My immediate thought when I heard the news was of her daughter. She is only 19 years old and still so young, still so much in need of having her mother around.

For whatever reason, thoughts of other front-page stories crossed my mind. A recent article about Demi Moore talks of how her three daughters are doing in light of her recent decision to check into rehab. The article said that when they lived in Idaho, the family led a fairly “normal” life with lots of family time and no one in the spotlight. As soon as they moved to L.A., two of the girls became interested in acting and Demi began going out and partying with her girls. Granted, much of this kind of information is from a “source close to the family” and I usually take that with a grain of salt. But it doesn’t take a rocket science to figure out that some of the change in lifestyle hasn’t helped the situation.

Then there’s Heather Locklear. She was pictured recently with her 14 year-old daughter just before Heather was arrested and sent to rehab.

I am in no way placing judgment on these women, but I couldn’t stop thinking about these girls. Young women who look up to their mothers and sadly are (or were) being forced to become caretakers instead of the ones being cared for.

I could sit here and talk about how the Hollywood lifestyle has gotten out of control and how these young girls are given the opportunity to get involved in drugs and other things because of the social scene they are in. And that’s probably partially true, but I see in their mothers something I fear for myself: insecurity.

Our society on the whole is obsessed with looks. Beauty is defined only by what is seen with the eye, not what is seen in the soul. In every single article I read about Whitney, Demi and Heather, their insecurities and how much they worried about their looks, getting older, or not being good enough was featured. It’s obvious that no matter how beautiful or talented they are, their souls are suffering.

And so are their daughters.

As women, what do we deem important in life and are we living that out every day in front of our daughters? Are we being their mothers or are we too busy trying to be their best friends? Are we trying to be who we truly are or what we think society wants us to be? Are we teaching them to respect themselves in how we treat ourselves?

These are questions I ask myself when I read about these women. Am I being the kind of woman I want my daughter to look up to? I sure hope so. It’s not easy being a mom. It’s not easy being a woman these days either. But I want to make sure I do everything I can to find my security in my relationship with Jesus, to see myself as He sees me, and leave what the world has to say about me at the door. That’s what I pray my daughter sees in me. And that’s Who I pray she looks to to see the true beauty of her soul.

Now, I have no intentions of going on and on about him or his football abilities or even his faith, but I must admit, I am fascinated with the media tornado around him that seems to be picking up speed instead of slowing down. I watched a few interviews on YouTube last night and he really just seems like a great guy. A true believer in Jesus not afraid to live out his faith.

In the past week, I’ve had a few conversations with people about our kids’ approaching teen years and the concerns we have. After spinning the various dialogue in my mind for a while, I noticed something. We focused on the negatives. We talked only of what we knew our kids would face, how they would probably choose badly, and how awful it will be instead of how much faith we had in our kids to combat the world’s temptations with their faith. For myself, I started to wonder when I lowered the bar so far. When did I start to fear what would happen WHEN they would fail instead of living confidently knowing they have everything they need to succeed?

I’ve always been an optimistic person. Even to the point of irritating others because I refuse to wallow in negative emotions for too long. And I must admit, at times, this was tough. I found myself questioning who I was because people would tell me I wasn’t being “realistic” about a situation or owning the ugly parts. But I don’t question myself anymore. I serve a God of hope who calls me to live above the junk. Do I have bad days where I feel awful and have to own frustration, disappointment, anger, and fear? Absolutely. But I have learned to talk with God about those feelings and move on. His joy comes with the morning.

I read a great article about how Tebow’s faith shows the ugly truth about what our society has become. We accept and get behind famous people who make horrible choices every day and yet we want the good guy to fail. Because if he doesn’t, then that means there are people out there who rise above the storm and we question our own ability to do so. I mean, no one can be that “good,” right? Is he perfect? Not at all. But he lives by a higher standard that challenges us to do the same. And it scares us.

I think all that Tebow has done is raise the bar. He shows us that someone can live in a world of fame, fortune, and power and still remain true to who he is. Will he make mistakes? Probably. But we all do. The point is not to remain perfect, but to try and live out a love for Jesus in every step of life.

I want my kids to know that I believe they have everything in them to be great. Not great by the world’s standards, but great by heaven’s standards. They can live in the “real” world but not be of it. They have what it takes the raise the bar.

