A few weeks ago my daughter turned to me while we unloaded the dishwasher. “Mom, do you think I should go to camp?” I hesitated for one second as irrational mom fears bubbled up to the surface–dry drowning, third degree sunburns, killer chiggers. I’ve never actually read about killer chiggers, but I can still imagine they exist.
I love my life: my family, my coffee, my books, my work. But every so often I look around and suddenly feel very small. Other women seem to be standing on top of mountains in victory, and I’m standing in front of my dishwasher in sweatpants.
Last year, I ran a marathon–not a real marathon that gives me a cool “26.1” bumper sticker, but a writing assignment that made me feel the way I imagine myself running a marathon. (Yes, you can infer by the way I worded that sentence I have never run a marathon and never plan to run a marathon.) Lots of excitement at the beginning, plenty of tears in the middle, a few exhaustion collapses, and high-fives and emotional thank you’s to my loved ones who kept me alive when I was hyperventilating. I wrote four devotionals that are now in the She Reads Truth Bible. The majority of the other contributors probably described it as a relaxing walk through the park, but for me this project was a true challenge. Like so many marathon finishers, what I learned during the struggle far outweighs the joy of crossing the finish line. I felt and tasted and heard and saw the truth we all uncover during challenges. When I am pushed beyond my own limits and I know success is miles away from the reach of my own hand, my only choice is to trust in the help of my good, good Father. And He never disappoints us. He never pushes us away for being weak. He is always faithful.
If you’re interested in reading more about She Reads Truth or their recently released Bible, visit shereadstruth.com.
I hate the word “should.” Throughout my day, my emotions and voice
rise when I feel the word should bubbling beneath the surface. Deep down
inside, I picture how I think life should be, and the difference of what is
becomes an emotional space bursting with disgust for myself and anger
for those around me.
You all (yes, that is the unsatisfying northern version of y’all), it is time to celebrate.
Join me wherever you are by drinking some coffee or quoting a Gilmore Girl episode or eating a piece of chocolate (or a kale chip if you’re one of those amazing people who don’t eat sugar…I know you’re out there and I hope to join you someday.)
My baby turned 2 last week. Instead of silently sobbing while I stuff torn KitKat wrappers under my pillow, I’m going back to a wisp of truth I caught for a moment and tried to nail down with words. It’s from years ago when my now-medium kids were littles. I’m hoping it will help me ponder my baby’s official exit of babyhood with accomplishment. And of course I’ll still shed a few sentimental tears while I stuff a completely appropriate amount of wrappers under my pillow. Continue reading
In the midst of doing what I love, I also get to be who I am—a mom who takes a toddler potty a thousand times a day, a homeschooler who teaches “school schtuff,” a wife who (most of the time) folds laundry, a friend who makes friends laugh by sometimes snorting when I laugh, and at rare moments a marketing writer. Continue reading