Phillip (my son) just celebrated his 37th birthday this past week. After all these years, I can still remember every detail of June 21. If we had been living in the 1800s, he and I would most likely be dead. By the time the doctor decided to do a C-Section, Phillip was in distress. Our little guy was purple by the time he was delivered, but he was perfect. I consider this Miracle #1 in my life.

If you’re a mother, I’m sure you remember every detail of giving birth to your first born. There’s just something about that first experience that imprints it on our memories forever.

But as mothers, our job doesn’t end there, does it? We get through the Terrible Twos, the Tween Years, the Teen Years, and then…ahhh—Adulthood. But we continue to worry and pray, because now their problems takes more than a band aid to fix.

About two years ago, I felt the urge to pray for Phillip in the mornings. So I’d get up before work to walk and pray. I used Psalm 1 as a foundation for my daily prayer. He never knew I was praying for him, and I’ll probably never know why I felt the urge to do so.

Sometimes all we can do is pray for our children. I’ve learned some truth in this past year. I can’t fix my problems or anyone else’s. What I can and should be doing is praying (talking) to God and asking for his help because He is my loving God and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield, in whom I take refuge, who subdues peoples under me (Psalm 144:2).

What more could I ask for than a loving God who has the power to protect my children? Not one darn thing!

This weekend I’d like to honor all the fathers I know and love, especially my own husband—Mark. Being a father doesn’t mean you have to be the biological donor at the time of conception. I’ve watched Mark for the past 26 years, and I admire him more than he’ll ever realize. He loves Phillip and Monica, and what more could a mother ask for? He adores his grandchildren, and just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes.

I’m sure the majority of you all have the same story, the same experience.

If you’re reading this and aren’t married or have children today, then I encourage you to honor your father this weekend, because nothing would bring him more happiness than to have a son or daughter acknowledge him for being a great dad.

I love the imagery of Psalm 127:3-5, “Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth.” A father has a huge responsibility, he can either aim true or aim wide. Haven’t we all experienced the exasperation of a father who sees his children off the trajectory of an arrow aimed true?

So today, I want to acknowledge my husband for all the hours he’s spent worrying about our children, for providing resources to raise them, for loving and nurturing them, and for the wisdom to know when to let our children soar like eagles—even when I didn’t think they were ready for leave the nest let alone fly solo.

I’m sure you’ll want to acknowledge the men in your life this weekend. So, here’s a toast to all the men who have loved and sacrificed for our children. Cheers!

I’ve been officially retired for four weeks, and I haven’t accomplished anything that I had planned. I haven’t written much, the junk drawer is junkier than ever, and the jaunt to the Fresno State Library for research purposes is still on the horizon. And…I have no one to blame but myself.

These past four weeks have been pure bliss—rest, relaxation, and taking care of family. But I can’t stop my nagging alter ego telling me that I must do something, I must have a schedule, and I must have something tangible to show for my time. The image of my time is like some old western movie where the Indians are sending smoke signals and puffs of gray smoke are rising to the heavens.

Today, as I sat at my computer, I thought of the song Turn! Turn! Turn! by The Byrds. (If you have no idea what I’m talking about, google it, go to iTunes, or read Ecclesiastes 3:1-8). I especially related to verse 1, “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”

All of us have different seasons that we go through, and to our great joy, everyone is different. God is brilliant—he knew that we would need to support each other as we move from season to season. That we could rely on friends who have paved the way for us, so our walk might be easier or help those who may be going through a familiar season in our wake.

We need each other, whether we want to admit that truth or not. We aren’t Super Woman, or Wonder Woman, or any other super human woman. We are flesh and blood women who sometimes need a good friend to talk to.

My epiphany? I refuse to feel guilty for enjoying my first month of freedom. I will write, and do everything I’ve planned to do and more. I choose to believe God has given me this season to make my dreams come true and enjoy my family and friends. Can anyone relate?

I was 30-years-old when I voted for the first time in my life. Up to then, I had been apathetic to the choices I had, and like most people who don’t vote, I thought, my vote won’t count, so why bother?

Since I’ve become a Christian, I’ve come to realize that there are oppressed people all over the world who don’t have the same freedoms we do. We are so fortunate to live in a country where we have the First Amendment rights to Freedom of Speech, Press, Religion, and Petition. I can’t imagine living in a country, such as North Korea or China where people’s rights are non-existent.

I know I sound like I’m on a soap box, but Romans 13:1 says, “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God.”

And shouldn’t we do our part? I look at what’s happening in our country, and I can’t believe how low the bar has become, and I’m afraid for my children and grandchildren. Shouldn’t we do our part to elect those who hold Christian values dear?

I intend to vote on Tuesday—not only to do my civic duty, but to be confident that I’ve done everything in my power to protect those I love and hold most dear.

Stand with me on Tuesday and vote. We can’t win the war alone, but perhaps together we can.