If I could speak to the star-mom of Jon & Kate Plus Eight, here’s what I’d tell her

Dear Kate:

In the past you’ve been vocal about your Christian faith. To be sure, I don’t know all the circumstances of your situation. I haven’t “walked in your shoes” or carried the burdens you’ve had to bear. I’ve heard the rumors that there’s been infidelity with possibly no repentance. And if that’s true, my heart breaks for all you’ve had to experience through that situation. I’ve seen “up close and personal” the devastation that infidelity can have on a marriage and family.

Having said that, as a sister in Christ to you, take what I’m about to say in the spirit of love and concern: Please don’t do what you’re doing.

And I’m not just talking to you. I’m talking to your husband too.

For too long I’ve watched Christian couples live self-centered lives, pursuing their own desires, talking about following Christ and the principles of our faith, but not actually living them out. And when life gets difficult—as it does for every couple—they throw in the towel, acting helpless, showing to the world that when the apostle Paul said, “We are more than conquerors through Christ,” he didn’t actually mean it.

Trouble can seep into your relationship if you’re not on the lookout for it.

Anne LaBarbara finally snapped. Her husband, Frank, told her he wouldn’t be leaving his workplace at 5 p.m. to start their vacation as he’d promised. Instead, he opted to take care of some machinery that was breaking down at the plant his family owned.

If only he’d opted to take care of his wife who was breaking down.

When Anne Stormed into his office and demanded he shut down the factory, her mother-in-law was there and tried to intervene. In the ensuing brawl, Anne punched her beloved MIL several times, yelling, “I’ve been waiting a long time to do this!”

Unfortunately, another woman tried to break up the fight (no word on what Frank was actually doing during this time!), so Anne grabbed a plaque and smacked her with it. As the former good Samaritan yanked clumps of hair from Anne’s head, the women wrestled to the floor. Finally Frank broke it up—just in time for Anne to stomp out, yelling, “We’re through!” They’re now divorced.

My mother-in-law’s tears reminded me about the value of grief and remembrance.

Last year for Mother’s Day, my husband, Scott, and I, along with Scott’s brother and sister-in-law, treated my mother-in-law to a special brunch at an upscale club. She received roses, and the staff treated her like royalty. We were surrounded by a light and celebratory atmosphere as the music of the ’20s, ’30s, and ’40s serenaded us. My mother-in-law was delighted as she listened to the tunes and named each one along with the song’s vocalist.

About halfway through the meal, the waitress checked up on us and asked my mother-in-law how many children she had.

“Six.”

“Wow,” the waitress said. “That’s quite a bunch. You definitely deserve this special day!”

My mother-in-law only nodded, a tight grin plastered on her face.

Six. My husband and I knew only five.

What an un-styled, un-hip Brit can remind us about the way God packages our talents

By now you've probably heard and/or seen singing sensation Susan Boyle, who garnered international attention from her singing debut on Britain's Got Talent.

Of course, by the time I saw the YouTube video of her performance I had a good idea of what to expect: a frumpy, 47-year-old, slightly uncouth British woman opens her mouth to sing the Les Miserables song "I Dreamed a Dream" and blows everyone away with her vocal excellence and grandeur.

Way to go, Susan.

In the midst of insomnia, I try to pray, but mostly I run through my to-do list. Over and over and over . . .

Last night at 2:45 A.M. I lay wide awake - again - staring at the ceiling and pretending if I could just close my eyes and concentrate on falling asleep, I would. By 3:21, I knew my sleep was over.

I tried to pray, but my mind kept filling with all the things I had to accomplish. Work deadlines, bills, laundry, my weight, the fact that I could now add "sleep deprived" to my "She's stressed" list. (I've even gotten stressed over not spending enough time on Facebook when everybody else I know is on it constantly!)

Knock it off, Ginger, the rational part of me kept berating myself. Going over and over your to-dos in the middle of the night isn't going to get you anywhere.

Finally, at 3:30, I decided to prove myself wrong: I went downstairs and balanced my checkbook.

What if the pilot from the Miracle on the Hudson was born specifically for those three minutes during takeoff and landing?

By now, unless you've been in a commune, you've heard the amazing story of what everyone has rightfully dubbed, "The Miracle on the Hudson": the US Airways plane that within 90 seconds of take-off swallowed a gaggle of geese, lost both engines at the same time, and landed safely on the Hudson River, sparing the lives of more than 150 passengers and crew.

It was truly a miracle.

