My 2-year-old daughter, Hannah, already has two boyfriends (cute now, not so cute in about 10 years)! When she sees them, she lights up. A morning full of meltdowns with mommy instantly changes to a glorious day of smiles and laughs in their presence. Bryce and Xander are their names, and in the first two years of their lives they have seen each other multiple times a week. When it’s been a few days without a play date, you’re bound to hear Hannah say something like “I want Bryce.”
I enjoy jewelry. I especially like big, chunky and colorful necklaces that add a pop of color to my outfits. But one of my favorite and most meaningful pieces is not big or chunky or colorful but is rather small and doesn’t make much of a statement. It is a 1”x1” picture of red flowers on branch hung on a simple wire loop.
We have all been there. We’ve said something we regret, made a thoughtless comment, or behaved badly. Afterward, the memory of our reproachable behavior rolls around in our heads in an unrelenting, repetitive loop. In an effort to alleviate our shame, we rework the event to create a different imaginary ending, a better ending—any ending other than the one we chose. But it does no good. We are buried under a landslide of guilt and appalled in the face of our profound failure.
We are very excited to be adding Dave Stelling to our team of therapists at Redeemer Counseling. Dave has a vast array of experience in ministry and counseling. In 2004, he graduated from Reformed Theological Seminary with his Master’s degree in Counseling. Last week, I asked Dave a few questions so you can hear more of his heart.
Lately I find myself being “that woman” in public. That woman whose life seems a mess, and you either feel pity for her or wonder why she can’t get it together. That woman with a crying baby in one arm and the contents of her purse falling out in the other. That woman who looks like she hasn’t showered in a few days (and probably hasn’t).
I awoke this morning to a horrible story in the news about a man who was swallowed by a sinkhole that opened beneath his bedroom before dawn while he slept. The interview with his brother who tried to rescue him was heartbreaking. The man could not be saved. His brother recounted the scene—the screams from within the vanishing earth, and the desperate, futile clawing at the soil and debris. I can hardly think of a more terrifying way to die, or to see one die.
The other day I took my daughter to the park. While on the swings, I noticed the arrival of a father with his two children, a girl around 8 years old and her brother a few years younger. The kids excitedly ran to the swing set. It was a different story for the dad, however. He sat on a bench mostly talking on his cell phone. His body language clearly communicated he didn’t want to be there. I could tell the boy really wanted to play with his dad. The more the boy asked his dad to play, the more irritable the father became. Eventually, the boy stopped asking.
Take a moment to think about a seed. What comes to mind? Maybe you think of how it symbolizes the birth of a great idea. You may have a memory of a toothpick-pierced avocado pit sprouting from a cup in your kitchen window. The parable of the mustard seed may pop into your mind. Or, if you just ate a poppy-seed bagel, there is a good chance you are wondering if you successfully sucked all the tiny black specks out of your teeth.
A 2006 Time magazine poll reports that women own an average of 27 pairs of shoes, and men own an average of 12 pairs. In our house, it is 23 and 5 respectively. Is it just a coincidence that most women have more pairs of shoes than men, or is there something to this? I believe this small feature of our wardrobes can provide a glimpse into the magnificent glory of God that’s present in women.
Several years ago, a client came to me for counseling. Laura*, a mother of two children, had been married for 6 years. One day while paying bills online, she stumbled upon a sexually explicit email between her husband Allen and one of his coworkers. This soon led to the shocking discovery that Allen was involved in a sexual relationship with a woman from work and had been looking at pornography since the first year of their marriage. I will never forget the look on Laura’s face as she described these events to me in detail. It was a look of horror and fear.
The moment is still etched in my mind. It was the 4th of March, the day our daughter was born. For anyone who has witnessed the miracle of birth, it is hard to find adequate words to describe such an experience. Worship. Joy. Wonder. While this experience will stay with me, this is not the moment that haunts me.
