The birthday boy is 19 today!

Okay, so I guess he's not technically a "boy" any longer, but what am I supposed to call him? For heaven's sakes, I'm not old enough to have a "birthday man!" Where did the time go?! NINETEEN YEARS! I cannot tell you how proud I am of this boy. Whoops, there I go again calling him a boy. Anyway, I thought it would be fitting today to post an excerpt from the introduction in my book, "Your Boy...Raising a Godly Son in an Ungodly World." The book released last year, just a few months shy of Ryan graduating from high school. Enjoy!

(Excerpt from Your Boy; © 2006)

Over the years, older moms would encourage and remind me along the way, “It goes by so fast.” “Sure,” I thought at the time, “They’ve probably never had to negotiate with a strong-willed toddler and convince him that apple juice poured into a blue cup will taste the exact same as apple juice poured into the green cup he is demanding.” What course in college could prepare me for such realities? Interpersonal Communication? The colored-cup debate should have been a required lab. It took me having three kids to finally figure out the answer: smile, pour drink from blue cup into green cup, hand cup gently to toddler, smile again, place blue cup in dishwasher, move on with life.

And yet, while time seemed to stand still in the early years, there were sobering reminders along the way that it was fleeting. There was the first day of kindergarten when I dropped him off at the door. I was distracted by my three year-old daughter hanging onto my leg begging to go to McDonald’s and a 5 month-old who wanted out of his carrier. Even so, I sensed the importance of this bittersweet milestone and stood outside the closed door looking through the rectangular pane of glass. The students were sitting in a circle and I waited for him to turn back so I could give him a reassuring smile and wave. He never did. Of course, I cried all the way to McDonald’s. Then there was the 7th grade flag football game where he broke away from the pack in the last play of the game and ran 85 yards for a winning touchdown. I ran the entire length of the field with him along the sidelines, cheering all the way. After the game, I was firmly instructed to make sure it never happened again. He didn’t seem to mind my cheering before, but clearly, what had once been considered encouragement, was now considered eternal embarrassment. A year later, while chaperoning a school dance, I would be reminded again of the fleeting time when I watched my son slow dance for the first time. Worse over, he had the nerve to actually enjoy it! Yes, I was slowly losing my boy.

It seems like yesterday when I would hold his hand while he took baby steps and today, I have to strain my neck to look up into his eyes. It seems like yesterday when girls were yuck, and today, they are yuck-free. It seems like yesterday when he was driving his big wheel around the driveway in dizzying circles with the dog barking behind him, and today, he drives himself and his sister to high school. It seems like yesterday when I was visiting potential pre-schools and now we are visiting colleges. It seems like yesterday when we were alone in that hospital room and I told him “hello” and now, I must prepare myself for that moment when I hug his neck in front of his college dorm and say, “good-bye.” Where did the time go?

As mothers, we have a brief eighteen years to make a Godly impact on our sons. Eighteen years to teach them about the God we serve. Eighteen years to impress God’s commandments upon their hearts. Eighteen years to train them to be “real men” living in the real world. Eighteen years to influence them in a way their fathers cannot. Eighteen years to be the #1 gal in their lives. And eighteen years to ready ourselves for that day when we must release them to a waiting world. It’s a high calling—perhaps the highest calling God can give a woman.

Forget chocolate--just give me shoes!

Only a shoe junkie will appreciate this post. For the rest of you, any respect you may have previously had for me could possibly wane after reading this. I have a thing for shoes. If I venture into a mall, my body naturally gravitates toward the nearest shoe department. I inherited the shoe junkie gene, passed down from a long line of shoe junkie ancestors. My mother claims that as a toddler, I would approach complete strangers when wearing a new pair of shoes and say, "Look at my new shoes," beaming proudly down at my Mary Janes in a trance-like state.

Perhaps, my family should of staged an intervention of sorts to head off this runaway love affair with shoes, but their efforts would have been in vain. To make matters worse, my grandfather managed the women's shoe department of a fancy boutique store in Austin. Every female born into the family instantly hit the shoe jackpot. I have fond memories of visiting him at his shoe store when I was a little girl and running up and down the aisles of shoes stocked from floor to ceiling in the back. I would pluck shoe after shoe off the shelves and try them on my tiny feet. Each shoe became Cinderella's glass slipper and I hoped that someday, that glass slipper would finally fit. "Someday" finally arrived in my middle school years when I promoted from the children's shoe department to the women's shoe department. Talk about a graduation celebration! After that, I never left Granddad's store empty-handed. Unfortunately, my grandfather retired in my college years, much to the dismay of every female member of our family. But it didn't matter. By then, I was hooked. We were all hooked and have the closets to prove it.

