That’s My Girl

Several years ago, my husband and I had the opportunity to delve into the world of smartphones shortly after the iPhone 5 had been released. Cut to four and a half years and one battery replacement later, the antenna in my iPhone 5 finally went kaput last week. Though I can’t receive or make phone calls, I can still text and use Safari, so we were a bit slow to mosey into a Verizon store.

But it eventually happened, and my new phone arrived this past Friday. While I anticipated the FedEx truck rumbling down my driveway, I scoured Amazon for a new case. It was almost overwhelming, with all the choices available these days. Did I get another Eiffel Tower case…or maybe something with fairies? Those Christmas designs looked like fun, but several inspirational quotes had appeal, too.

This quote, in particular, stood out to me:

“You don’t have to wait to hear ‘Well done.’ If you do it right, you can know every day that God is smiling and saying, ‘That’s my girl.'”

I love that last part. Love the idea that God could be so informal as to say, “That’s my girl.” I know it in my head—that He’s with me every day, that He’s my friend (Romans 5:11)—but when Life takes a curve I wasn’t expecting, it’s hard for my heart to sense the reality of those intimate terms.

However. I do not like the part that says, “If you do it right…”

As a perfectionist and one who is sometimes overly concerned with making sure I’m following God’s will and doing it God’s way and careful not to step a toe out of line, I’m very much aware of my shortcomings and inability to do things right (parenthood, anyone?). How do we know if we’ve done things right, anyway? There’s no sign that flashes above us in reassurance. Sometimes He’ll whisper encouragement, but more often than not, all we can do is try to do things right. (I’m not talking about black and white moral issues. I’m talking about the gray areas. The areas where I can find examples for both sides of my argument/decision/situation, but it’s a matter of what God wants me and my family to do, not what He asked the Joneses to do once upon a time. Make sense?)

On occasion, my father-in-law has said, “The desire to please God pleases God.” And while that is a hard concept to believe when my head is full of murky, depressing thoughts, it gives me a sense of relief when I’m in my right mind. Plus, it correlates to parenting our children, doesn’t it? If my kids desire to please me, to obey me because they love me, that, in turn, pleases me. I’m far more understanding and patient with their blunders when I know their hearts are in the right place.

My heart is in the right place when it comes to following the Lord. I will not always get it right. I will lapse in moments of weakness, say and do things in moments of impatience or anger or when I’m on the defensive. But I’m trying my best.

So, I’m switching this saying around a little. Here’s what I think it should say:

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Image courtesy of Braelyn Germaine.

Now that’s something I wouldn’t mind splashed across my phone case.

But in the end, I went with a different inspirational quote that sums up everything in just a few words:

“If God is all you have, you have all you need.” John 14:8

What about you? Do you have a case that reflects part of your personality? If so, what does it look like? (I admit, I also went with the dancing fairy.) Or are you more sensible (as we all should be when toting around full-blown computer!) and use something like an Otterbox? If that’s the case, what would you rather see covering your phone? 😉 Leave a comment below–and if you have a brand you love, share that, too.

Did You Call Me or Not?

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to become a published author before the age of forty. Never did I expect that dream to be such a thorn in my side.

Having grown up in a Christian home and coming to faith in Christ at a young age, I’ve long understood that God has a purpose for my life. That He has a calling for each of His children, and while the general calling looks the same—spread the life-giving news of love, forgiveness, and saving grace found in a relationship with Jesus Christ—He asks us to live it out in countless ways according to the unique gifts and talents He’s given us.

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Therein lay my problem. For over three decades, I have heard one story after another of writers feeling called by God to write, whether that was writing in general, or a specific book or series. But for me, I never felt called. I just knew I had a passion for it. On good days, I could write without worry, without second-guessing myself. On bad days, the doubts would creep in and I’d wonder if I was listening to my own selfish desires or if this passion was, in fact, from God. Oh, how I’ve wrestled with it. I’m sure you could find many posts on my blog under the “Writer’s Refuge” tab filled with my questioning, agonizing, pleading with the Lord to just tell me. Just tell me if You want me to write or not. I will give it up if You want me to.

Recently, one of my good friends and local writer buddies, Leah, started a new blog, justwriteinspire.com. Stoked for her, I visited the blog and clicked on the “About” page. The following is a little of what she had to say. (I’ve already shared this with her, so no worries I’m saying something that will hurt or offend her. 🙂 )

“While growing up, I never dreamed I would write. I wanted to be a singer and teacher–not an author.

