Archives For Extraordinary Family

Why Doesn't He Send Me Flowers

The flower delivery van drove up and parked in front of the office. Seeing the van through the windows, a co-worker announced “someone” would be getting flowers. However, we all knew that “someone” was one of two people in the office. The only two people to ever receive flowers from their husbands.

The delivery driver walked around the van, opened the door, and pulled out a large, beautiful bouquet of vibrantly colored flowers.

As we looked longingly at the bouquet coming through the door, we all began to lament how our husbands lacked the “I-think-I’ll-buy-my-wife-flowers-for-no-other-reason-than-I’m-romantic-and-I-want-to-show-her-how-much-I-love-her” trait.

A sense of disappointment and irritation began to flicker deep inside me and I began to vilify my husband in my mind. What kind of a husband never thinks of doing anything romantic for his wife?! How hard is it to simply dial a phone number to order a bouquet? I mean, criminy, it’s not like the guy has to pick the flowers and wire them together to arrange in a girly vase on his own! It’s a phone call! I wonder if I can get him into a remedial romantic class somewhere!

As the day wore on, my thoughts and attitude toward my husband worsened. By the time I arrived home from work, I was determined to let him know just what I thought of his un-romanticism. Since I arrived home first, it would have to wait.

By the time my husband’s car turned into the driveway, my sharp words were ready to hurl as soon as he walked in the door. But after waiting a few minutes, I heard him leave again in my car. Curses! The intense fellowship I had planned would have to wait.

Enough time passed without my husband coming home, I had no choice but to start on supper so we could get to our son’s basketball game that night on time.

As I started frying hamburgers, I heard the garage door open and my husband pulling into the driveway. He was home. And I was ready!

When he walked in, I turned to launch into my character assassination but before any words could leave my mouth, he pulled me into a big bear hug. Fine! I’ll take the hug but THEN we are having it out.

As he continued to hug me for a full minute, he told me how he bragged on me to his co-workers about the wonderful supper I had made the night before. He began telling me how lucky he was to have a wife who was such a good cook and how amazing the burgers smelled.

He then pulled away and said, “I filled your car with gas and checked the tire pressure. One of your tires was low so I added some air. I also checked the oil which looks good for now but I need to keep my eye on it. There may be a leak and I don’t want you to break down in the country. Oh, and I returned your library books that were in your car. And I also got money from the ATM for your lunch with your friends tomorrow so you won’t have to go by the bank first.”

The more he talked, the more my anger melted away.

Each sentence was like receiving another flower. He was putting together a beautiful word bouquet before my very eyes. How could I have questioned his worth as a husband?!

Gas and oil may not be the most romantic things a girl can receive but It is romantic knowing he is concerned with my well-being and safety. He genuinely enjoys taking care of me. And he’s proud to call me his wife.

My husband may not pick up the phone and order bouquets but that’s okay. I receive plenty of bouquets through his words and actions.

My thoughts were interrupted as my husband finally ended his lovely word bloom with, “So how was your day at work?”

Disarmed, I replied, “It was……uneventful. I couldn’t wait to get home to talk to you!” *wink*

What “outside-the-vase romance” do you receive from your husband?

©2016 Connie Davis Johnson

Red Skelton Quote

Philippians 2 verse 14

Truth!

June 24, 2015 — Leave a comment

Erma Bombeck quote

Jim Valvano quote

Time Speaks Love

June 3, 2015 — Leave a comment

James Dobson Quote

Mean Girl Survival Guide

February 9, 2015 — 2 Comments

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Mean girls! If you’re female, the term probably brings back memories of all those girls who tormented you with their subtle and/or not-so-subtle cruelty.

Unfortunately, my daughters have had their share of mean girls since the beginning of Kindergarten. One daughter’s personality allows her to “let go” of the hurt quickly. If someone doesn’t like her, she has the ability to analyze the situation quickly to decide whether it’s a girl being mean or if it’s a true friend who has been hurt and needs care.

