Category Archives: Laughter

Be careful what you tell your daughter because she’ll believe you

11984772343_aaf9972dd3_z

11984772343_aaf9972dd3_z

“I wuv you mama, you my BEST fwend,” she mumbles from the sacred dark.

She has one tiny palm pressed against each of my cheeks and she smells of baby lotion and her dad’s Doritos. The night light shoots stars and the moon into orbit around about her and I’m star struck to be her mother.

The girl who never wanted a daughter. The girl comfortable in her world of sons and boys and not a scrap of pink in her wardrobe.

This tiny, wisp of a daughter of mine, she has soothed my scars and kissed me better from the inside.

She is a unique.

And while she sleeps I click through all the ways the world wants to tell her she’s anything but.

In 2013, the media taught loud and hard and brash that she’s a product– marketable and disposable.

The beauty industry told her from its glossy pages and store front ads that in the eye of the beholder her appearance must fit into a teeny tiny little size zero box with its edges tightly, perfectly manicured shut.

That women are literally shrinking before our very eyes.

How does a mom strap that Hello Kitty backpack onto her only daughter’s tiny frame and send her out the door, down the three front steps and into the world when there are so many wolves abroad?

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

“I wuv you mama, you my BEST fwend,” she mumbles from the sacred dark.

She has one tiny palm pressed against each of my cheeks and she smells of baby lotion and her dad’s Doritos. The night light shoots stars and the moon into orbit around about her and I’m star struck to be her mother.

The girl who never wanted a daughter. The girl comfortable in her world of sons and boys and not a scrap of pink in her wardrobe.

This tiny, wisp of a daughter of mine, she has soothed my scars and kissed me better from the inside.

She is a unique.

And while she sleeps I click through all the ways the world wants to tell her she’s anything but.

In 2013, the media taught loud and hard and brash that she’s a product– marketable and disposable.

The beauty industry told her from its glossy pages and store front ads that in the eye of the beholder her appearance must fit into a teeny tiny little size zero box with its edges tightly, perfectly manicured shut.

That women are literally shrinking before our very eyes.

How does a mom strap that Hello Kitty backpack onto her only daughter’s tiny frame and send her out the door, down the three front steps and into the world when there are so many wolves abroad?

11984773843_083947422f_z

Maybe that mom models brave, instead of fashion. Maybe she dresses her daughter in words that wrap her around with confidence and courage and bellows into the wild dark - “You shall not pass!”

Maybe that mom writes love letters with every ordinary moment between the helpings of macaroni and cheese that say in so many unsaid words:

Daughter you are more than the sum of your limbs and hair and eye color; you are a living, breathing galaxy of wonder. I am awe struck by your eyes.

You are wildly loved and crazy brave especially on the days you choose to live out loud even when you are terrified.

You are sneakers and high heels, you are mud and princesses, you are not playing dress up when you model grace and forgiveness.

And you are not alone. Your sisters Madeleine, Malala, Sarah, your big sisters Nadine, Maud, Ann, Antjie, Christa and Stefanie, my mother and your soul sister, Jo – they’re just up ahead.

Follow in their footsteps daughter.

Sing your own song. Make your own art. Make it messy.

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

Maybe that mom models brave, instead of fashion. Maybe she dresses her daughter in words that wrap her around with confidence and courage and bellows into the wild dark - “You shall not pass!”

Maybe that mom writes love letters with every ordinary moment between the helpings of macaroni and cheese that say in so many unsaid words:

Daughter you are more than the sum of your limbs and hair and eye color; you are a living, breathing galaxy of wonder. I am awe struck by your eyes.

You are wildly loved and crazy brave especially on the days you choose to live out loud even when you are terrified.

You are sneakers and high heels, you are mud and princesses, you are not playing dress up when you model grace and forgiveness.

And you are not alone. Your sisters Madeleine, Malala, Sarah, your big sisters Nadine, Maud, Ann, Antjie, Christa and Stefanie, my mother and your soul sister, Jo – they’re just up ahead.

Follow in their footsteps daughter.

Sing your own song. Make your own art. Make it messy.

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

Maybe that mom models brave, instead of fashion. Maybe she dresses her daughter in words that wrap her around with confidence and courage and bellows into the wild dark – “You shall not pass!”

Maybe that mom writes love letters with every ordinary moment between the helpings of macaroni and cheese that say in so many unsaid words:

Daughter you are more than the sum of your limbs and hair and eye color; you are a living, breathing galaxy of wonder. I am awe struck by your eyes.

You are wildly loved and crazy brave especially on the days you choose to live out loud even when you are terrified.

You are sneakers and high heels, you are mud and princesses, you are not playing dress up when you model grace and forgiveness.

And you are not alone. Your sisters, your big sisters, my mother and your soul sister, Jo – they’re just up ahead.

Follow in their footsteps daughter.

Sing your own song. Make your own art. Make it messy.

11984853994_6771775703_z

We won’t be afraid of the chaos of a girl growing into all her divine, God-given potential. We won’t box it in or try to keep the world out. We will fling open the windows and dance in the rain storms.