I decided to adopt this idea for myself. During much thought and prayer, the word that kept coming to mind was surrender. I’ll be honest. At first, this word scared me – a lot. I have no idea why it popped into my head. It was just suddenly there. I mentally ran from it, but it still kept rearing it’s ugly head.

I am a self-professed control freak. The idea of surrendering anything causes me to panic and break out into a sweat. I am super organized, always on time, and in control of my world. My immediate thought was that to surrender meant to lose control. I guess on many levels, that is exactly what it means.

However, as I continued to roll the word over and over in my mind, I thought of how it would fit into my life and the things I want to accomplish this coming year. As a believer in Jesus, I imagined surrendering my writing to Him, my fears, my worries, my health, and my insecurities – all of the things that fit under the umbrella of what I would work on or try to change in the New Year. The more I began to say the word in accordance with these ideas, the more relaxed and peaceful I became. The thought of not clinging to everything in my clasped fist sounded appealing, if not liberating.

So surrender it is. I am going to try this New Year to surrender all things to an Almighty, all-knowing God who loves me. I feel better already just thinking about it.

It’s almost midnight and I am the only one still awake. The kids’ whispering stopped awhile ago and is now replaced with steady breathing and soft snores. Music to a mother’s ears. I sit and watch the blinking of the Christmas lights and the gifts from Santa that I carefully placed near the fireplace only moments ago.

I remember when I was a little girl, my grandparents would spend the night on Christmas Eve and my Nanny would always sleep in my room with me. I could hear the jingle bells from Santa’s sleigh ring over our rooftop and I would try to get a glimpse of him out my window. She would gently pull me back to bed and remind me that if I saw Santa, he wouldn’t be able to come down and deliver presents. I would lay with the covers up to my chin, eyes wide while picturing Santa in my living room placing pretty wrapped packages around the tree for me and my sister.

Years later my mom told me that my dad would climb a ladder with a string of jingle bells and ring them while on our roof. So in many ways, my Nanny was right – if I saw “Santa” Christmas wouldn’t quite happen the way I wanted it to. I now think of my dad crawling up onto our roof in the middle of the night in his pajamas to ring jingle bells and I laugh. How much he loved us. And I now sit here as a parent, tip-toeing around to lay presents where my kids will happily find them in the morning. The magic so precious, so wonderful, and the memories so full and lasting. I can only pray that one day my children will also be sitting up around midnight, playing “Santa” and passing on the joy and magic I still cherish.

“Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life, valuable, but small. And sometimes I wonder do I do it because I like it or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of what I’ve read in a book. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

I’ve always loved this line. For me, fear is a dragon I have to slay every single day. Fears of loved ones being hurt because I lost my dad so young. Fears of not being successful or that I’m not changing the world in some grandiose way. I know my life is valuable, but in the grand scheme of things, small. Does bravery, or lack thereof, have anything to do with it?

I was never able to answer the questions that Kathleen asks herself in the movie. I thought about it a lot, turning things over and over again in my mind. I’m not a missionary in Africa changing lives daily. I’m not famous to where my voice can be heard among many. Is that because I haven’t been brave or because I like my small, but valuable life?

Today, I can answer that question without a doubt. I love my small life. I love being a wife, a mom, a friend, a daughter, and a sister. I love my quiet days at home when I get to read and write. And I love my crazy days when I am shuttling kids to school and games. And I think there’s a lot of bravery involved in those things. Marriage isn’t for cowards and motherhood isn’t for sissies. And I can safely say that I have read about things in books that I have seen with my own eyes. And now I get to be one who writes about them too.

Now, I have been a huge fan of Facebook since it started. It’s been fun to re-connect with old friends and make new ones as well. But I find myself on there less and less. My friend at dinner suggested that it’s because it has become predictable and I would have to agree. The same people are always on there, many of the same comments are made, and quite frankly, it’s made us all narcissistic. I will be the first one to admit that I like to check in because I want to see what someone said about my post or picture. And then I like to read what others are up to.

I did an experiment this past week. I took my Facebook app off of both my phone and iPad and only checked it from my computer when I was at home. At first, I noticed how often I went for my phone any time I had a spare minute. Once I remembered it wasn’t there, I put my phone away and paid attention to what was around me. I found that I became more present in my life.

My friend and I both talked of closing our accounts. Mainly because of security issues that are becoming more and more of a problem. But I wonder if I do so, will I really lose touch with people? Would it really change my life all that much?

What do you think?

