How can I desire to shine the light of justice and mercy into the world when I won’t let it shine into the dark places of my own heart?
Some of you won’t want to hear this. Some of you will. Some of you will be angry. Some of you will rejoice. I realize I run the risk of alienating some friends and family if I expose just where it is that this journey is taking me. And for those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, start reading here.
I’ve known for awhile now, but haven’t told many. It’s just too hard, and yet, it’s really quite simple. I started out on this road thinking I would write this book and get this all off my chest and finally …
My sweet toddler perched on her own swingset in her own backyard.
My favorite part about tucking my toddler in each night (other than disciplining her multiple times for running out of her bedroom) is caressing her soft, smooth, round cheeks. I talk to her in a low voice, and wish her sweet dreams. The lights are very dim, but I can still see her liquid blue eyes as they start to take on a less alert state. Tonight, I asked if she wanted to pray, and was surprised when she took the lead. And because it was just so sweet, I must spell out her words exactly as she said them.
Heavenwee Fodder, pwease help my daddy, and my mommy, and my Anna. And pwease help my singset. Amen.
As I finished up with kisses and hugs, I …
“You’re going to what?!” I believe this was my initial reaction (internally) several years ago when my sister said she wanted to adopt. And not an infant, a middle-school age boy, a couple of years younger than her youngest. It was something God was calling her to do, though, and I couldn’t argue with that. But I kind of thought she was crazy. I mean, most mothers are bittersweet about their last one leaving the nest, but don’t necessarily start backfilling.
My sister and her husband (and some other legal-type guy) with their new son.
My sister is sixteen years my senior, and although age kept us at a distance growing up, she’s now my best friend. One, two, three, four, my nephews entered the world, starting when I was five years old. They seem more …
Happy mommy, happy girls. This time has been precious, but I know the future holds even more sweet moments.
This isn’t really an announcement so much as it is an explanation. Back in March 2012, I opted out of the workforce, leaving my job as director of communications for a statewide non-profit to stay home with my girls (then ages 10 months and two years). I’ve chronicled the ups, the downs, my insecurities and my successes. I found I have a heart for moms, and helping them find their ideal balance, whether it be at home full time, at work full time, or somewhere in between.
I didn’t pursue much freelance work at first, just simply wanting to check out and enjoy my time with my precious girls. Over time, though, both my …
Father and daughter at sunset.
If you’re like me, when you latch on to a new hobby, you bite down…hard. You’re all consumed with dabbling in your new craft, often at the expense of family and friends. Lately, I can’t seem to pry my camera from my hand. I just keep snapping and snapping and snapping…and I’m sure it’s fairly annoying for my children and husband. And to be quite honest, it’s sucked some of my creative energy from my writing. But I’m trying to just go with it. I don’t want to do it for money, or take classes, or compete with others. I just want to do it for the sheer pleasure of seeing what I can capture.
So tonight, as the golden sunset began forming on the horizon, …
I might just have a couple champion bowlers on my hands.
Until recently, I avoided taking my girls out in public as much as possible. Too stressful. Too scary. Too many factors outside my control. What if they ran off in a parking lot and got run over? Or kidnapped? What if they wander off in a crowded store? What if we get in a car accident? Or, most likely, what if they have a monster meltdown on the floor of a…wait for it…nasty public bathroom? Ew. I forgot about those. Babies R’ Us, a place that’s supposed to cater to the family types quite possibly has the worst restrooms, and don’t get me started on the “nursing” rooms, that seem perpetually covered in trash and poopy diapers.
Ok, so enough about the dangers of leaving …