This is Dedicated to the One I Love

Twenty-one years and one day ago on the most beautiful and magical Spring-like August day, I got to be Cinderella for the day and marry my Prince Charming.  I will never forget this day as long as I live.  From the hand-picked flowers in my bouquet, to riding off in a convertible to our reception, it was the most beautiful and picturesque of days.  The loveliest of lovely.

While this day may have felt like a fairy tale, the reality of marriage is anything but.  Sometimes I think we can get caught up in Facebook and Instagram fairytale-land that paints a picture of perfection and all things beautiful.  Newsflash:  Marriage isn't always lovely and starry-eyed.  In fact, many a day can go by where it's just NOT EVEN CLOSE.

Being married is actually hard work, with lots of sweat and tears.  But at the end of a hard day's work, there's the moment of sitting back and enjoying.  There's the feeling of satisfaction over what you've created or built.  You're invested because you've put in the time and sweat equity.   

Our former pastor once said of marriage: "It's a slow death."  Isn't that the truth?  If we want to have a great marriage, we have to be willing to give up our own agenda and wants.  We have to learn to compromise and do what's best for the team.  We have to learn to die to self and sometimes that process feels like two steps forward and three steps back. 

I'm so thankful to still be standing strong beside the man I married twenty-one years and one day ago.  But it's by grace alone.  Each and every day.  Sheer and utter grace.  Left to myself, that 'strong' in the sentence above becomes shaky at best.  God's grace infuses me with the power and ability to stand strong and hang on when I don't feel like it or don't have it in me.    

And maybe right about now I need to explain why I didn't post this yesterday on our Anniversary.  Because we were in a big fat fight and I didn't have anything nice to say, that's why.

So our 21st Anniversary might not have been our finest hour...

But today was 21 years and one day.  And between 21 years and one day, a lot happened.  I'm no longer shooting daggers at him and he's no longer giving me the silent treatment.  Yesterday was a hard work day, but today we're sitting back enjoying.  And maybe, just maybe, an Anniversary post the day after is a little more representative of marriage between two imperfect, messy people.  And maybe it's a great reminder that marriage is not about the wedding day or any one day in particular, but about a culmination of many.

21 years and one day.  For better or for worse.  And one day.  For richer or for poorer.  And one day.  In sickness and in health.  And one day.  Until death do us part.

And that right there is marriage, ya'll.  

The Struggle is Real

Have your circumstances and difficulties ever just seemed too big?  Overwhelming and too much to handle?  Are you ever just completely over it and ready to throw in the towel?  Does the weight on your shoulders just seem too burdensome?  Tired of working, tired of trying, tired of straining.  Just dog-gone tired?

You see, Eric and I have had a 'thorn in our side' for quite a while now.  One that's been around for several years, and probably isn't going to disappear anytime soon.  We all have them--these thorns.  They're sharp and they're painful.  Spend any amount of time living on this side of heaven and you're sure to experience being stuck by a thorn or two.  Whether a sickness, a financial issue or a relationship-problem, the struggle is real.

So, this is where I found myself Sunday afternoon.  Heavy-hearted.  Defeated.  Tired.  So, so tired.  Too tired to lift myself out of the muck of our circumstances.  Too tired, even, to cry out to the only One who can lift us onto higher ground.  I felt hopeless and stuck.

Lost.  Flailing.  But not too far gone to call a friend on SOS speed dial and ask for help.  She prayed earnestly and compassionately, necessitating a little CPR on my behalf.  As she claimed and lifted up Truth over my concerns, I was able to breathe a little easier for the time being.  That's one of the beautiful things about friends.  They step in and do, when we can't.

The prayers, they sustained me that afternoon.  Yet that burden--that millstone--still felt heavy-laden and massive.  

Such was me when I walked into the chapel at our church Sunday evening, arriving for Eric's deacon ordination.  Oh, you would not have known that I was crawling into that place with a boulder that felt like the size of Mount Everest between my shoulder blades.  I just looked like a regular 40-something mom, walking down the aisle with her three teenagers and two children in tow (who may or may not have had a slight attitude over the fact that they had to wear jeans).  

Why do we have to dress up???  Why couldn't we wear our sweats???  Why can't we stay in the gym and play basketball during the service???  

{{{Oh, if they only could realize that for most people, wearing jeans is not even dressing up!}}}

But back to my story.  

