Why we have these

I do not like boxed valentines. Not a single one.

Really, I'm not a huge fan of mass-produced sentiment in general. The whole greeting card game is just teeming with drama. Once you manage to steer clear of the super-cheese and the inappropriate humor, it's a crap shoot that one of the five remaining options will even come close to expressing what you hope to express. And then the worry over the recipient flipping the card over and noting that you only paid a dollar for it, and all of a sudden you are the black sheep cheapskate of the family.

It's stressful, I tell you. Anyway. Wow, that was a tangent.

The last couple of years I have stood strongly against boxed valentines, forcing my unsuspecting eldest son into the tedious tasks of making valentrains and vowlentines. Because homemade cards are just so special. They really, really are.

I love homemade cards.

And that was the reason I would have given to anyone as to why we spent hours making those lovelies for folks we (mostly) never saw again, and that were likely trashed on the same day they were received.

But only now am I willing to admit that a big part of the reason we made those valentines was my insecurity. My need to please. My perception that card-stock owls would convince all the other moms that I had my act together.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was done to make me feel better about me. A validation. In my mind, a declaration that even though I am a frazzled working mom and the house isn't all that clean and we do in fact eat preservatives, I can do at least one thing worthwhile.

To convince me that I had my act together.

My act is not together. Never has been. I don't want it to be.

Nor do I want the approval or admiration of others or some weird creative self-validation to be my security.

Nor do I want my boys seeing such behavior.

Why? God is taking my steward slash trust approach to 2013, and turning my whole life upside down. In the best way possible. For the first time in probably ever, I am finding my security in Him. And Him alone. And He alone gets the glory for it.

Thank you, Lord.

So while the pleaser in me thinks it would be so super-cool to send Trey to school with a batch of these,

Madagascar will do just fine. Those hours might just be better spent riding bikes and playing basketball together in the basement.