Maybe I'm telling you all this in an effort to better understand myself and what could possibly possess a person (namely me) to purchase a pair of shoes like the ones in the picture above. Few would argue that they are adorably cute and capable of making one's heart beat faster with one glance (a classic symptom of a shoe junkie). Cole Haan's at half price. I mean, really, how could I resist? It was love at first sight. I put them on at the store, gave them the obligatory ten step test run, did a quick mental inventory of the incomplete outfits in my closet who were anxiously awaiting the right pair of shoes, and voila, next thing I knew, I was standing at the checkout handing my Visa card to the clerk. On the way home, I rehearsed just what I would say to my sweet husband in an effort to justify the purchase. Seriously, why is it so difficult to explain to a man why a woman needs multiple pairs of black shoes?

This time I was ready for his predictable, "Don't you already have a bazillion pairs of black shoes?" His eyes glazed over when I once again, tried to explain the difference between a black flat, black medium heel closed toe, black medium heel open toe, black stilletto, black peep-toe pump, black strappy sandal, black leather clog, and the list goes on. The pair currently on trial was a black wedge heel macrame-accented sandal, which up until that day had been absent from my shoe collection. He cut me off before I could finish and rolled his eyes on cue. He's heard the speech before. Why stick around for the rest. He must have gotten over it pretty quickly because he offered to take me to dinner. Oh wait, maybe that was because I had failed to prepare dinner because I was out buying shoes. None the less, thrilled at the opportunity to wear my new shoes, I raced upstairs and put on a black knit, empire-waistline dress I had gotten on the clearance rack at Ann Taylor Loft (one of the aforementioned outfits in desperate need of just the right pair of shoes).

My daughter snapped the picture above just before we left (after complementing my shoes--she clearly has inherited the gene). Now before you think this story has a happy ending, let me assure you that the smile you see on my face in the picture was most certainly gone by the time we returned home. Trust me when I say this--these shoes are from the DEVIL. If hell is a place of eternal torture, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone is issued a pair of these puppies when they get there and forced to wear them 'round the clock. Just three hours would produce weeping and gnashing of teeth. That alone is reason enough to repent and be saved. And trust me, I should know. Just one short hour in these darling shoes rubbed blisters on my darling feet. Cute as they are, I can't even bring myself to look at them, much less put them back on--at least for a couple more weeks until my blisters heal. Just in time for the Christian Bookseller's annual convention in Atlanta! I know just the skirt I'm going to pair with them!

So what about you? Do you buy shoes based on the "comfort factor" or the "cuteness factor?"

A very touchy subject indeed!

I stumbled upon the following "virtue alert" in a Washington Post article, "Va. School's No-Contact Rule Is a Touchy Subject" by Maria Glod; Washington Post Staff Writer; Monday, June 18, 2007

Fairfax County middle school student Hal Beaulieu hopped up from his lunch table one day a few months ago, sat next to his girlfriend and slipped his arm around her shoulder. That landed him a trip to the school office.

Among his crimes: hugging.

All touching -- not only fighting or inappropriate touching -- is against the rules at Kilmer Middle School in Vienna. Hand-holding, handshakes and high-fives? Banned. The rule has been conveyed to students this way: "NO PHYSICAL CONTACT!!!!!"

School officials say the rule helps keep crowded hallways and lunchrooms safe and orderly, and ensures that all students are comfortable. But Hal, 13, and his parents think the school's hands-off approach goes too far, and they are lobbying for a change.

"I think hugging is a good thing," said Hal, a seventh-grader, a few days before the end of the school year. "I put my arm around her. It was like for 15 seconds. I didn't think it would be a big deal."

Deborah Hernandez, Kilmer's principal, said the rule makes sense in a school that was built for 850 students but houses 1,100. She said that students should have their personal space protected and that many lack the maturity to understand what is acceptable or welcome.

"You get into shades of gray," Hernandez said. "The kids say, 'If he can high-five, then I can do this.' "

She has seen a poke escalate into a fight and a handshake that is a gang sign. Some students -- and these are friends -- play "bloody knuckles," which involves slamming their knuckles together as hard as they can. Counselors have heard from girls who are uncomfortable hugging boys but embarrassed to tell anyone. And in a culturally diverse school, officials say, families might have different views of what is appropriate.

Click here to read the remainder of the article.

Now, it's your turn to weigh in! What do you think? Appropriate or over the top?

Happy Father's Day?