My heavy load may not have been evident to the naked eye.  Or seen by the on-lookers.  But there was One looking on that saw it more clearly than even myself.

One who knows what we need.  One who can furnish a fresh supply of oxygen when it's running low. 

The ordination began with music, followed by the testimonies of the two being ordained.  As my husband shared his/our sweet story, I remembered.  I remembered our grace-filled God, pulling us out of hell-bent lives.  Sometimes we just need to look back and recall, to be reminded of what we were saved from and how far we've come.  The simple act of remembering took my eyes off the temporary--the here and now--and placed them on the eternal.  As my vision shifted, that boulder between my blades got a few pounds lighter.  

Next, though, was most powerful of all.  After speaking for a few minutes about what it means to be a deacon, our pastor called Eric and I up to the center of the stage to sit in two chairs.  As we positioned ourselves, he called forward the current deacons of our church to pray over us.  I will never, ever forget the sight of those humble, strong men walking towards us.  Like warriors with their serving papers, marching to battle.  They gathered around, laid hands upon us, lifting up powerful, compelling prayers.  

While my circumstances didn't change, there surely was a great exchange.  Sturdy, 'weighty' prayers seized the load from my frail shoulders.  It was taken away and literally delivered to God, who is always ABLE, MORE THAN ABLE to carry that which is too heavy for us.

The effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.  James 5:16

To many in that room, this was an ordinary, routine deacon ordination.

To one small, defeated and hopeless-feeling soul, it was so much more.  It was God reaching down and using the intercession of many to revive a tired spirit.  Life-giving words being lifted up on behalf of others for one who had temporarily run out of steam.  

'for I know that this will turn out for my deliverance through your prayers and the provision of the Spirit of Jesus Christ'  Phil. 1:19

Let's face it.  The struggle is real.  It's a battle out there.  Sometimes we all need a little help.  A little encouraging nudge to keep on, keeping on.  A little God-boost to get us back up and going.  

Those prayers on Sunday--they were my boost.  The strength to enable me to not just stand, but to stand on the heights.  Intercessory prayer is no small thing.  How grateful I am for the perseverance and petition of faithful friends when I'm too weak to do it myself.  

It is God who arms me with strength

and keeps my way secure.

He makes my feet like the feet of a deer;

He causes me to stand on the heights.

He trains my hands for battle;

My arms can bend a bow of bronze.

You make your saving help my shield, 

and your right hand sustains me; 

Your help has made me great. 

You provide a broad path for my feet, 

so that my ankles do not give way. 

Psalm 18:32-36 

What? Only One Word???!!!

I have a love affair with words.  I love them so much.  I love to read them.  I love to write them.  I love to think about them.  I love to study them.  And, of course, I love the new trend of decorating with them.  

I love stringing them together in a sentence, analyzing them, then moving things around until it flows just right.  The on-line Thesaurus is my best friend.  I visit it several times a week, hunting for just the right word.  

As you can imagine, Twitter and I have a hate/hate relationship.  I can't understand why you would EVER want to limit anyone's characters to only 140?  I used to try to work within these ever-constraining boundaries, but who wants to spend thirty minutes cutting out beautiful, flowy words???  I mean, where's the art in that?

My husband, on the other hand, thinks Twitter's the bomb-diggety.  Short and to the point.  Give me the information and let's move on, please.

Maybe that's why he was all up on creating a New Year's tradition last year that centered around picking one word.  Yes.  ONE word.  One, tiny, small, measly word.  Imagine Miss Wordy-Words angst when he announced that we must choose one--just ONE--to focus on for the whole entire year.  

Oh.  My.  Word.    

How in the world do I just choose ONE, for crying out loud?

So last year I think I may have mistaken my inability to choose just one as an inability to focus.  So guess what I chose?  Yes, you guessed it.  

FOCUS.

Once I chose it, I second guessed myself for several days, but because of all my back and forth indecisiveness, I finally determined that FOCUS must indeed be the right one because I clearly was having a hard time focusing.  Thus, I finally laid to rest whether or not it was the right word and came to peace with FOCUS.  And, I have to say, I made some great strides this year regarding focusing.  I can honestly say it was the right word for 2014.  

Fast forward to a few short weeks ago.  It's the 29th of December.  It's Sunday.  New Year's Day is approaching and I truly have no idea what my word is going to be for 2015.  At church that morning, the preacher's sermon was entitled 'One Word' and he talked about choosing a word for the year (Eric, did you put him up to this???).  He suggested jotting down some words that came to mind and start praying that God would help you narrow it down.  