“However…one day, a plot downloaded into my brain. I thought, someone should write that book. A year later, God planted an idea in my mind, ‘You write it.’ I fought the concept for years. I did not believe I could do it.

“God never gave up on me. He continued to whisper–over and over–‘You are a writer,’ until His words seeped, profoundly, into my heart and soul.”

~Leah, from justwriteinspire.com

At the time I read her words, the irony was not lost on me—how she had felt God’s calling in the area of writing when she hadn’t even been looking for it, while I had prayed for years and continued to question. But still, I smiled, genuinely happy for her.

Come the next day, dark thoughts had descended upon me, and I wasn’t smiling anymore.

I had planned to write that day after cleaning the bathrooms, but as I sprayed and scrubbed sinks and bathtubs, it occurred to me I didn’t have anything to write about. The characters in my two current WIPs weren’t talking, and I was plum out of ideas plot-wise. By the time I finished mopping the floors, I was a mental wreck. If I was supposed to write, why was it harder for me to make up stories than other writers? Maybe I was just fooling myself. Maybe I was a square peg trying to shove myself into a round hole.

So I cried. Hard. And I begged God to speak to me.

I. Needed. To. Know.

Did He want me to write or not?

In late March, I had been sharing my frustrations at Bible study about how my inner critic looks like Jesus, making it difficult for me to always know who’s talking: the critic or Jesus. Sitting beside me, one of my girlfriends promptly texted me this pic from Pinterest:

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I can’t begin to tell you how helpful it has been for me to see these differences written out so I can refer to them whenever I’m questioning the words inside my head. That day cleaning bathrooms, after reading how Leah had felt called to write her story, I remembered this picture and tried to reject the condemning, discouraging words rattling around inside my brain.

But I was weakening.

At last I fell across my bed, my chest aching in that deep way that makes you curl into a fetal position and sob from the core, sob without tears.

How?” I cried to God, glaring at the ceiling. “How can I fight these negative feelings about writing—how can I fight the devil’s lies and deceptions and attempts to bind me—when I don’t know if You want me to do this? How can I combat these attacks with Your promises if I don’t know You’re fighting with me in this area? I’ve wanted to write and be published since I was a kid. Have wanted to write to please You. So many others have felt called by You—why don’t I feel like You ever called me?”

I didn’t expect an answer right away. Hadn’t I pleaded with Him countless other times and received silence in return? Maybe if I kept an open mind and continued to lift up this specific prayer over the next several weeks, I’d recognize His answer…if it ever came.

But that day, God met me in my need, and almost before the question left my lips—“Why don’t I feel like You ever called me?”—a calm, comforting, gentle voice whispered to my spirit.

“Because it was what you already wanted to do. I didn’t have to call you onto a path you were already traveling.”

Oh.

Really?

In my case, yes, really.

And it makes me wonder if other believers can resonate with this.

Often in Christian circles, we get so focused on finding our purpose, finding our calling, our gifts, how we should edify the Church…but for the person who searches for that answer with a pure motive and comes up empty, this quest can be extremely frustrating and lead to feelings of inadequacy.

If that’s you…could it be you might already be on His path for you? Pray about it. Test it. Press into Him with an open heart. And be ready for when He answers.

Yes, I will still have bad days, moments when Negativity wants to tear me down and immobilize me. But now I can resist those thoughts and Satan’s attacks. Now I know writing is something God has called me to do.

And that dream of becoming a published author before the age of 40? Well, I signed a contract with my publisher a month before I turned forty, and my debut novel releases two months before I turn forty-one.

God’s timing is always perfect. And in this case, I’m thankful my timing wasn’t too far off. 😉

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Tinsel Doll Part I

First, let me give a shout-out to those of you who have recently chosen to follow my blog. Welcome! I’m so glad to have you join us. As you can see from the title of this blog, my posts are scattered between my passion for writing, knitting, creating paraphernalia for my 16” fashion dolls, and sharing whatever God happens to lay on my heart on any given week. So whichever kind of post drew you to follow me, rest assured there will be more like it.