My other daughter is much more like her mom. We allow words to pierce our hearts and worry over what others think of us. We’ve had many conversations over the years about the mean girls in her life.

One night, I made a “Mean Girl Survival Guide” and gave it to her the next morning before school. It became a source of comfort for her as she gained a new view of the girls and the situations that caused her so much pain. By finding peace in the midst of pain, she robbed these girls of their power and the bullying began to lessen.

When I mentioned the “Guide” on my personal Facebook page, I was inundated with requests to share. So here is your personal copy of the “Mean Girl Survival Guide. Share it, print it, or save it for later. My prayer is that your girl (or even you) may find freedom through God’s grace.

Mean Girls Survival Guide

To pin this, click here!

To print, click “More” under “Share” and click “Print.”

© 2015 Connie Davis Johnson

Billy Sunday quote graphic

© 2014 Connie Davis Johnson

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The amusement park’s jungle cruise boat captain entertained us with silly jokes and warned us to watch out for the water-spitting elephants.  At seven years of age, I was enjoying myself immensely as I sat between my mom and dad in the full boat.

However, the captain’s voice suddenly turned serious.  He warned we would have to go through a dark cave full of headhunters in order to get back home.  There was no other way.

The captain shared there was no need to worry since the headhunters mostly attack little blonde-haired girls.  This presented a dilemma since I was a little blonde-haired girl who wished to keep her head.  I covered my eyes to avoid seeing my fate.  However, I realized by covering my eyes with my own hands, I could not see if my dad was still there to protect me.  So I covered my eyes with his hand instead.  And with that move, I upstaged the captain as our fellow passengers dissolved into laughter.

Over the years I have often turned to my dad when I was scared or upset.  My dad was always available when I needed him.  He would “cover my eyes against the scary” with words of encouragement and promises God would be with me even when he couldn’t.

Fast forward 35 years from that jungle boat cruise.  A different scary outcome lay ahead.  The cave replaced with my parents’ house.  The boat for a hospital bed.

I longed for my dad to cover my eyes against the “scary,” but his hand lay limp at his side.  My dad was dying.  Although hospice provided a book to inform us what to expect, living it was much worse than reading about it.  Each stage much more horrible than the last.

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I heard the death rattle in my dad’s chest and throat.  Not being able to draw in much breath, he fought for air.  The hospice nurses had promised he would feel nothing as he neared the end.  However, even though he was sleeping, it seemed to me he was suffering.

My every instinct warred within me to help.  But I knew there was nothing I could do.  He was ready to go so I was forced to helplessly stand and watch.

There was no other way home.  My dad was about to enter heaven and this was the only way.

As I watched my dad take his final breaths in this life, my body was wracked with sobs.  I needed my dad to cover my eyes and encourage me everything would be okay.

But he couldn’t.  My dad would no longer be here for me to turn to when I was facing something scary.

Then I remembered the principle my dad taught every chance he had.  My Heavenly Father would always be with me even when my own dad could not.  So I turned to God and begged Him to help me get through this horrible scene playing out in front of me.

I was reminded of Stephen in the bible who was stoned to death for his faith.  Before he took his final breaths, he saw heaven open up before him and saw Jesus standing at God’s right hand.  There was no suffering as he took his final breaths and entered heaven.

If God could open Stephen’s eyes to heaven and “cover his eyes against the scary,” then He could do the same for my dad.  This became my prayer.  And I choose to believe it was answered.  Just as Stephen died peacefully amidst being stoned, my dad died peacefully amidst straining for breath.

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And now He does the same for me day by day, moment by moment.  God opens my eyes to the knowledge my dad is with Him.  Unable to walk in the last 3 years of his life, he now runs the streets of heaven probably playing a pick-up game of basketball with Joseph.  He is visiting with his own mom and dad, many other relatives, and the people in the bible he studied much about over the years.

These reminders allow God to hold me up with His right hand and “cover my eyes against the scary.”

As I continue to travel the “valley of the shadow of death.”  He strengthens me, gives me wisdom when I ask, and comforts me.  Although my dad’s hand is no longer available to me, God’s hand will always be there.