Okay, I thought.  I'll do that.

I jotted down three or four.

I prayed.  I jotted down a few more.  I prayed some more.  

Over the next few days it seemed that, rather than zeroing in on one word, my list just kept growing.  Now I was up to ten.  

We weren't allowed to tell our word until the Big Word Reveal on New Year's Day.  It seemed every person in our family was walking around our house bragging about how they had their word.  I had one word envy.

My daughter must have noticed my duress.  She tried to help me out.  She explained that she had chosen three words and prayed about each one.  Her stomach kind of jumped right when she was praying about one of them, so that's the one she picked.  Did I need for her to pray over my words too and let me know which one her stomach jumped on?  (By the way, she has since changed her word.  So much for her stomach-jumping prophecy).

I decided to go for a run.  Running always gives me clarity, I thought.  Surely while I'm running, I will finally zero in on ONE of my words.  

My list grew to 17.

Discipline, Start, Joy, Others, Write, Uncomfortable, Serve, Love, Fight, Grit, Chillax, Breathe, Laugh, Intentional, Pray, Free, to name a few. 

By New Year's Eve, I was up to 21 and counting and I was starting to feel like a Duggar.  Time was running out and I was getting desperate.  I started showing everyone my list, begging for their input.  Both my teenagers and the counselor in our family told me they thought I should choose 'Chillax'.

'I would, but that's cheating.  That's clearly TWO words.'

Well, I didn't really say that.  Because WHO CARES IF IT'S TWO WORDS, FOR CRYING OUT-LOUD???!!!  I LIKE WORDS!

But I didn't take their advice and choose chillax.  Because I DO NOT have a problem with chillaxing.  

DO NOT.    

So, I guess you are wondering if I ever did finally choose my one word?  

Yes.  

Well, sort of.  

I chose one, but then it didn't feel quite complete.  It just felt a bit narrow and limiting.  It needed a boost.  Or two.  

So, I finally changed the rules a teeny, tiny bit and decided to go with Three Words for 2015.  I feel good about it.  They all kind of fit together and it feels complete:

  
Start.  Discipline.  Write. 

I want to start writing in 2015 and I'm going to have to be more disciplined in order for that to happen.  I am also not a very good starter.  I tend to procrastinate.  Once I get going I'm all in, but the starting is hard for me. 

So, there you go.  It was a tough go getting here but it was worth the fight.  

What word or words did you pick for 2015? 

Advent Uncut

A few weeks back our pastor sent me an email asking me if our family would like to do the Advent for our church services that week.  Doing Advent entails going up to the pulpit with your entire family and taking turns reading different parts of the Advent reading to the congregation.  Then one person from your family lights the Advent candle.  When I received this email, I immediately replied back 'Sure!' and copied Eric on it so he was in the loop.  And then, guess what?  Out of sight, out of mind.  We never, ever, ever thought about it again.  Until Sunday morning. When I walked into the sanctuary with five minutes to spare and one of the pastors approached me with a candle in his hand and started talking.  I stared at him, blankly.  The words coming out of his mouth sounded like Chinese.  But then I saw the candlelabra in the background and the words he was forming began to become clearer.  And clearer.  And clearer.  Then a horrific realization came over me with dread and trembling.

I had forgotten that our family was doing Advent that morning!  

Trying to act calm and collected so he wouldn't catch on, I asked, 'um, well, I forgot my sheet with our readings on it.  Do you know how I can get a copy of it?'

Now it was his turn to stare at me blankly and say, deadpanned, 'Well, I don't know.  I mean, aren't you supposed to have your parts memorized?'  (He's kind of known for his dry-witted humor.  I still don't really know if he was kidding or not...)

I continued trembling, cheerfully smiled, and said something back that I can't recall now.  I turned on my heal and my brain quickly tried to come up with a plan while inside my head I said, 'please help me, Jesus!' 

Just then our head Pastor was walking into the sanctuary.  I explained that I had forgotten our Advent reading sheet.  Did he know where we could get one?  As if on cue, he pulled a sheet out of his binder and said, 'Sure!  I've got a copy right here!'

And the hallelujah chorus sang out loud and clear.  Well, in my head it did.