But maybe not today. 😉

Today, I’m sharing my latest knitting adventure. Most of you know my debut novel, Tinsel in a Tangle, is releasing in October through Clean Reads. It will initially be available in digital form, so while I scratch my head trying to figure out ways to have a launch party and promote my book without having something physical to hold or hand out, I’m dutifully working on some mini-helpers that should bring a smile to some faces—and maybe a sale on Amazon. (Hey, I have to be optimistic, right? Hoping the act of writing it out will help cement it in my brain.) 😛

Everyone, please meet Niklas, Santa’s cocky grandson who has become skilled over the years in the art of exasperating Tinsel.

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The pattern I used for the body comes from Knitted Pirates, Princesses, Witches, Wizards & Fairies, by Annette Hefford. While Annette recommends using Light Worsted, or 4-ply, yarn and US size 3 needles for most of the work, her dolls end up being 18” tall, and I didn’t want mine that big. I also wanted to use Palette yarn from Knitpicks.com, as they offer a huge range of colors, but it’s only 2-ply yarn, so I decreased the size of my needles to US size 1. The feet are knitted first, then set aside. The legs are knitted separately, then joined at the crotch area to continue up through the torso and head.

Out of all the pieces to this doll, the hands were the hardest to knit and sew, but they went fast–and they weren’t the most difficult things I’ve had to knit (my Ravenna satchel was far more cantankerous). Still, I wouldn’t recommend this project to a beginner knitter.

The hair is actually a wig, knitted separately using a double-loop stitch. I will admit my hands ached after the first few rows. You can see from the picture below how much bigger the wig looks compared to the head, and I was worried I had done something wrong, though I couldn’t have told you what. But once you run a gathering stitch around the edge and pull it snug to the head…it works beautifully! (Cut the loops for straight, wild hair, or keep the loops for a “curly” effect.)

Stuffing the legs and arms was quite the feat, as well, given how small an opening I was working with. I had to use the eraser-end of a pencil to stuff the filling, and at times I rolled the limbs as though rolling play-dough into a snake.

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The opening at the top of the arm…

And it took me so long to finally sit down and write this post, that I can actually introduce you to an almost-completed Tinsel:

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To keep her legs from looking too chunky, and knowing I wanted her to “wear” stockings, I decided to knit her legs as just that: stockings. I also knitted her legs, body, and arms in-the-round, using the Magic Loop Method, rather than knitting them flat and having to sew up the seams afterward. You can see the difference here in their arms:

Later today, I hope to embroider Tinsel’s face, and this weekend, I hope to start on (complete?) her wig.

What about their clothes, you ask? Ah, yes, well, that’s where Part II comes in. Once I complete both dolls, then I get to move on to knitting their shirts, shoes, lederhosen, dirndl, and, of course, their coats, hats and mittens. Because living as far north as they do, winter gear is kind of a necessity. 😉

The Writer’s Desert

 

This past November, I traversed into new territory when I signed a publishing contract with Clean Reads. Setting my sights away from the sparkling, intoxicating metropolis of Accepted Manuscript, I ventured down an unfamiliar, inconspicuous path: The Second Book.

Funny thing about this path. The Second Book doesn’t take two authors in the same direction. Some find themselves in a thick jungle, wrapped in an overabundance of words, swathed in the heat of a luscious plot that can’t wait to be written. Others enter the succulent haven of a coffee shop, drawing inspiration from the lives unfolding around them, tears splashing onto plastic lids, laughter bubbling up toward the ceiling tiles.

Still others, alas, take a journey such as mine and step into the barren wasteland of the Writer’s Desert.

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Unlike an earthly desert, it stays cold here even during the day; the sun might shine, but it emits no warmth. The dry ground remains firm beneath my feet, unforgiving in its hard surface, wicking away what little optimism I had armed myself with when I first started this journey.

I thought I was prepared for it. I had my laptop for communication—you know, for those several rounds of edits expected from my publisher, and for that finicky thing called a platform I need to spend time thinking about. But more importantly, I had a canteen of liquid words—others’ words—that were supposed to keep my writing muscles limber and supple until I reached the other side of this empty landscape. Serving as one of several judges on a few writing contests. Swallow. Involvement with an online critique group. Gulp. Offering my help as a beta reader for two different manuscripts. Sip, sip, sip.

But while my muscles stay quenched with others’ words, my soul has become parched at the lack of my own.

