One of my favorite things around the web (at least since August) has been (in)courage. I am proud and honored to be one of their monthly writers, and let me tell you, I am in the company of some serious greatness.  I feel so humbled.

So, two exciting things today:

1. Via (in)courage I am proud to be able to give away some of their beautiful handcrafted products today as part of My Favorite Things: Six Weeks of Free Stuff series. I’m giving away three pieces by the amazing Lindsey Cheney of the Pleated Poppy to one of my readers.

One of you will win a Crisp Posy Pin set, a Grow in Grace tea towel and a Trees of the Forest tea towel.  They are so so cute, I promise!

2. Today, my December post for (in)courage is up.  So, after you are done leaving your comment to win some of Lindsey’s great stuff, go on over and read.

Joy is a Symptom

The times in my life I’ve been the most joyful, it hasn’t really been a choice.

It has been against my will.

People say that love is a choice and I’m confident that’s true.  And I guess that joy can be a choice in the same way.  For example, I choose joy over self-pity, happiness over sullenness and delight over disdain.

Yes, sometimes joy is a choice.

But more often for me, joy has often been a symptom…

To read the rest, click here.

To be entered in the random giveaway, leave a comment HERE ON THIS BLOG before 9pm on Tuesday, December 15 telling me A BLOG OR WEBSITE that you’ve found lately that you think the rest of us might like.

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I fought a battle over a baby carrot that escalated into a war.

Sounds impossible, right?  Not when I’m working with one of the most stubborn three-year-olds ever to wipe a stringy blonde piece of hair away from her peanut-butter crusted face.

And today I’m writing about it over on (in)courage.

Carrots and Obedience

I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t been the most diligent of mothers when it comes to the eat-all-your-veges fight that plagues mothers of toddlers everywhere.  This is mothering confession number one.

And now that my sweet toddler has morphed into a three-and-a-half-year-old, full of gumption preschooler, I was worried that it might be too late.

She hates vegetables.  I know, I know. It’s my fault.

My older daughter took to them easily.  Maybe because I forced her to eat them early on (earlier than my necessity born “whatever works” mothering philosophy kicked in) or maybe because she simply likes them.  Either way, she will eat them and my three-year-old will not.

Up to a couple months ago, I hadn’t wanted to deal with the ramifications of a screaming preschooler sitting for 90 minutes at the dinner table digging her heels in over a half of a baby carrot. Mothering confession number two: I was more concerned about peace in the home than what was best for her health.  So I never made her eat them.

But one Saturday night we decided to make a war out of a baby carrot…

Click here to read the rest of the story.

When we named our seven-year-old, Hope, I never thought that sometimes only speaking her name would wear me out.  That the word, Hope, would become so common to me that I might even forget what it really means.

She asked me when she was a little girl what her name meant.

I told her,

“Something good’s about to happen.”

Boiled down and simplified, this is what Hope is…the fact that in Faith, we know and trust that something good is always about to happen.

Because of Christ.  Of His promises.  Of Grace.

Hope Overused

At the time I needed something unique.  I didn’t want to be like everyone else naming their baby girls iterations of “Hannah” or “Katelyn” or “Madison”.  There is nothing wrong with those names, I just (selfishly perhaps) wanted my daughter to stand out from the multitude.

Not Ruth.
Not Charis.
Not Gracie.

I was pulling for all of these names at one point or another to name our baby girl who would come early in January of 2002.  None seemed right.

I know some parents wait until the baby is born to see which of the hat-full of names fits.  They look into her dark blue eyes and search for the name she was meant to have.  Sometimes they leave the hospital with “BABY _________________” in the name field.

Not us.
We knew from the 19-week ultrasound what she would be named.
Hope….

Read the rest of  “Hope Overused” over at (in)courage.  Click here to go!!

And if you are new to my site today, click here to read my whole story.

What does HOPE mean to you?