Next, I had to find my family.  I had three minutes.  You see, Eric and I had driven separately that morning and I had gotten there first.  As I went walk-running down the hallway, I spotted them approaching me.  

I yelled, "We have Advent today!"

I saw that same look of horrific realization come across his face too.

And then it was game on.  

I scanned the sheet, taking in that there were four reading parts.  Then I quickly became Miss Bossy-Pants and began assigning the reading parts based on the best 'go-to under emergency procedures'.

'Okay, I'll take the longest reading part.  Eric, you're good under pressure with things like candles, so you light the candle and read the second longest part.  Owen and Jeremiah, you're too young to read on the fly without practice, so you're out.  Sophie, (teenage girl who doesn't want everyone staring at her and quickly exclaimed, 'I'm not reading!!!').  Okay, never mind.  Josh, you be Reader 1 since you're the oldest child.  Wes, Reader 4 only has two sentences.  I think you can handle it.'

As we sat down in our pew, I gave them the sheet to look over for words they might now know.  And I tried to breathe.  

I become common senseless in on-the-fly settings.  My mind was all jumbled and I only remembered that we were supposed to walk up to the altar after Pastor Russ gave the announcements.  So when he stopped talking, I stood up.  Eric jerked me down and hissed, 'not yet!  AFTER the video!'   Oops.  Okay.  Hopefully nobody noticed that.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  As the video played, I looked over the sheet one last time, realizing Wes' part had the word 'iniquity'.  Oh dear, does he know how to pronounce that?  I tried to mouth this to him, as he set on the other end of the pew, but just kept mouthing back, 'what?'

Oh, Jesus, help him to know that word.  

Breathe in.  Breathe out.

Finally, it was time.  Owen, thinking he wasn't supposed to walk up with us since he didn't have a speaking part, almost didn't go.  He grabbed ahold of the pew and planted his feet and I almost panicked.  But it was a Christmas miracle.  I told him to come on and he actually listened.

So there we stood.  It wasn't as I would have planned it.  In my perfect world we would have practiced our reading parts and even given one of our youngest a part to read because, well, that is just so cute.  I would have checked out everyone's clothing that morning, making sure it passed inspection.  I might have even had everyone lay out their clothes the night before.  As it was, we were unprepared and off the cuff, many of us sporting jeans and tennis shoes.  

Yet, you know what?  It ended up being completely fine.  Just fine.

And so now is the part when I find the spiritual lesson to be learned because there is always a spiritual lesson, right.  I suppose it could be spun one of two ways.  For one, maybe the lesson is that if we hadn't been so busy that week we wouldn't have forgotten about our Advent reading.  

While this is true, it's an incomplete picture.  You know what is missing?  Grace.  And guess what? Grace is greater .

Grace is greater than the fact that we forgot.  Grace takes what we have to offer and makes it enough.  He wants us to come as we are.  To come anyway, even if it's not well thought out.  To come and offer what we can because there's no condemnation in Christ Jesus.  We can try to dress up and perform and put on our Sunday best for Jesus, but he always prefers the uncut version.  The version that is raw and true.  

Teenagers Are My Toe Jam

Not long ago a popular Christian author, in regards to raising teenagers, claimed that teenagers were her jam.  I have to admit, I was instantly jealous of this statement.  For as much as I want to have these sentiments, I just don't.  Instead, I suppose I could claim that teenagers are my toe jam.

Yes, toe jam.  You know, that dirt that hides between your toes and accumulates?  The dirt that makes your feet smell?

For as much as my husband and I dearly love our two (almost three) darling teenagers, we have not the slightest inkling of what we are doing!  We don't know when to say no.  We don't know when to say yes.  We second guess our decision making, sometimes on an hourly basis.  We are treading on unknown terrain--our feet are unsure and they are slipping and sliding, getting stuck in the mud and the mire.  And we are accumulating toe jam.  And lots of it.

Teenagers.  They're muddy.  They're messy.  Not in the toddler-sticky-hand sense or the rowdy ten-year-old way.  Instead, their disheveled untidiness shows up in emotional turmoil.  Their angst comes from a combination of craved independence and raging hormones, along with a host of all kinds of other feelings, I suppose.  They're up.  They're down.  They're all around.  As a momma, I'm realizing how difficult it is to NOT get caught up in the roller coaster life of their momentary highs and lows.  I often find myself rounding a curve and being thrown off into the muckity swamp, left on the side of the road to pick out toe jam, all the while yearning for The Golden Years (the beautiful yesteryears of ages 6-10.)

