You Don’t Have to Live With It

17 years ago it appeared. At first I was like,  “Ew. What the heck is this?”  You could see it from across the room. Right there. There!  Of all places? It surprised me as it seemed to arrive overnight.  But as the weeks passed, I became comfortable with its existence and noticed it less and less. In fact because of the circumstances of its arrival, it became a symbol… a symbol of a pivotal time in my life, of something undeniably precious. Yet, it still caused concern. And today, those concerns overshadowed the sentimental value as I found myself in a tiny room waiting on a doctor.

While pregnant with my son, I went to bed one night with a normal face. The next morning I woke up with a mole the size of a small South Carolina town on my right cheek. “Common” they said. “Just one of those pregnancy things” they said. Regardless of how abnormal this normal thing looked, I reconciled myself to live with it since it didn’t seem to scrub off. I may or may not have tried.

Then my son entered the world and deemed that mole on my right cheek, “his spot.” I remember the day he kissed my face and pronounced that this spot marked the cheek he was to kiss and that spot was his forever. No one else could kiss that cheek. This little baby boy with bright brown eyes and an infectious smile had just changed the way I would see my own face.

So I lived with it. As he grew and the years passed, the kisses decreased. Yet the spot still reminded me of my baby boy. It was a symbol of a bond. It was special. And I held on to it. But it was still a large imperfection in the middle of my face. And one that had to be taken seriously.

After the doctor reassured me that it was OK, she said something that stopped me in my tracks – “I could take it off in less than a minute if you’d like.” <Dramatic pause.> Take it off?! Wait, you mean I don’t have to live with it? It could be erased, just like that? Gone? As if it had never been there at all?

Yes. It could be erased. I didn’t have to live with it.

The sentimental value of the “spot” aside, it was something that I really didn’t want to see in the mirror every day, but I had reconciled myself to let it stay. I had gotten so accustomed to it being there that I didn’t consider even the idea of an alternative. I didn’t like it, but I got comfortable with it. Little did I know how comfortable I had gotten until that moment. And 60 seconds later, it was gone. Gone. I simply had to let it be removed.

If no one has ever told you, you don’t have to live with it… let me be that person. Whatever spot you carry with you that causes you pain, concern, embarrassment, fear, doubt, worry, guilt, shame, or some other dark heaviness, you can let it go. It can be gone in seconds. You simply have to let it be removed.

Ask Him.

“Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord…”  Acts 3:19

“I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.”  Isaiah 43:25

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”  2 Corinthians 5:17





The Great Green Goo is No More!

You know those times when your house is eerily quiet and you sense someone somewhere is up to no good? Well I had one of those occasions 8 years ago and I have the green goo stain in the carpet to prove it.

One Sunday afternoon we were all enjoying a relaxing  respite from the madness that was and is our busy life . The kids were happy. The birds were singing. The house was sufficiently clean. As I was relishing the moment, I suddenly became oddly aware that the only other sound I could hear was my husband snoring. Not good.

Continue reading

I’d Rather Been Hit by a Volleyball…

Saturday volleyball tournaments mean early mornings, lots of snacks and an onslaught of flying volleyballs sure to smack you in the head when you least expect it. But this past Saturday, I was knocked off my feet not by a volleyball, but by a host of old hurts, suppressed feelings and long-standing anger.

As my daughter’s team warmed up, my son and I staked out our base camp for the day. We carved out a spot between columns and bleachers to place our chairs hoping our savvy knowledge of volleyball trajectory would keep us safe. Poor newbies sitting on the front row of the bleachers. Better have ice…bless their hearts. We were enjoying snacks galore during game one of the first match, when a cast member from the play that is my past strolled into the gym.

Continue reading