Almost as soon as I think I have forgiveness figured out, God shows me yet another area where I need work.

This week I am starting to realize that forgiveness means giving up the story.

If you know me, then you are familiar with my stories. (If you know me well, you are probably sick of hearing them.)  I have many stories and I tell them a lot.  But my divorce story is my all time favorite.  Wanna guess why?  In 99% of my stories, I come off looking like a complete moron.  But in my divorce story, I look pretty good.  And so naturally, it’s my favorite.  And somehow, along the way, I have allowed that story to become part of how I identify myself.

Last weekend I sat in the stands at a band competition.  I was surrounded by band moms.  These are new friends.  And somehow they missed the story.  My ex-husband sat several rows behind us.  “So,” one of the moms said as she leaned toward me. “I finally met your ex. It’s so great that he is volunteering to help the band this year.”  Several faces looked at me expectantly.  They were ready for me to tell the tale.   In their defense, I can usually talk for 15 minutes about a single trip to the grocery store so they had every right to expect a long, juicy explanation about my ex-husband.

But I just couldn’t deliver.

I looked up at Ryan.  And our child sat on one side of him and his child with his current wife sat on the other side.  And I was just so overwhelmed that I get to serve a great big God who is able to heal so much brokenness.

You see, God has a whole bunch of stories to tell about me.  But He doesn’t because I am forgiven.

I am not suggesting that we have no right to remember or tell people about the stuff we have endured.  But the only person who should look good in my divorce story is God.  Because my story should be His story.

I look at my life today and I stand amazed at the stained glass family that God has created out of all these shattered pieces.

That’s my story now.

The Big 4 OH

Lawdy, Lawdy.  My old self is 40.

For some reason this birthday is supposed to make me depressed.  Whatever.  I’m not.

Yes, I am 40.  I’m also fat, wrinkled, sagging, greying and somewhat menopausal.  The strange thing is that all the people that I love and who love me back don’t seem to care one bit about all that stuff.  (Which is good since none of it seems to be changing despite my darnedest efforts.)

Of all the blessings that God has given me, there is one thing I am thankful for above all.  I cannot remember one day of my life that I haven’t laughed.  If I look back on even the darkest days, at some point God gave me laughter.  Sure, it was probably a bitter, sarcastic laugh.  But heck ya’ll, I take it where I can get it.

I love to make people laugh.  I love it when other people make me laugh.  It’s just my favorite thing.  And because God loves me so much (I’m His favorite.  Don’t be jealous.  You’re his favorite too.) He placed me in the middle of a community of goofs.  Between my family and friends, I just never run out of stuff to laugh about.

So whether I have 40 more years, days or minutes on this side of Heaven, I pray God just lets me keep laughing.

The Y.O.G.E.

If you have kids, then you know that the real New Year is not January 1st.  The real beginning of the year is whenever school starts.

Everything is new.  The backpacks are so clean.  The lunch boxes have no oil stains from that badly planned salad dressing experiment.  All the crayons are in one piece and they actually have a point.  Those overpriced binders (seriously, why are these things so dang expensive?!?!) are still in one piece.

This is the moment that I decide every year that things are going to be different.

THIS YEAR we are all going to bed on time!

THIS YEAR we will all eat a healthy breakfast!

THIS YEAR I will not hide from the PTO when they ask for volunteers!

You get the idea.  THIS YEAR is always going to be perfect.  And guess what? It never is.  You know why it’s never perfect?  Because perfect is impossible.

So I have christened this year:

The Year of Good Enough

I keep waiting for a magical moment when my current lifestyle will ‘calm down’.  And I finally accepted that, for the foreseeable future, that ain’t happening.  So why not just embrace the madness?  I think the only person who cared one bit about things being done perfectly was me.  And quite frankly, I’m over it.

Will my house be spotless once the kids are gone for 7 hours a day?  Nope. But it will be good enough.

Will I exercise daily now that I am kid-free all day?  Who are we kidding here?  I am trying to do 2 days a week.  Is that optimal?  Nope.  But, for now, it’s good enough.

Will I focus on nurturing my relationship with my beloved husband?  Perhaps…in 9 years.  We’re in this together. And for now, that’s just going to have to be good enough.

Will my children have a nutritious breakfast and lunch every ding dong day?  I dunno.  They might.  They might not.  For all I know, the carrot sticks, fruits and high quality protein that I send may end up in the trash can.  I am doing what I can people.  My kids aren’t infants.  Whatever they end up ingesting is gonna have to be good enough.

Will I effectively balance my home life, my volunteer work, and my website with Lauren? I highly doubt it.  In fact, I am sure I won’t.  But everything will get done eventually…or it won’t.  Either way.  Good enough.

And what will I do when the PTO calls?

“Hola, señora Kline no está en casa ahora mismo.”

And ya’ll, that is just going to have to be  suficientemente bueno.


Happy Thoughts

Happy Thoughts

whoThis showed up on my Facebook feed today.

Isn’t it cute?  And affirming?  And uplifting?


And utter and complete horse poop?

Look, sometimes you need to apologize for who you are.  Perhaps you are an arrogant jerk. Maybe you are a lazy doo doo head.

I have known so many people who treated others badly and used this excuse “That’s just the way I am”  “That’s just who I am”

If that’s the case, apologize for who you are and try to be something different for goodness sake.




The opposite of love is indifference. Hate is the clothing loves wears when it’s feeling lonely and mean.

– Patton Oswalt