As much as I hate to admit it, I yearn for The Golden Years because  those were the years when I had control.  And I suppose having control gave me some peace.  Teenage years, on the other hand, are all wrapped in letting go and extending freedom.  I no longer always feel in control of their world anymore.  I worry about the temptations and dangers they will face, and the mistakes they may make.  I want the decisions they make to reflect that they are 100% sold out for Christ.  Mostly because I want them to glorify Him in all that they do.  However, if I'm honest, there's also a little bit of a prideful mixed-motive on my part:  I don't want their mistakes to make me look like a bad parent.  

I wish this wasn't true.  But it is so very true.

So when I describe to you our life right now, it's not a 'jam'.  We're not at a concert, pumping our hands to the music and jamming it up!  No, picture something more like this: I'm hanging by my pinky finger off the side of a cliff, shouting for help.  I'm crawling across the Sahara Desert, panting and dry-mouthed, barely making it.  I feel unmatched, ill-prepared and unsure.  Not only are my feet cut and bruised, they're collecting lots of dirt along the way.

Yet, here's the thing.  There is One who makes it His occupation and His past-time to meet us in the slush.  

In Psalm 40:1-2 the Lord tells us if we wait patiently for Him, He will turn to us and hear our cries.  He will lift us out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He will set our feet on a rock and give us a firm place to stand. 

He lifts us out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire.  

He sets our feet on a rock and gives us a firm place to stand.


What glorious hope-filled news this is!  There is just ONE prerequisite.  We must be willing to ASK FOR HELP.  We have to be willing to cry out and acknowledge that we CANNOT DO THIS THING on our own!  Once we admit our weakness, then He can become our strength.

Prayer.  It really all hinges on prayer, doesn't it?

Prayer--this is what sweet Jesus is pressing upon my heart right now.  He's telling me to gear up and get my prayer on.  He's telling me to get prepared for a lot more toe jam, because battles are fought in the trenches, in the thick of dirt and mud.  Now is not the time to be pining over yesteryears.  Now is not the time to be caught up in inconsequential fluff and now is not the time to be wasting on social media, FOR CRYING OUTLOUD.

No.  Now is the time to WAKE UP so we can GET DOWN.  For some knee-bending and soul-pleading.  There's a war being fought for our children and the stakes are way too high and way too close for comfort.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.  

Whether you find yourself in a cliff-hanging or fist-jamming season, the time for intercession is NOW.

Bring your requests before a God who delights in turning yuck into beauty.  Ask the One who holds the copyright to fashioning divine artistry from mere dust and dirt.  He put the create in creativity, for heaven's sake!  He specializes in wowing us with making seemingly impossibilities possible.  

I can hear Him whispering, almost daringly, 'BRING IT'. 

"Bring it to me, dear daughter.  Cast your cares and worries about your teenagers on me for I care for you and for them.  I will turn your mourning into dancing.  I will turn beauty from ashes.  Day by day, day in, day out, lean into me with your angst.  Bring me your control issues so that I can be in control.  Most definitely, there are going to be muddy and unclear days--but the key is to keep trudging, keep walking.  Extend your hand to the one who will lead you beside still waters.  To the one who can rain down grace on any and every situation.  Through me, dear child, that hard to reach dirt can be blotted out, obliterated, and clean forgotten.  Through me you can have a hand-raising, fist-pumping full out jam session.  Through me, you too can be standing victoriously, exclaiming with a smile from ear to ear:   

'Teenagers are my toe jam.'"

It Rhymes With Earth Day...

Last Thursday night as I was tucking in Owen, I asked him if he knew what tomorrow was.  "Is it Earth Day?" he asked inquisitively.

"No, it's not Earth Day," I said, trying to hide my amusement. "But it rhymes with Earth Day."

"Worth day?  Derf Day?  Surf Day?  Nerf Day?"

He finally figured out it was my birthday (although there was slight disappointed it wasn't Nerf Day).  Shortly thereafter, he presented me with a birthday present: a mostly used Wal-Mart gift card left over from Christmas.

Oh, how I love the heart in a seven-year-old's giving.  They don't worry that it's not good enough.  There's no self-conscious or insecure thought that the receiver won't like it.  They just do. 

