I am flummoxed that June is already over. I’ve been dreading the arrival of July as some close friends of ours will be moving away this month. We live in a military town so, of course, this isn’t a surprise that friends move away. But our community will sorely miss this family and all that they bring to our church.
Since it is the last day of the month, I’m collecting all my favorite posts, dividing them into categories and then sharing one (or two) post from each category. I’m also sharing my favorite Instagram post from this month (see above).
The posts I share are usually ones that I’ve been thinking about even since I read them, or, even better, ones that have changed the way I live. This month, I’ve made a conscious effort to say “you’re welcome” since reading Laura Turner’s exhortation. And 15 Tips for a Highly Sensitive Parent are rocking my world. I’ve noticed myself making small changes that have made our home (and my life) more peaceful and pleasant.
I try to make these diverse, but since I read many blogs that are Christian based, you’ll find that many of them in various categories are written from a Christian perspective even if they aren’t under a “Christian” category.
And so, in no particular order, here are my favorites from the month of June!
Liesl Testwuide at Scary Mommy: Quite Possibly One of the Best Letters from Camp, Ever.
Did you know you can light farts on fire? I’ll show you on Satterday (sic).
Jon Huckins at Sojouners: Raising Girls in a World Where They are Less Than Human
Evaluating my own complicity and ignorance led me to realize that for a guy who advocates so strongly for the value of a global kingdom worldview, I am radically narrow in who I consider authorities in my life. In other words, most scholars, thinkers, and practitioners I have studied are white males.
Stella at The Body Love Blog: On getting exactly what I wanted and feeling terrified (language warning)
This picture is for Emily from middle school, who bullied me incessantly, made mocking videos about me, sent me nasty emails, and called me “lard”. She made me feel like I didn’t deserve to exist. Just because I happened to be bigger than her. I was 12. And she continued to bully me via social media into high school.
MOST OF ALL, this picture is for me. For the girl who hated her body so much she took extreme measures to try to change it. Who cried for hours over the fact she would never be thin. Who was teased and tormented and hurt just for being who she was.
I’m so over that.
Dorothy Greco at Redbud Writers Guild: Eight Dangers of a Writer’s Life
Writing reveals the true state of my soul: my crankiness, my envy, and my impatience, to name a few.
This manifests most frequently when I read the comment section for an article I have spent eight to ten hours writing.
Preston Yancey’s review of A Beautiful Disaster by Marlena Graves
I’m commending to you the latest book that has made me order additional copies to hand to people when they need them. There’s only a handful of books I have that meet that qualification, that end up in multiples on the shelves, stranded in want of a good home when that odd moment happens at the dinner table and you rise, knowingly, and say, “I have something for you.”
Marlena Graves’s A Beautiful Disaster: Finding Hope in the Midst of Brokenness is one of those books.
Megan Tietz: 15 Tips for the Highly Sensitive Parent
11. Bring the Outside In
Highly Sensitive People often feel a strong connection to nature, and many find it to be very calming. As much as possible, bring nature into view by opening curtains and blinds, keeping fresh plants in the house, and even hanging nature-inspired artwork on the walls. You can bring your children in on this coping technique by taking long, slow nature walks and asking them to collect items for a nature table in the house.
My Proudest Parenting Moment I’ll Never Share With You
The only way I know to foster that kind of relationship with my kids later is to give them room now. I must protect their little hearts from public display, let them develop their own faith without the pressures of a public eye, and trust them to live their own lives.
Mary DeMuth: Dear Man in Prison
You wrote your words behind bars to an audience of many, many, many. Did you realize that you would open a deep wound in sexual abuse survivors’ hearts and souls by characterizing the rape of a teen in your youth group as an “affair?” It was no affair. It was a calculated ploy by a person in authority, over a decade older, to a minor who was not old enough to understand the nature of your advances. This was abuse of power. This was molestation. …
Your words reflected little remorse other than getting caught and being prosecuted for a crime.
Kelli B. Trujillo at Today’s Christian Woman: Kick Your Husband Out of the House
And this is why I, every so often, kick my husband out of the house: because he, too, has a deeply-ingrained, God-given need for friendship—a need that isn’t suddenly erased by marriage.
Laura Turner at Her.Meneutics: The Christian Call to Say “You’re Welcome”
Our landlord always sets aside our newspaper when my husband and I are out of town. It’s a small but kind gesture, and in our quid pro quo economy, he could ask something of us in return. But he does this small kindness with no aim for recourse. “Thank you so much,” I said on returning from a recent trip to Lake Tahoe. “You’re welcome,” he replied. He could have said, “No problem,” or, “It was nothing,” or, “Of course,” and I would have understood what he meant. But it wasn’t nothing; he created value for me. And I am grateful.
Ami at Bunkers Down: How the modesty police are hurting my son
…I am teaching my son that he is responsible for each of his thoughts and actions. I am teaching my son that he needs to treat females and males respectfully, no matter what they wear. I am teaching my son that the media uses sex to sell things and that he’s strong enough to not be manipulated by a woman’s body. I’m teaching my son to use his mind over his groin and I’m teaching him that women are more than just their body parts.
My Own Writing:
Most of the babies would have been older than my parents had they lived. It’s been so long that in some way you might assume they had been forgotten.
Yet I knew that each date I read isn’t just etched on those white stones. It is also etched on the hearts of their parents, who may feel like they are the only ones who remembered those little ones.