Father's Day got off to a rocky start in the Courtney family this morning. We were heading to church and tempers flared between my husband and one of the kids. Voices were raised and words were exchanged. No cussing of course, but in hindsight, it was all rather funny. My husband was irritated over an incident involving "said child" committing to things without thinking through the details. A valid concern, no doubt. After a few annoying exchanges, my husband blurted out, "Wow, some Father's Day." And then he mumbled under his breath, "I can't believe we've got a one week cruise coming up. At least the ship is big."

The ride home after church was much smoother and my husband took the opportunity to apologize to the kids for taking it too far with his snide comment. He also assured them that he was very excited about our upcoming vacation. He acknowledged that he was wrong when he made the snide comment and followed with, "Will you forgive me?" The kids all replied with encouraging words and "said child" offered a sincere apology for the part he played. Then one of the kids chimed in, "Dad, this is the kind of thing that makes you the best dad ever."

Later, my husband was beating himself up over the whole deal and I reminded him of the value of modeling true biblical humility to our kids by owning his mistakes when he makes them. He has done so over the years, consistently. And my child is right -- that's what makes him "the best dad ever." Not to mention, he takes each child camping every year around their birthday. And disciples the boys. And coaches their teams. And makes it to every game. And has trained the kids in money management. And models time spent in God's Word by setting his alarm to 6 a.m. every morning. And demonstrates what being a spiritual leader looks like by teaching Sunday School for 20 years. And never misses church (deathbed excuses are occasionally accepted!). And plans amazing family vacations each year. And loves his wife.

Our boys have some big shoes to fill when it comes to being a dad someday. And hopefully, our daughter will set the bar high and refuse to settle for anything less.

Is there such a thing as medium-rise?

During a recent layover, I picked up a copy of US Weekly to help pass the time. I don't make it a habit to peruse through this sort of trash, but I justify it on occasion as a nesessary evil to staying in touch with teen culture. Not to mention, It never fails to deliver fresh new speaking examples on the benefits of following Christ and walking the straight and narrow.

Somewhere in between the articles about baby Suri Cruise getting her first tooth and Nicole Ritchie getting her second DUI, I stumbled upon a fashion alert that high-waisted pants are coming back. As I looked at the pictures of recently-spotted Hollywood celebs, Jessica Simpson and Mischa Barton donning this "new" trend, I am not sure if I felt relieved or repulsed. Seriously, those are some HIGH-WAISTED pants! Moms, please tell me we never wore our pants that high?!! I had to crack up because my daughter (and every other teen girl out there) have jokingly referred to high-waisted jeans as "mom jeans." And now they're in style and Jessica and Mischa get the credit. Go figure. Next thing you know, they'll try to take credit for Vans, Sperry Top-Siders, Dr. Scholl's, and Izod Lacoste shirts. Oh wait, they already did! So, what's the lesson here? Hang on to your dorky shoes and clothes because your daughter is going to come a beggin' for them someday. You trendsetter, you.

Blast from the past!

If you're my age, this has to make you smile and feel a tad bit nostalgic for the pre-MTV days. And for the record, David Cassidy was my first official celebrity crush. Vada, vada boom--he was a real cutie. I remember screaming when my best friend gave me a poster of him at my nine year-old birthday party.



Now it's your turn to 'fess up. Who was your first celebrity crush?

Not your average hotel...

I just returned from a whirlwind trip to San Jose, CA for a taping for CCN (Church Communication Network). As a speaker, I've stayed in my fair share of hotels over the years and have experienced a broad range of accomodations. When someone else is footing the bill, you never quite know what you're going to get until you put your card key in the door. The Hotel Valencia on Santana Row definately makes it on my list of "Top 10 Speaker Accomodations Vicki has Experienced this Past Decade." From the thick, thirsty towels to the faux mink coverlet at the end of the bed, I felt like a real princess. Honestly, I'm not sure if CCN or my Publisher footed the bill on this one, but muchos gracias for a real treat. Holding the #1 spot on the list is the guest house of an $8 million property on the base of the mountain at the popular ski resort in Vail, CO. Unfortunately, I flew in with a sinus infection and was up all night trying to adjust to the altitude. I was one tired puppy the next day. My speaking topic? You got it: Contentment!