On Friday night, as I watched Dateline, which devoted its entire hour to the story, one of the reporters kept calling it "luck." "What a great stroke of luck that . . . In an amazing moment of luck . . . How lucky for them . . ."

What an elderly store clerk reminded me about taking my name for granted

"Call me Bill," the elderly, slightly stooped, sales clerk told me. He'd just handed me his business card. "For some reason they put ?William' on the card. But nobody calls me William. Only my mother did. But she's long gone now."

As I stood with this retired furniture salesman, now Home Depot appliance guru, I noticed a faraway look in his eyes. I figured it didn't have to do with the white Maytag double oven we were currently discussing.

"She used to call me William when she was upset with me!" he said and chuckled. Then he turned serious. "What I wouldn't give to hear my mother call me ?William' again. It's been all these years since she passed, but I still wish I could hear her call my name. You still have your parents?"

We voted. Now what is our responsibility?

I'm probably one among thousands - possibly millions - who are grateful the presidential election is over.

I'll admit that I'm a news junkie and that, for the most part, I enjoy and pay attention to politics. In fact, for the past year, my husband and I have talked off and on about running for our city council board.

But this season was enough even for me. The hateful, angry, disrespectful tones coming from both sides. The snarky comments about clothing budgets. The racial slurs. The threats to move to Ireland, even! And I'm sad to say, I heard some of these things from Christians.

Sometimes the unusual circumstances bring the most joy

"You did what?" my friend Dawn asked when I told her what my husband and I did for our anniversary.

I nodded. "Yep. Scott and I spent the night in our Explorer in a Wal-mart parking lot."

"On purpose?" She half-snorted.

I nodded again. "On purpose."

Okay, let me explain. Almost every year for our anniversary, Scott and I drive two-and-a-half hours to a small historic, tourist town just east of the Mississippi River. We knew we wanted to go there last year for our anniversary. But because we had no place to leave our dog (we don't do kennels), and because there were no pet-friendly motels in the area, and because it was November and no campgrounds were open, we opted to rough it.

It’s time to make marriage about more than just my spouse

Several years ago, my mother called to ask if I'd heard the new Toby Keith song that was currently number 1 on the country charts.

"It's my life's song, my motto, my mission statement!" she informed me. "Let me play it for you." She placed the phone next to her speakers.

Out came Toby's words: "I want to talk about me, I want to talk about I, I want to talk about number 1, oh my me my."

My mom and I still laugh about that and say, "Well, after all, it's all about me."

And the clouds prove it.

This summer my husband, Scott, and I have taken a profound interest in clouds. We've had the most stunning skies recently. Beautiful puffy, fluffy, billowy, white clouds or cottony swishes splashed across the sky that reflect brilliant sunbeams. And at dusk, the colors are magnificent. Magentas and yellows and pinks and blues. Breathtaking. Almost every evening, Scott and I walk outside, point to the sky, and ooh and aah. Like five-year-olds, we identify flying dragons and Irish Setters wearing party hats.

How God reminded me about the importance of patience and politeness

So I stopped by the grocery store last night to pick up items for supper. It had been a good day. I�d been productive at work. Traffic on the way home had been light (I�d caught most of the green lights). Even my grocery store experience was pleasant. No one bumped me with a cart or pushed me out of the way to snatch the tomato I�d been eyeing.

My step was light. All was well.

And then I took my place in the checkout line.

Is that desire so wrong?

Last Saturday, I stood in my underwear (control-top hose included) and tried to pick the perfect outfit for a party. Finally, I chose a cute flowered dress with a blue semi-jacket—my favorite outfit.

I put it on and eyed myself in the mirror. Then I sighed. My cute flowered dress looked cute—just not on me.

I didn't feel beautiful. At all. And all I wanted at that moment was to pull on my sweats and eat a tub of Ben & Jerry's.

As I walked downstairs, my husband whistled. "You look pretty."

"I feel fat and ugly," I huffed. And insecure, I added mentally.

Why it’s a good idea—and a good lesson

Back in April, the U.S. celebrated Husband Appreciation Day, a time for wives to reflect on the various ways their spouses enrich their lives. I love the idea - especially since my husband does a ton of things for me, which too often I take for granted. Little things, such as taking care of the yard work, fixing leaky toilets, making me coffee in the mornings, holding doors open, watching Dr. Phil with me.

I was talking about this "holiday" with an acquaintance, when she said, "What about Wife Appreciation Day?"

"Um," I said, taken aback by her snarky tone. "Wouldn't that be Sweetest Day?"