Grow, daughter, grow.

Throw back your hair and don’t worry about your legs being too skinny or to thick.

Worry about them being strong so they can carry you across borders and boundaries; over divides and barriers into the lives of the beautifully different people that will always reflect the corners of your soul you most need to get to know.

Run daughter, laugh. Lift up your eyes and remember the sky is always brighter than the shadows would have you believe.

12895611323_ec843d6dda_z 12895947404_fa2f341d72_z

Sink your teeth into new ideas. Reach your roots down into the soil of this family and revel in the boring ordinary of the familiar. It will give you the guts to venture into the strange and awkward.

You are more than the sum of your closet and less than the inflated importance of the award shows.

Fight me, disagree, storm out but don’t ever stop knocking your way back in. My heart is your home and you can’t outrun your DNA. I am the start of your story and you can’t write me out of the ending even if you spend years trying.

I will always come for you.

When you don’t know where you’re going. When you’re the most sure of yourself you’ve ever been. When you’re holding onto faith with just your fingernails.

Daughter, I will come. And I will always say the words that need saying even if they terrify us both. Even when we’ve both gotten it wrong.

I will not stop telling you what I wished I’d said yesterday.

I pray tomorrow you’ll still believe me.

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

Fight me, disagree, storm out but don’t ever stop knocking your way back in. My heart is your home and you can’t outrun your DNA. I am the start of your story and you can’t write me out of the ending even if you spend years trying.

I will always come for you.

When you don’t know where you’re going. When you’re the most sure of yourself you’ve ever been. When you’re holding onto faith with just your fingernails.

Daughter, I will come. And I will always say the words that need saying even if they terrify us both. Even when we’ve both gotten it wrong.

I will not stop telling you what I wished I’d said yesterday.

I pray tomorrow you’ll still believe me.

Throw back your hair and don’t worry about your legs being too skinny or to thick.

Worry about them being strong so they can carry you across borders and boundaries; over divides and barriers into the lives of the beautifully different people that will always reflect the corners of your soul you most need to get to know.

Run daughter, laugh. Lift up your eyes and remember the sky is always brighter than the shadows would have you believe.

Sink your teeth into new ideas. Reach your roots down into the soil of this family and revel in the boring ordinary of the familiar. It will give you the guts to venture into the strange and awkward.

You are more than the sum of your closet and less than the inflated importance of the award shows.

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

“I wuv you mama, you my BEST fwend,” she mumbles from the sacred dark.

She has one tiny palm pressed against each of my cheeks and she smells of baby lotion and her dad’s Doritos. The night light shoots stars and the moon into orbit around about her and I’m star struck to be her mother.

The girl who never wanted a daughter. The girl comfortable in her world of sons and boys and not a scrap of pink in her wardrobe.

This tiny, wisp of a daughter of mine, she has soothed my scars and kissed me better from the inside.

She is a unique.

And while she sleeps I click through all the ways the world wants to tell her she’s anything but.

In 2013, the media taught loud and hard and brash that she’s a product– marketable and disposable.

The beauty industry told her from its glossy pages and store front ads that in the eye of the beholder her appearance must fit into a teeny tiny little size zero box with its edges tightly, perfectly manicured shut.

That women are literally shrinking before our very eyes.

How does a mom strap that Hello Kitty backpack onto her only daughter’s tiny frame and send her out the door, down the three front steps and into the world when there are so many wolves abroad?

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

Ann Voskamp/Deep Peace and True Beauty

Welcome!

I like you already!
Yeah…wondrous, amazing you, just looking around for Deep Peace and True Beauty.  You hunting for a corner of joy and grace and God…and stillness.

Nice to meet you!

I’m Ann Voskamp, a plain Ann without even the fanciful “e”, wife to The Farmer, mama to six, determined laundress, chief bottle washer, desperate Grace-clinger.

9780310321910_01Honestly, I’m a bit of a mess.  It’s okay, really.  Grace is the most amazing of all.  I had a full-tuition scholarship to university and never finished.  I married a Farmer instead and came home to gravel road and cornfields.  I had babies.  Half a dozen beautiful babies.  My laundry basket is never empty.  I lose library books.  I home school our six exuberant kids and most days I feel just a tad bit overwhelmed and very crazy.  When the kids and the washing machine sleep, I wash my real dirt down with words and The Word.

I scratch out words in an award-winning serious for curious kids, A Child’s Geography (Knowledge Quest Press, 2007), of which all profits are donated to Compassion.  I write for DaySpring’s site, (in)Courage, and am a contributing editor for The High Calling. I’m an advocate for Compassion International, traveling and speaking on behalf of the needy.  The poor have made me rich and telling the stories of those who need a voice has changed mine.

I wrote a book, One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are (Zondervan).  You can read some of the crazy reviews about it right here.

But the only words that really matter?  Are the ones I live.  This convicts me.

I write everyday on my blog, www.aholyexperience.com about this wondrously messy, everyday-holy life.  It’d be pure grace to walk a bit together.