise, but a whole lotta truth.

"Jesus, help me reflect You in every form that I may take on, in the home or on the internet. Help my ears be open to Your voice and my heart open to Your guidance. Help me be more about promoting You on social media, not promoting myself or demoting others. Amen."

End of Semester: Why I Write Part Two.

We were asked to re-write an assignment we did in the first week of class to note how we have changed, titled : Why I Write.
Enjoy.

Britney Davis

Ms. Jones

November 11, 2014

           

                                                            Why I Write

Why do I write? I often write to cling to the things that I feel are slipping through my grasp. So many things leave and when they do they leave with such haste we never have the time to really taste them for what they are. Writing allows me to catch a moment, a person, a feeling of bewitching or distain and to capture it just long enough to feel it for all it can be. I like to dance in the meadow of this short life, the dusk of death hastily approaching, letting my limbs flail around in the night air just to catch one firefly of a moment. Once I catch it, I write it. I put the jar up to my face and study my captive. I memorize every morsel of it’s existence, regurgitate it and then I set it free. What a shame it would be to catch such a fleeting, beautiful thing and not allow myself the chance to understand it.

I write so that I never forget the things he said to me in that white-walled, fluorescent-lit room. I write so that I never forget that day where we stood in the rain, my hand lingering in that handshake longer than it should. I write so that I never forget the brown chair; the one she sung over me in, her blue silk nightgown rocking me into slumber. I write so that I never forget how the sunlight hit my sister’s face, forming so many different shapes and objects onto her freckles beneath our fortress of leaves many falls ago. I write so that I may never forget the lessons that I learned through the laughter of a six year old, his front right tooth crowning the gums.

I write so that I might not forget how it felt to ride on his shoulders, baseball stadium lights revealing half of his features while cloud lightning highlighted the rest. I write so that I might not forget what it is to hear your own heart break and what it is to see it quilted back together with the thread from another. I write so that I might not forget the little things, the seemingly insignificant things like eyebrow stitches and red cowgirl boots. I write so that I might not forget the feeling of dancing to Billy Joel with my grandmother or riding in my grandfather’s blue pickup truck down a flat Oklahoma road.

I write to discover the woman I am through the memories of a girl I thought I knew. Sometimes I do not know what I think about the world until I have written about it. Sometimes I think I know who I am until I write, then I discover a new nook in my soul that I had not stumbled upon before. Writing is a like a flashlight in the unknown of my own psyche. It is always guiding me, re-directing my feet and showing me new corners and crevices of my own mind that I have neglected or forgotten was there.

Writing is all about capturing the precious things that could be lost or forgotten. My heart has fallen madly in love with the beauty of memoir. What greater way to re-live every beautiful, wild, painful, shameful, regretful, magnificent, take-your-breath away moment than to learn the art of writing a memoir. The memoir is the capturing of many fireflies. It is learning lessons from their hypnotizing glow and then letting them go back to whatever magical place it is that fireflies sleep. The memoir allows you to share your treasures and all of your dark places that hurt you, yet taught you the most about living, romance and simplicity. I write because it is the ultimate mentor, the most qualified of educators and the greatest lover a mind could take.