Sure, I’ve come across an oasis now and then. Broad ideas for a new story here; a one-paragraph summary for another story over there. Scenes for a sequel to my book that releases in October. But for the majority of the time, it’s just me and my canteen of somebody else’s work.

Oh, and the devil.

He likes to come alongside me at those times when I’m stumbling across the sand and taunt me. Tell me I don’t have what it takes, because other authors—better authors—are thriving in the jungle and there’s a reason I’m stuck in the desert. Better authors are on book #20 after eleven years of writing, and I’m on book #2 after seventeen. Better authors always have ideas cooking on the back burner, and since I don’t, that just reaffirms I lack what it takes to be successful in this field. Better authors have better blogs, more followers, a larger platform, a stronger backbone, a more persistent nature.

Sometimes Jesus is able to edge the devil out of my peripheral vision. For a few moments of time, maybe even as long as a day, I breathe in His clarity. He’ll take my hand in his and with the other, he’ll point to the horizon, and whisper, “Do you see it?”sunset-1331088_1920 And with my flawed incompetence wrapped within His limitless capabilities, I glimpse something hazy on that horizon, something shimmering with promise and strength, purpose and fulfillment. And—

Then the devil shoves his snout in my face and I lose hold of my precious Jesus.

Why is Satan’s voice so much louder than my Lord’s?

Why does Hate have a better grip than Love? Why does self-deprecation feel more comfortable than self-confidence? Why are lies easier to believe than the truth?

The devil, I’ve come to realize, has been leading me in unnecessary circles to keep me floundering in this desert so I don’t gain the promise on that horizon. I reached a certain milestone despite his lies when I signed that publishing contract a few months ago, and he hates it. He knows my fundamental desire—once the selfishness and narcissism gets pushed aside—is to write for the Lord, whether that’s in the form of a Christmas fantasy or inspirational romance, so what better way to keep me from accomplishing anything further as a Christian writer than to blast my negative qualities on “repeat” in this desert that offers no diversion to silence the noise? Wallowing in negativity is a stronghold in which I practically have a doctorate, so long did I once study it.

Once. Several years ago. I’m not where I was several years ago, and the Lord certainly doesn’t want me making a U-turn to head back there.

So this time, I’m on to the devil. I’m on to his pranks, his condemnation and discouragement. It might have taken me a few months to slough through his deception, but better that than several years. I’m learning to tune him out again; to trust, instead, the voice of my precious Jesus, and to believe what He sees as good in me. I’m taking steps toward that shimmering horizon, and while I’m not there yet—I still have weeks of travel through these cold, hard-packed sands—the oases ahead of me look more abundant than those along the trail of my last four months.

I’m confident I’ll be filling my canteen with my own words soon.

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DIY Doll Tree Swing

Bonjour, mes amis! C’est moi, Ellowyne Wilde.

It’s a sad time to be me these days. Not only did I (and my dolly peeps) get booted from our cozy home in Laurie’s dining room and crammed into a cold-hearted cabinet (because of a move to another town that ended up not happening!)…

…but we learned a few months ago that as of the end of 2016, Robert Tonner wouldn’t be making any more dolls from the Wilde Imagination line for our lovely collectors. Gasp and cry! No more new Ellowyne or Prudence dolls for Laurie—unless they come by way of her mother as she downsizes. I suppose Laurie has enough of us to keep her occupied, but it’s the principle of the thing. I was just coming into my glory days. You should see what kind of amazing pics people share about me and my Wilde friends on FB, Twitter, and Instagram!

Because Laurie’s somewhat listless right now (a writer without a manuscript to sink her teeth into is like a waitress without customers; a teacher without students; a pastor without a congregation; a doll without her cozy home—er…), I’ve taken it upon myself to present her latest craft. It was a simple feat, really. Just a matter of finding some time to implement it, which she accomplished yesterday as she worked through that day’s Bible study lesson.

(Priscilla Shirer’s Armor of God—so good!)

Ahem.

Here it is:

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A tree swing.

Didn’t I tell you it was simple?

If you’d like to make one for your dolls (okay, fine, your children’s dolls (we both know the truth ;))), keep reading for how she did it. If you don’t care to make one…scroll down a few pics for a brief slideshow near the end.