I am reading a fantastic book right now on how families are just too busy and I agree whole heartedly. We are overwhelmed, over-tired, and over extended. And that’s just our kids.

I see the need for progress and I understand having more available to us such as information, etc. But the level of activities for kids now is out of control. When I was a teenager (and yes, I am aging myself here) you played one sport, maybe two, and you played for your school. You played for a season and then you moved to the next season. For me, it was volleyball in the fall, basketball in the winter, and time off in the spring. In the summer I attended a camp or two, but no sport ever overtook family or vacation time.

Now, kids can play a sport year-round and start playing practically straight out of the womb. It’s ridiculous. Many kids are on two teams at a time and are doing something from early in the morning until late at night. Parents are grouchy, living in their cars, and the kids are exhausted. Time off isn’t even part of our vocabulary anymore.

I was thinking the other day that that is why they are called “seasons.” The word season is defined as “a period of the year marked by special events or activities in some field.” It isn’t defined as something that goes on all year long, just part of the time. There is a break, a time to NOT do said sport.

I think as parents we have gotten way too wrapped up in believing that our kid will be left behind, won’t match up, or will miss something if we say no or modify our kid’s activities schedules. And maybe they will. But is giving our kids a break, restoring their bodies and health, and teaching them moderation and balance such a bad thing?

We only have so many seasons of life with our children at home. For me, I want those filled with a balance of family time, relaxing, learning, and playing.

I tend to enjoy the known quantities of my day. My children go to school, I do my work, get things done at home, etc., go get them from school, go to whatever practices or events they need to attend, have dinner, do homework, read, and go to bed. I like structure. I like the KNOWN. I am extremely organized. I get upset when I go for an item, say a pair of scissors or some tape to wrap a present, and said items are not where they are supposed to be. My family says to me constantly, “Mom, do you know where my (random item) is?” The answer is always, “Yes, yes I do.” Because I have either seen it recently and made a mental note of it, or I have been the one to put the item in it’s designated spot. I like reliability, in myself and others.

Now, before you go thinking I am the most uptight person on the planet, (I’m really not), hear me out. I say these things because although I am wired to be in order, I also have an adventurous side. However, these two enjoy teasing and taunting one another in my brain.

I have recently been faced with a big decision to make and I find that these two parts of my personality are having quite a bit of fun with each other. The part of my brain that knows what is coming and is comfortable wants to stay put and make no changes. The adventurous part of me is nagging and saying, “Come on! This will be so much fun. It’s time for a change.” It’s exhausting, quite frankly.

However, I feel myself listening more and more to my adventurous side. I know that the things I need to rely on will still be there: my husband’s love, my children’s joy, my friend’s who care for me. These are the things that truly matter. With those things in tact, I believe I will let my adventurous side win this time. (It usually does

Then one day I decided to own my choice to stay home because it is intertwined with who I am. I don’t ever remember having lofty career goals, but I do remember wanting a family and being a mom. I have been fortunate enough to not have to work outside my home, but it’s more than that. It’s how I’m wired. I like being home and doing laundry, paying the bills, making phone calls, and fixing what needs fixed. (Okay, maybe the bill paying is a stretch.) I love walking the dog or making soup for a sick friend. I love that when the kids get home from school I have a snack waiting and when my husband walks in the door, the scent of dinner in the oven wafts through the house.

I think our world is spinning too fast. No, not every day is exactly like the one I described above. In the spring my life is softball practice and games and football in the fall. But I love that too. And I try in every season of life to make sure that a calm, safe haven is what awaits for myself and my brood.

So now when people ask me what I do, my answer is “I’m a homemaker”. A 1950′s sounding word? Maybe. But I like it because I think it defines me in one word. I make a home. And a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and prayer go into that. I happen to write as well, but it’s not the job I am most proud of. I receive no financial reward for my labor as a homemaker, but I can see in the faces of my family all the reward I will ever need.BlogBooster-The most productive way for mobile blogging. BlogBooster is a multi-service blog editor for iPhone, Android, WebOs and your desktop

My head just about came off. This child is 5 feet, 5 1/2 inches tall and weighs about 95 pounds. She plays every sport imaginable and is the epitome of health. After I calmed myself down, I talked to her about why she viewed herself that way, and that her health and strength are positives. I told her – again – how comparing herself to anyone else is destructive and that God made her unique and individual. (Yes, I got the tween eye roll a few times, but I hope my message got through.)

