Back in February, I wrote a post called, On Falling Back in Love with Mothering, over at Mothers of Daughters. In it, I addressed the fact that somewhere along the way, mothering had become more of a chore than a gift – that I had allowed it to become so, and that I didn’t feel
A whole population has reached the pinnacle of its suffering. The ache and loud, desperate cry of a broken, nearly hopeless people echoes through the heavens. There is a big, big problem and justice seems to have been forgotten. Meanwhile… On the far side of the wilderness, a man of once great passion quietly does
He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? Micah 6:8 (ESV) But he’s already made it plain how to live, what to do, what God is looking for in men and women. It’s quite simple:
It’s March. I’m sipping my Good Earth tea, listening to my Selah Pandora station, and watching snow flurries swoop and swirl along roof tops and through tree branches. Windows. Vantage points. Frames of scenes. Their significance in my own life is powerful and moving – and steadying. Sprawling scenes of beauty are awe-inspiring, humbling, glorious
It’s Tuesday. Plain ole’, nothing special Tuesday. I am eating Ruffles and Ranch dip for lunch at 2:15 in the afternoon. On my desk sits a Classical Conversations magazine, a preschool flyer, a package that needs to be returned to Amazon, our Christmas Memories book that has yet to be filled out for this year,
I write this post so that all of you who are fighting for good marriages will know that you are not alone, that we are all struggling to choose to fight every single day, that we all have days and weeks and months and years where we wonder if it’s really all worth it, to
I stand outside pointing the big green water hose at my freshly planted mums. The smell of pumpkin bread swirls out the back door and beneath my nose, carrying with it warmth and wonder. Three precious blessings giggle in the background, stripping off socks and shoes so that they can run through the frigid water
On Sunday, I fell on my knees and wept at the altar of grace because this first year of church planting has sent me into the depths of myself. I thought I was coming here so that God could use me in this city, but the truth is that God is using this experience, this
It has been some months since I’ve written. Church planting, pfh…more like soul stripping. In all the best, most painful ways. Nearly one year after moving here, I find myself, our family, never more aware of either the weakness in my spirit or the power in my soul. Everything has changed, and yet everything is just
We stood looking at each other, sandwiched between the cold, white floors and stark, fluorescent lights of the airport. It was early – five thirty or six in the morning, maybe. I faced a coffee shop – positioned just behind my parents and my boyfriend. I shifted awkwardly from foot to foot in my red
