Category Archives: family fun

homecourt advantage…

His words made me cry this morning.

He told me, along with the surrounding congregation, that I was his “home court advantage.” That no matter how dreary the many matters surrounding him in his outside life become, at the end of the day, I was his safe harbor. His cheerleader; his anchor; his best defense against his critics.

It’s hard to think of my husband having any critics. If you’ve ever met my man, then you would heartily agree. Never have I known a more compassionate, loving individual whose willingness to lay down his heart and life for just about anybody far surpasses the norm. Truly, the love of God resides in his inner being.

He’s…

A giver, not a taker.
An encourager, not a “deflater.”
A healer, not a wounder.
A lover, not a fighter.
A defender, not an offender.
A faith walker, not just a faith talker.
A mature man, not an infant.
A forgiver, not a grudge-keeper.
A “do-er,” not just a listener.
A pastor, not just a preacher.
A father, not just a sperm-donor.
A husband, not a controller.

So much of what he is, is what I am not. I suppose this is main reason God decided to grace my life with Billy’s. He knew, better than me, just what I needed at just the right time… just in time.

I nearly gave my heart and years to another the second time around. What a disaster that would have been. But God reached down into my dreariness and drew me out; set my feet on higher ground and set my sights in a better direction—a course that would push my feet along a path that would eventually intersect with the path of a man named Billy on his way to becoming a preacher named accordingly.

Preacher Billy.

There’s none finer. And that’s the truth of the matter.

So when the critics arrive as they have arrived in recent days, their “truth” holds little water on my turf. I’m a home-team gal with a whole lot of home-team pride surging through my veins. Sometimes I wish my man would let me in the rink to go a round or two on his behalf; he’s certainly stood in the rink for me on a number of occasions and has the scars to prove it.

But his “better” usually wins out over my “bitter”, and I’m reminded, once again, of why I need him so much.

He forces the issue of my faith. He pushes me to my perfection. He understands the greater gain that can come from a surrender rather than from a frontal assault. He is my knight in shining armor, and I am his damsel in distress. He’s saved me from myself, time and again, and pulled me through the dark forest into the marvelous light of an extraordinary kingdom.

I don’t know how long our lives will extend together on this planet—how much time God will grant us to live our love story—but with my dying breath, I will still be cheering his name.

It’s what a home-team wife does… how a home-team family lives.

You’ve found your home court advantage with us, Preacher Billy. We love you more than words can write; you make our lives a place where we want to live. Thank you for giving your heart to us on a hot July afternoon almost thirteen years ago.

Only God could have known the depth of what that would mean for all of us.

Only God could love us that much.

It’s you and me, babe, from this day forward, through to forever. The line has been drawn, and I know where I stand. How grateful and humbled I am to call you, not only my preacher, but most importantly, my man.

I love you…

~elaine

PS: The winner of Alicia Chole’s book, Intimate Conversations, was drawn by my daughter this afternoon…Congrats, Denise at Free to be Me. Please send me your snail mail, and I’ll get this to you in time to put it under your tree! Shalom.

Black Friday with Me and my Man

Just in case you missed Black Friday shopping, here is a re-cap of my day with my man in tow (what a trooper he was… is). I trust you’ve all had a good week; I hope to be re-aligned with my “pen” in the coming week, thus getting away from all the blah, blah, blahing of video-living! As always…

peace for the journey,

sacred preservation…

sacred preservation…

I was fully prepared to write another post today, a post that God has graciously allowed me to tuck away for a season; maybe forever. Today he gave me a “pass” on something. Today his favor has come to me and my household in tangible measure, and I am humbled and grateful for his notice.

This is my man.


He is my strength and has been my able arms over the past week. We’ve created a beautiful home together. When God gave me Billy, he gave me a portion of heavenly grace—love as love was meant to be received. I’ve never known a better earthly love. Sure, my parents love me unconditionally. Parents do that, at least they should. But when another human being makes the choice to love unconditionally, well, that’s the stuff of earth’s movement, of hell’s frustration, and of heaven’s notice.

Our love has deepened over the past week; I look forward to more seasons with my man. To marking our grey hairs together and our ills and aches as well. I love you, Billy.

These are my children.


They are the reason behind my pressing on and pressing in to Jesus. The more I know him, the more I’m able to give him to them. They deserve my faithful pursuit of God. They are and will continue to be the recipients of my earnest chase and capture of the Divine. I love you, Nick, Colton, Jadon, and Amelia.

And you, blog readers, you are my friends. I have no doubts that the peace I’ve known over the past week has come to me in large part through the prayers of the saints. You are those saints. You know who you are. I called upon you for prayer, and your prayers have been felt … been heard and been answered.