Someday, I'll have to blog about some of my more interesting speaker travel woes I have experienced over the years. I'm not sure if the #1 spot goes to the case of bed bugs I got in Kentucky or discovering at 11 p.m. that I forgot my toothpaste the eve before an early morning appearance on the 700 Club in VA. The front desk was out, but off in the distance across from the hotel, I spotted a 7-11. I set out by foot across the parking lot, crossed a four lane highway and walked passed a really rough looking gang of tattooed guys before I entered the store. When I came out with my toothpaste in hand, one of the guys told me my wedding ring was "really pretty." And then I did what any sane woman would do who wants to live long enough to see her grandchildren. I said, "Thanks. It's a fake," and I kept walking and never looked back. Funny, my husband did not laugh when I told him the story later.

Would you let your daughter date this boy?

Who is this grimy, dirt-covered lad? Meet my oldest son, Ryan (he will be 19 in a couple of weeks). I snapped this picture when he walked through the door yesterday after a hard day's work. He was in route to the shower with stern instructions from Mom not to touch a thing on the way. Check out that sock line! He struggled at the beginning of summer to find a job, but finally landed a real doozy. He and a couple of his buddies clean out storage units that were damaged months ago in a fire. He describes it as more of a "demolition derby." Mind you, Austin is known for spiking temperatures in the summer, so I would put this in the camp of jobs that few people are willing to do. This past week, I have cringed at his description of the job site. Surely, there must be some hazard to breathing in this kind of air?! Not to mention, he casually mentioned that he and his buddies joke about dodging the exposed rusty nails--like it's some kind of game, for heaven's sake! Sigh. One of his friends has a doctor's appointment today to get a Tetanus shot for stepping on one of those rusty nails. Sigh again.

What's a mother to do? When I express my concern (not once, but each and every day, several times a day), he and his dad just smile and laugh at me. And then my husband utters the classic cliche, "This is the kind of stuff that separates the men from the boys." I suppose he's right. I guess he could be sitting on the sofa like a couch potato and gaming it up!

The best text message ever!

I just had to share the most amazing story with you. While in New York this past weekend (see blog below), I received a text message from my youngest, Hayden, who just finished the 8th grade. He and his older sister were on a church youth trip in South Padre Island, Texas. Here is what his text said:

"I just had the most amazing night of my life. im closer to God than ive ever been in my life."

Can I just tell you that I cried? If you're a parent, I know you'll understand. When Keith and I returned from New York, Hayden and Paige shared about the trip and how on the last night, during the Lord's Supper, God's Spirit fell upon the place. There was brokenness. There was weeping. Kids began to pray out loud and confess their sins. Some apologized to others for being poor role models in the past. Kids in our youth group who had wandered far from God's path, returned home. Lives were changed.

Just a few hours ago, I noticed that my daughter had added this to her "favorite quotes" on her Facebook page:

"Savior, He can move a mountain, my God is mighty to save, He is mighty to save. Forever, the Author of Salvation, He rose and conquered the grave, Jesus conquered the grave. Shine your light and let the whole world see, of the glory of the risen King."

Under "About Me," she simply put, "I love Jesus."

And yes, you got it--I cried again. My greatest prayer for my children is that they will claim Christ for their very own and chase after Him with a fervent passion. God used my childrens' testimonies to serve as a reminder that a parent's prayer is never uttered in vain. He also reminded me of the importance of exposing our children to church, Sunday school, youth trips, Bible studies, mission trips, and other activities where God is the main attraction. You can't script what happened at that youth event in South Padre...but God can.

My first visit to New York City!

This past weekend, my publisher brought me up for a book-signing at a secular booksellers convention being held in NYC! My sweet husband decided at the last minute to come along and even though we only had a day to play, we crammed in a lot of fun.

Here is what I loved:

1. Hotel room that looked out on Times Square!
2. Dinner and a broadway show with a very handsome date. :)
3. View of the New York City skyline from the "Top of the Rock(efeller)" building.
4. Stunning architecture on many of the buildings, some of which dated back to the 1800's.
5. Diversity. I had heard the phrase "melting pot" before, but it was brought to life on the streets of New York.

Here is what I could live without:

1. Traffic! And I thought Austin was bad!
2. The whole cab thing: Waiting for a cab. Fearing for your life during the wild cab ride. And as a bonus, being dropped off at the wrong location and not realizing it until after you paid. We were meeting my Literary Agent at his hotel for breakfast, but got dumped instead in front of Playboy Enterprises. I'm just glad we figured it out before walking in!
3. Crowds. As a confessed people-watcher, this was even a bit too much for me!
4. Too much cement! Except for Central Park, we saw little grass or trees. It made me want to hug all the trees in my front yard when I got home.
5. A five hour delay on our return flight home that got us to Austin at 4:30 a.m. Sigh. But, it was still worth it!

Bonus: Can you identify the person standing next to me in the last picture? Hint: He has a connection to the Late Show...