To make this swing, cut to size any piece of scrap wood, MDF board, particle board, etc., that you have on hand (this one is 3″ x 6.25″, scaled for a 16″ doll), and drill four holes near the corners:

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Prime the board and then paint it/decorate it any way you like. Laurie used Valspar paint in Fresh Cotton, followed by Mod Podge to glue some scrapbook paper overtop, purposely tearing the edges:

Once it’s dry, take jute twine–or any kind of cord or rope–and lace it through the holes so it looks like this:

Or! You can insert the twine through the top and tie a knot at each hole under the swing. Because Laurie needed to get this onto a large branch, she tied knots over the branch:

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And voilà! A tree swing fit for a doll.

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This should help take our minds off our troubling times for a bit, don’t you think?

Or…maybe I spoke too soon? It looks like Pru is about to get some unwelcome company.

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Ah, the joys of motherhood. Not.

I frowned at my youngest daughter, sure I’d heard her wrong. “No? But you’re taking a shower later today. Your body’s going to be clean and—”

“No! I don’t want you to change my sheets. The more you wash them, the more pilly they get, and then it annoys me when I go to bed.”

“Okaaaay.” So the dirty sheets remained. But later that night, minutes before she had to slip into bed, out popped her question: “Did you wash my sheets?”

Seriously?

Up went my eyebrow. “You didn’t want me to.”

“Nooo!” Her face crumpled and her fists clenched. “I just took a shower. My sheets are dirty.”

“You told me you didn’t want your sheets washed—”

“I never said that!”

Seriously?

Days later, with twenty minutes to spare before heading to school, she was still in her pajamas. I pointed to her room. “What are you doing standing around? Go get dressed.”

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Your bureau is full of clothes. Pick something.”

“I can’t. They’re clean and I’m not.” Pause. “Do you have any of my clothes hanging in your closet?” (It’s where I hang the wet clothes to dry.)

I jammed my hands onto my hips. “Let me get this straight. You refuse to wear clean clothes out of your drawer because you’re dirty, yet you want to wear clean clothes that might be hanging in my closet?”

These are just two snapshots of dozens of scenarios I deal with every day from daughter #2, who insists on arguing over almost anything, whether tangible, intangible, or choice of words. Heaven forbid I don’t remember exactly how the conversation went when trying to defend my position (and if I don’t use the exact same phrasing, then “you never said that!”). This is a child who will insist the sky is green and the grass is blue just for the sake of argument.

I’m mentally exhausted.

If I didn’t know I was in my right mind, I’d think I were going insane.

(My apologies to her grandparents reading this post. Just love on her all the more, please.)

For some reason, God in His infinite wisdom chose to pair up this mother with that daughter. Not only does He believe I’m the best mom for her–and that mothering her will iron out some wrinkles in her character–but He knows that having her as my daughter is the only way to iron out some wrinkles in my character. Because if it weren’t for daughter #2, I wouldn’t have realized I have such a problem with impatience. And anger.

See, scenarios like the above typically go on too long and end in a power struggle. And on really bad days, you’ll want to retreat along with daughter #1 into another room. Though it may seem like I’m being glib about this behavior from both myself and daughter #2, I’m not. I’m not proud of my actions and reactions. A yelling, angry mom is not the motherhood I envisioned when I was a child, myself.

But I share it with you because I suspect I’m not alone in this. I’m guessing many parents share my inner conflict. We think we’re decent people—kind, considerate, easy-going, polite—until we have children. Until we come up against a strong-willed mini-me who doesn’t want to obey and instead demands to do things his/her own way. Then out come our fangs, our insides curl and boil with heat, and we start doling out punishments and consequences as our voices rise in volume until it’s not one child throwing a fit…it’s two!

Lately, it’s gotten worse in this household, since my and my hubby’s tolerance threshold for her behavior is at an all-time low, and daughter #2 does not like that. So she’s pushing back. And it. Is. So. Exhausting.

Yet even this has a positive side when examined in the calmer hours of the day. In the Bible, James writes, “Consider it pure joy…when you face trials of many kinds, because you know the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” Really? Count it as joy?

Yes, because trials—if we respond to them correctly—are supposed to draw us closer to God. It’s in our distress we cry out for His strength, His patience, His wisdom. We are reminded yet again we can’t go it alone; we need the Holy Spirit to intervene and pull us along when we can’t make our feet move on our own. My walk with the Lord will be stronger tomorrow for the strong-willed child He’s placed in my life today. And if I press into Him now, then years later my patience will be mightier because I will have had so many opportunities to practice it, and my anger will not run as hot.