She went upstairs to read and I sat on the couch, perplexed. Where in the world does she get this stuff? I enjoy fashion magazines sometimes, but I flip through them and get rid of them. The only ones allowed to stay in my magazine rack are Sports Illustrated, Natural Health, and Women’s Day. And I am fairly sure she doesn’t give those the time of day. And she watches TV, but quite frankly, a lot of sports and iCarly. Nothing that I can think is too damaging.

As far as her home life, her mother is a Certified Nutrition Consultant and her dad a former baseball player who is adamant about a healthy lifestyle. We talk with our kids about listening to what your body really needs, getting lots of fruits and vegetables, and I’m sure they are sick of the words “moderation” and “balance.” Words like “skinny and fat” are banned from our home. I am adamant about making life about how we care for ourselves, our relationships, and not how we look.

My best guess at this point is that she is in 7th grade this year. She has gone to the same private school since pre-school and many of these kids I have seen grow from age 4 to age 12 and 13. And this year has been the most interesting to watch. They are going from round faced little kids to gangly tweens almost overnight. And for whatever reason, this age seems to be when they become extremely aware of how they look, as well as how everyone else around them looks. My daughter never once before cared if her clothes matched, if her shoes were the same as anyone else’s, or if her hair looked remotely clean. Now she wants a hairstyle, a certain backpack from a specific store, and skinny jeans. Quite frankly, I am fine with all of the above, and I understand it as a part of growing up. But when did this obsession with weight and being thin truly begin?

I said to my husband the other day that I don’t ever remember talking about or even thinking about calories, fat, or fat and skinny when I was growing up. I grew up with a dad who never stopped moving. He loved to play basketball, tennis, lift weights, and swim. And I believe whole heartedly he did it because he loved it, not because he was counting calories and needed to watch his weight. My mother taught us to eat healthy and, although we were allowed to watch TV, we spent most of our time outside riding bikes, swimming, or playing. But I have no memories of conversations that centered around weight or being thin.

I was enlightened not long ago at a middle school event at my daughter’s school. There was a back to school barbecue before the high school football game that evening. A group of moms, including myself, helped pass out hot dogs, chips, fruit, and cookies. I happened to be at the end of the line serving cookies. As I stood and asked each person if they would like a cookie, I noticed that most people looked at the cookie in my hand as if it were a live grenade. And I heard comments like, “No, I shouldn’t,” or “Well, I’ll have one, but it’s a good thing I got on the treadmill this morning,” or “That has WAY too many calories.” And these were comments from 12 year-olds! And not just from the girls. I left the event in shock. I sat at the football game later talking to my friend, who happened to be serving the fruit, about how no one seemed to think that the entire meal wasn’t all that healthy, except for the fruit, but no one seemed to mind eating the rest of it. The cookie was the evil one. I went home feeling sad and somewhat hopeless. One of the girls in my daughter’s class I know has struggled with an eating disorder and I only wonder how many more do as well.

So where are they learning it? Can we blame the media? I realize that the hot topics in our country are obesity and weight, but is that the true problem? Are we as parents not teaching our kids about confidence in who they are without ever involving their looks? Or are we simply battling their peer group which at times can seem absolutely unbeatable? Is it because we as adults get just as sucked-in to how society tells us we should look at a certain age or how fast we women are supposed to lose our baby weight after having kids? (I think the latest I read is 3 weeks – ridiculous.) I truly wish I knew.

What I do know is that I struggled with my weight for a long time and only recently learned something about myself. And it was as simple as a friend saying to me, “You’re not fat.” Those words have changed my entire view of myself. I realized that for almost 20 years I have viewed myself as a fat person who needs to always be working at losing weight, reaching a number, or looking a certain way. I have always focused on a healthy lifestyle, even studying Nutrition to be more educated. But as soon as I said to myself, “I’m not fat,” my whole perspective changed. Do I want to take care of myself and be healthy and strong? Absolutely. But am I fat? No. I let two comments from unkind people in the past stick with me for SO long and make me believe that I was something I am not.

So for me, I am going to attempt to teach my children that their goal in life is not to be skinny, or not end up fat. Their goal is to care for the body God gave them, trust that their body is designed and created to tell them what it needs, and that life is not about how they look. Can I battle the juggernauts that are the media and peer pressure and win? Maybe not. But I will go to my grave trying.