Today I got a “pass” from God, and that is enough for me. Day to day living with Jesus is all that is required of us. Not tomorrow; not next week, but this very moment we hold in our hands. God reserves the right to all of those moments, no matter their length of earthly time.

When I awoke in the early morning hours, God impressed upon me a few words that I would like to share with you as I close. I thought them profound, even before I got my “pass.” I still think that to be the case…

“It doesn’t matter how long God chooses to preserve my earthly life. What matters is how I choose to preserve him in the earthly life I’ve been given.”

Preserve him well this week, and I will do the same. Nothing in this life, and I mean nothing, is worth losing the flavor of Jesus in us, on us, through us, all around us. Nothing. Tend to his divine preservation within your heart this day, knowing that the aroma you spread has the capacity to shake the foundations of hell. In doing so, the heavens sing their refrain, as our Father bends low for a listen. As always…

peace for the journey~

~elaine

Making Sense of Mustard Seeds

“Again he said, ‘What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest seed you plant in the ground. Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds of the air can perch in its shade.’” (Mark 4:30-32).

I’m not sure how it all fits together; all the stuff of my Sunday.

Sick children;
Laundry rotation;
Clorox wipes;
Temperature taking;
Non-stop Sponge Bob.
A Wal-Mart run for meds.
Throw-up clean up;
Make-up homework;
Bible-study prep work…

Some prayers;
A Scripture;
A Kingdom;
A mustard seed;
Some birds.

A blog post.

But something tells me they fit; Someone compels me to make them fit … at least to ponder their collective wisdom and then to scrawl a few thoughts in between runs for cool washcloths and requests for more attention. And here’s what I’m thinking tonight…

They are God’s kingdom, these two young ones I’ve been given in my later years. I never imagined them on the front side of my motherhood. Their two older brothers were enough to fill my maternal longings. Then again, I never imagined starting over in a new marriage. But I did start over. And by God’s grace and only through a loving provision I cannot begin to merit or adequately explain, I was granted the privilege of having two additional children.

I’ve not always done it right; in fact, many times I’ve gotten it wrong. All of us have some battle scars to prove it. But even in the mistakes, I’ve always been mindful of the sacred responsibility to do it. To parent in the light and shadows of a greater cause … a kingdom cause. If I don’t, someone else will, and what God wants growing in my garden is a planting filled with the mustard seeds of a heavenly kingdom, not the weeds of a worldly domain.

The world grows weeds … useless, unimaginative, ugly to the eye, and difficult to erase.

All I have to do is look out my bedroom window to a neighboring lot and see the effects of a worldly neglect. But when I look inward to reflect on what’s growing inside these four walls, to the young ones who are within reach and are well-tended to this day, I see the effects of a Godly intention. A sowing that exceeds any amount of energy expended on the cultivation.

I see God’s kingdom—two children growing faster than my heart can handle. There is nothing useless, unimaginative, and ugly about them. Instead theirs is a beauty that, when beheld, no one wants to erase, for in their eyes … on their faces and beneath their skin, there radiates the glow of heaven. A golden hue reminiscent of a golden road that links them directly back to the inapproachable light of a glorious God.

God’s kingdom is like them; tiny mustard seeds growing alongside their brothers and sisters in Christ to develop into a garden without boundaries. A garden that multiplies over time to become the sought-after perch and shade for the birds of the air.

We are there too, being cultivated and grafted into a kingdom without end. A golden carpet of splendor rolled out for all of humanity as the pathway home to the King. As you consider your “plant”—your part in God’s kingdom this week—be reminded that your beauty is needed. The light you carry within added to the light I carry within becomes an illumination that beckons weary travelers to pause from frantic flight and to, instead, find rest within our branches.

God has fashioned us to be his perch and shade to a world in need of a safe place to land. In doing so, his kingdom advances. One seed at a time; one heart at a time; one prayer at a time; one cold compress and one temperature-taking at a time; one Scripture at time. One blog post at a time.

That is how my Sunday fits together … a day fast approaching its end. It’s been messy and cluttered and filled with ranging emotions, yet when all is cast at the feet of the King, all becomes material he can work with. He’s done it for me; he’ll do it for you as well.

Blessings this week as you fan into flame your candle and expand your branches to become God’s extension of rest to a people who need the truth behind their sacred worth. We are all the useful, imaginative, beautiful, and unerasable work of his hands.

Walk your inheritance well. As always…

peace for the journey,

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Growing up Solid

“We have much to say about this, but it is hard to explain because you are slow to learn. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil.” (Hebrews 5:11-14).