God’s there for you too.  What “scary” are you facing?  Pick up God’s hand and cover your eyes.  Allow Him to hold you with His right hand as He soothes you with words of encouragement and provides strength to face what lay ahead.

Trust Him.

So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you w
ith my righteous right hand.  ~ Isaiah 41:10

Copy of 1970 dad with connie

This post dedicated to my dad who went to heaven Oct. 16, 2013. 

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Escape the Rejection Infection

Should You be a “Yes” Parent?

My Kid Doesn’t Meet My Expectations

©2013 Connie Davis Johnson

Praying Kids are Scary!

September 3, 2013 — 6 Comments

One night during family prayer, our 3 year old daughter, Calan, asked God to give her a brother named George. Kneeling nearby with our 13 month old daughter, Cauriana, I stole a glance at my husband, Craig.  He was looking at me with wide eyes and we both chuckled.

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When Cauriana was born, she came into the world demanding a manicure and a massage.  High maintenance was her calling card.  She would only take twenty minute naps and scream during the rest of our waking hours.  If I wasn’t holding her, I was feeding her.  And if I wasn’t feeding her, I was changing her diaper.  And if I wasn’t changing her diaper, I was trying to figure out what was causing her ear splitting screams.

While I tended to Cauriana, I also tried to give proper attention to Calan by reading to and playing with her.  I was exhausted!  All the time!

So when Calan prayed for a brother, I decided to help God out.  After all, this prayer would not be answered in the way she hoped so I was a bit concerned that it would crush her childlike-size-of-Texas faith.

I gently explained although God is in control of all things, He does let us have a bit of control over some things.  And her dad and I definitely had some control over whether or not she would have a little brother and it wasn’t going to happen, nope, no way, no how, nada, not happening!  Okay, maybe it wasn’t so gentle.  But I was panic-stricken.

Calan didn’t seem to notice or care so I felt we dodged a bullet.

The next day, I began to feel strange.  In the early afternoon, I stopped in my tracks as I realized the only times I had felt this way was when I was pregnant.  I immediately looked up toward the sky and said/yelled, “NO WAY!!”

I sped to the store and bought a home pregnancy test.  By this time, you’ve already finished this story in your head.  And you would be right.  The stick turned pink.  I was pregnant.

I was shocked.  Craig was shocked.  Calan was not.  Calan said, “Of course you have a baby in your tummy.  It’s a boy named George.”

During the entire pregnancy, she never deterred from, “It’s a boy named George.”  Even when we tried to reason with her saying it could be a girl, she would respond, “Nope!  It’s a boy named George.”

When delivery day came, lo and behold, we had a boy.  I was shocked.  Craig was shocked.  Calan was not.

We called Craig’s parents house where the girls were staying to give them the good news.  I said to Calan, “You were right!  We had a boy!  But honey, his name isn’t George.  It’s Colby.”  She said, “No it’s not!  It’s George!”

Colbybabygirls

She had been right about everything else so I was ready to rip the birth certificate from the nurse’s hand to ensure I had named our little boy Colby and not George.

Calan insisted on calling Colby, “George,” for the first week of his life.  She finally conceded after that and began calling him, “Colby George.”

Today is Colby’s 12th birthday.  And we are extremely blessed God answered Calan’s prayer.  At least the “brother” part.  And Calan has finally dropped the “George” from his name.

Colby on horse

Calan’s special prayer taught me I never need to try to “explain” God.  And I definitely don’t take credit for having control of things I do not.

So now when the kids pray for outrageous things that scare us, we let them.

Then Craig and I pray against them.  It’s the “battle of the prayers” at the Johnson household.

Yep, praying kids are scary!  But it just adds to this adventure we call life.

This post is part of the following link-ups:

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You may also like:

My Daughter’s Birthday Reminder of My Worst Mistake

Should You be a “Yes” Parent?

A Marriage Beyond Hope

©2013 Connie Davis Johnson