Speaking of doing, my friend, Michelle, gave me a birthday gift for us to go and 'do' together.  It certainly was a big to-do.

She took me to the Living Proof Live Beth Moore Conference in Memphis.  It happened to be right smack dab on my birthday.  While I was pumped up about going, I was not prepared for all the showering down of blessings that came with this gift. 

For one, as we were leaving the hotel to go to the FedEx Forum, you'll never guess who we ran smack dab into?  If you guessed Beth, you guessed right!  I wish I could tell you that we acted all cool and hip, with just the right inspirational words of convo.  Unfortunately, we were struck with a big case of Cindy Brady stage fright and just stared, blank and silent.  Oh, well.  Just being that close for a moment was enough for me.  And I couldn't help thinking how sweet it was for God to arrange that little encounter.  On my birthday.  A surprise little package.  


My birthday always has a little empty spot associated with it because I'm reminded that my mother is no longer here to celebrate it with me.  Because let's face it.  Moms celebrate their children's birthdays better than anyone else on the face of the earth.  I believe that has everything to do with the fact that it's a 'birth'day and us mothers will never, ever forget the intimate details surrounding that word 'birth'.  Oh, no we won't!  Whether the 'birth' day is physically giving birth or the day you held your adopted child for the first time, these moments are forever seared in a mama's memory.  Yes, a mama's got some mileage when it comes to birthdays and can specialize them like nobody's business.  

These thoughts were all swirling about in my head (along with a bit of self-pity, I might add) as Beth Moore took the stage.  Yet, God sure knows how to bring about something sweet in the midst of our pain.  Right about then, my melancholy mood got hi-jacked by an amazing realization, a God-realization: 

"While you don't get to spend this day with your earthly 'birth' mom,  tonight you get to spend it with your 'spiritual' mom.  Happy Birthday, sweet daughter."  

Goose-bumps overtook.  Surprise package number two, all wrapped up in a profound truth.

I had never really thought about it before, how Beth Moore is my Spiritual Mom.  But she definitely is.  Right after my 'birth' as a believer, I had a desire to truly study God's Word.  About then, our Young Couple's Sunday School class began a once a week woman's Bible study.  That study was Beth Moore's 'A Woman's Heart, God's Dwelling Place'.  Wow, did that study teach me the cohesiveness of the Bible and how the Old Testament jived with the New!  Not only did Beth teach me God's truth, she inspired me.  Just like we might be inspired to perform better at a sport by watching an Olympian athlete, she inspired me to seek after Him as she sought after Him.  The most profound thing I will never forget her saying:  'If you don't have a desire to pray and read His Word, pray for it!  That's a prayer that He's gonna answer!'

Thank you, Beth, for teaching me to pray that prayer.  And really just for being God's ambassador to thousands of women just like me.  Thank you for sparking a revival amidst the body of believers. I can't wait to meet you in person one day on a street paved in gold and give you a hug of thanksgiving.  I hope to not be tongue-tied this time and get to have coffee with you at the Heavenly Cafe (cause we all know there's going to be lattes in heaven). 

Thank you, Michelle, for giving me a gift on my birthday that had so much to do with my spiritual birth.  Not only was it a reminder of my spiritual heritage, it was the beginning of something new.  God is birthing and commissioning much new life out of what we learned and what we prayed during that LPL Memphis 'birth'day!  We are STOMPING our way to victory :) !!!

And thank you, Owen, for my mostly used Wal-Mart gift card.  I think I'll save it for Earth Day. 

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

Ephesians 2:10

Top Ten for Ten

Jerry our 4th is now TEN,

He's always surrounded by friends,

A baller is he,

A runner carefree,

Be assured, he's in it to win!

My top ten list for my 10-year-old:

1. That his neighbor friends on Lanfair Drive started calling him Jerry and ever since, it's just kind of stuck...
2. He's our peacemaker and gets along with everyone, even Owen.
3. He's always the last to come in from swimming or sledding and could stay outside from morning to night 
4. Looking out for his little brother is second-nature
5. He's good at saving money
6. He smiles the biggest when he's playing sports
7. His favorite birthday cake is RED velvet in honor of his favorite sports' teams
8. I've never heard him make fun of anyone
9. He's always the first one asleep and the first one up
10. Watching him pitch is my favorite

Happy Double Digits little man!  This mama is pretty crazy about you!

***dual purpose cake--birthday and college world series***