The riding lawn mower quit working recently. Apparently, grounded tree limbs and freeway driving speeds over top of said tree limbs don’t make for a good mix. I’m not surprised by the breakdown. I’m only surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

After a few days at the shop and a costly repair, I informed the “lawn mowers” in my household that mowers and sticks don’t mix; they nodded their understanding. It didn’t sink in; not fully. For just the other day, the “lawn mower” man was at it again, driving like Mario Andretti, all the while crunching and munching the remnants from a recent storm beneath the blades of the newly renovated mower. When I confronted him about the issue, he looked at me with all sincerity and ease and simply replied…

“Mom, I don’t do sticks.”

My immediate response to him?

“Son, that is about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You don’t do sticks? Are you kidding me? How old are you?

I’ll spare you the rest of the details. Your imagination is ample enough to create a fairly clear picture of just how it all went down.

I’ve raised two impatient sons as it pertains to the “doing” of the rudimentary tasks of daily living, which includes anything that doesn’t make their list of “how a young man should be spending his time.” And while they’ve always been willing to comply with these daily chores (and to their credit, with little grumbling alongside), the rules of engagement for accomplishing the tasks share one common denominator.

The faster the better. The sooner it’s done, the sooner the fun. Sometimes it works out that way; sometimes it doesn’t. They are both finding out via personal experience that faster isn’t always the best route for progress. That speeding through life sometimes presents them with a yield—a pause that forces them to grapple with their impatience and their choice to either “grow up” in this area or to keep returning to the bottle of their infancy.

As it goes with them, so it goes with me. There are seasons in my life when the pressure to mature burdens me with the responsibility of having to make a choice along those lines. In the days of my youth, I couldn’t wait to be older; at least then I would be in control of my decisions.

I was right; I’m now in control of my decisions, but there are times when the comfort of a little milk and a warm blanket are tempting. Times when I wish I could revert to the cradle and leave all the decisions up to someone else. Times when I, like my sons, say dumb things to others and to God, in hopes that my words make sense, but all the while knowing that they don’t. That they are offensive to the ears of those on the receiving end.

Unreasonable words. Thoughts based on emotion rather than truth. Casual statements issuing forth from a place of unbelief, fear, and selfishness. Justifications that aren’t thought out but, rather, are based on inconsistent sentiment that shrouds my flesh in self-interest.

I spoke as much to God this morning.

“Where are you God?”
“I think you’ve forgotten about me.”
“Could you just hurry up with the answer?”
“Is there really any point to this day?”
“I imagine that this is about as good as it’s going to get, so I’d better get up and get it over with.”

Yammering unbelief like that, on and on for a few moments, only to be quickly followed up by my confession.

“I’m sorry God. That was really a dumb thing to say.”

And then I laughed; and then he did. And thus, the conversation was opened up for a better word; a truer truth; a love and a grace that exceeds my stupidity to say,

“Now that we’ve cleared that up, elaine, let’s move on to some solid food.”

It’s time to move on with some solid food, my friends. Our maturing doesn’t happen overnight or with a quick ride around the lawn. Our “growing up” in the faith takes time … takes a willingness on our parts to bend to the menial tasks of picking up sticks and slowing our pace. Of entreating the pauses that find us, whether forced upon us by others or freely chosen by us because we’ve come to the conclusion that faster doesn’t always yield better. That solid food requires a longer chew.

And that chewing can, in fact, bring pleasure to the process of our becoming.

How about you? What excuses are you bringing to the table of grace today? What could you possibly offer up to our God as a justification for your staying as you are? What bottle of milk tastes better than a steak? What questions could you ask him that remain without answers? What elementary understanding stifles your “gettin’ on with the gettin’ on” as it pertains to your faith journey?

Can this mother’s heart be honest?

It’s time to grow up. Time to slow down and sit with Father God and listen to what he has to say. Why? Because if we don’t, we risk a lifetime of infancy, never tasting the freedom and joy that comes with moving onto our maturity in Christ. Jesus didn’t go all the way to the cross and back so that we could stay as we are; he made that journey so that we could become a living conduit of his kingdom and his grace.

And that kind of sacred consecration and calling, my friends, deserves more than our menial attempts at maturity. Kingdom bestowment deserves our unparalleled obedience and humble willingness to grow into our crowns and to be thankful for the grace it has taken to make them a worthy fit.

Leave the bottles for the infants and keep to the table of rich meats this week. I’ll meet you at the table of grace where the food is solid and the communion is ever sweet. As always,

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