My husband came home from work and found me facedown on the floor of our walk-in closet. I wish I could say it was my prayer closet and I was storming the gates of heaven War Room –style. But I wasn’t. I was having a meltdown. Life was closing in. I felt overwhelmed by the demands of raising two teenage boys with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, managing a growing nonprofit, and caring for my dad with Alzheimer’s—on top of everyday responsibilities. For decades, I’ve carved out a morning quiet time...

Control freak. Perfectionist. Dictator. Or, according to PowerThesaurus.org , “Bossy Boots.” Whatever we choose to call it, as a mom, I like to control outcomes.  In Control I’ve been a parent for nearly forty years. My children—biological and adopted—range in age from twenty to thirty-seven. For decades, I parented as if I were in control. I assumed that if I did all the right things, I would raise perfect kids. Our family went to church every time the doors were open. The kids attended VBS...

By the end of December, foster and adoptive parents can feel like we’ve crossed the finish line of a marathon—exhausted, depleted, and running on fumes. The presents are put away, the cookies are gone, the decorations are down—and often, so is our energy, mood, and attitude. The day after Christmas, I found myself tired, cranky, and short on patience. Weeks of preparation and celebration had led to too much sugar, too little exercise, poor sleep, and neglected quiet time. I was struggling to...