If I press into Him.

Lord, may I continue to press into You.

I’ve often prayed that He would help me love my kids the way He loves them, but recently one of my girlfriends recommended a more specific twist: to pray that God would help me love those qualities about my children that drive me crazy. Because He has plans for these kiddos and their unique quirks that I know nothing about. Daughter #2’s first and middle names combined mean “defender of the faith,” and the same defiance that rears its head against my parental authority is probably just the thing she’s going to need to wield in the future against a society that’s becoming increasingly antagonistic toward Christians.

Now if I can just make her realize it’s not me she needs to defend against! 😉

Lest I leave you with an unbalanced view of this precious child of God, however, here’s an incomplete list of her awesomeness:

She’s hysterically funny.

She’s extremely intelligent.

When she’s determined, nothing can stop her.

She can be compassionate, loving, and considerate.

She loves little kids.

She loves the Lord.

She’s got a fertile imagination. It’s quite possible I got the writing talent just so I could pass those genes on to her.

She can draw amazing pictures with her tattoo pens.

She enjoys school (don’t think I could manage mornings if she hated to go).

She’s a loyal friend.

She’s overflowing with possibility.

When she’s in a happy mood, she’s an absolute joy to be around, and she loves to make people smile.

Thank you, Jesus, for my children. Give me wisdom and patience to parent them. Grow me, even as You grow them. Amen.

What if We Lay Aside the Blame?

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These days, the nation looks more like the Fractured States of America than the United States of America. There’s so much anger and fear, name-calling and hatred, bitterness and resentment. But what if…

WHAT IF, instead of accentuating our differences, we focused on what makes us the same? Each of us at one time or another has been somebody’s brother or sister, son or daughter, mother or father, wife or husband, lover or friend. Each of us at one time or another has felt sadness and joy, anger and forgiveness, grief and contentment. We’ve all experienced triumphs and setbacks, and we all suffer from insecurities and pride. We want the best for our children, desire financial security, crave affordable health coverage, need shelter from the elements, and we ache find that certain somebody who will love us despite our faults.

We want so many of the same things; we just don’t agree on how best to attain them.

But WHAT IF, rather than pointing a finger at others to lay blame and accusation, we looked at ourselves first?

WHAT IF we took accountability for our own actions and the parts we each play in this fractured nation? We call for tolerance and then become intolerant of those who have different beliefs and values. We speak of love, but our actions scream “hate” when we feel threatened. We desire our own freedom…at the expense of someone else’s freedom. We frown on bullies in the schoolyard but think nothing of bullying strangers on Twitter or Facebook.

Whatever your beliefs about Jesus Christ, I think most of us would agree with him when he said in Matthew 7:12, “Do to others whatever you would like them to do to you.” (NLT) How many times do I say this to my children? “Don’t treat your sister the way she treated you. How do you want to be treated? That is the way to treat your sister.” Because, like as not, what we dole out over time will eventually make its way back around to us.

Do you want respect? Be respectful of others. Do you want to receive kindness? Be kind to others. If someone insults you, compliment them in return. (We can always find something nice to say if we take the time to look.) It’s hard, though, huh? The adage, “Kill ’em with kindness” sounds good in movies and reads good in books. Yet when the rubber meets the road, when you’re the one on the receiving end of prejudice or sexism, discrimination or racism (and trash-talking a white person is no less racist than trash-talking an African American), it’s hard to implement. It’s hard to show humility when pride gets stuck in our throats; hard to keep quiet when our bodies tremble with the need to scream; hard to love someone who represents everything we hate.

hands-1820675_1280But if we want to repair the hurt and disunity in this nation, then someone needs to take the first step and break the cycle. That someone is you. And me. Not our significant others. Not our children. Not the law enforcement. Not our leaders. Not in the passing of more laws or abolishing others. Not in sitting back and letting “someone else” do the grunt work. We—YOU and ME—must get up, dig in, break the cycle and move one step closer to that common ground. Day in and day out. Hour after hour. Tweet after tweet. 😉

It’s a daunting task, true. But WHAT IF the unity we find, the healing we can give, the forgiveness we experience, results in a far more attractive future than one built on anger and hatred? Isn’t that worth a try?