http://www.thechristianpulse.com/2011/05/17/love-on-him/ “I hate night class. My throat is on fire—” During the lengthy pause, I wondered why I had answered my cell. “—and I got a 65 on the test.” Kyle’s cranky attitude set my stress on fire. Twice a week, he griped about Spanish night class and twice a week I lectured about ten key ways to study for college. I gripped the phone. The semester ended in a few weeks. Not much time left to pull up his grade. “Come home and we’ll talk about it.” He cut our connection with a typical, “Whatever.” What did he expect? You have to work hard in college—even if you are…

http://www.thechristianpulse.com/2010/07/06/wayward-disposition-emotions-on-the-loose/ Sometimes my emotions hold me hostage—buckle me into a rollercoaster I don’t wish to ride. Moods throw me up and down—along tight twists and turns. Feelings muffle my ears and distort my conversations. Attitude colors each thought, taints every action, until I am out of control.In my early twenties, before kids and slightly after marriage, my husband and I drove cross-country from Indiana to California. On the drive, he turned to me and asked, “Why don’t you love me the way I want you to?” I knew exactly what he meant. Over the years, numbness had seeped in, over and around, encasing my emotions in a sheath of blankets…

http://www.thechristianpulse.com/2010/08/20/giving-it-up/ “Lord, please. I can’t.” My anxiety is a vise, the more I struggle, the tighter it grips, wringing the air from my lungs.Kyle’s room is quiet. Empty, except for the fat black cat and me. We lie curled together under the blue and red Spiderman comforter, my face buried in the pillow, the cat’s face buried in my stomach. The sheets are cold—they haven’t been slept in or washed in three weeks. I inhale the little boy scent that is my son—watermelon shampoo, grass, strawberry pop-tarts. What if he doesn’t come home? What if this is all I will have of him? I close my eyes and concentrate and…

http://www.thechristianpulse.com/2010/11/26/and-always-be-thankful/ With a sigh, I drop into my favorite overstuffed chair and rest my cheek against the green tweed fabric. Leftover turkey, green beans, and mashed potatoes, brown with gravy, litter white plates scattered across the counter. The spicy aroma of warm pumpkin pie floats into the family room. My boys tear through the room, flashing silver foam swords, my husband on their trail. He scoops them up and plops them down on the couch next to my sister and my grandpa. “Turn the game up, I can’t hear the score,” My mom yells from the kitchen. The dishwasher clicks on and I tune out the soft hum and close…