This is me:
I am that lady with all those kids.
I love my babies, all six of them.
I love my husband.
I love the way our life mixes with the life of the church where he is a pastor.
I love to write.
I hope this blog will make you smile, or pray, or cry, or think.
I hope it will encourage you in your vocation.
Now, a little about me:
|How my daughter taught me to be|
Weak and Loved
I am a list-maker.
I like my pretty little check marks, all in a row.
I like to be in control.
I like to be that person that helps everybody else.
I like to be strong.
But I have to be honest...
I have been driven to the edge by cereal left on the floor.
I have been tempted to run when I hear the word "mommy."
I have been shocked to discover the depth of selfishness in my own heart.
I have been flattened by epilepsy, depression, and grief.
...and yet, I am loved.
I am covered in covered in the blood of Christ, forgiven, and freed from the burden of pretending I am strong and self-sufficient. I am a woman growing backward, an adult discovering her weaknesses and sins, and becoming as a little child again. I am a mother-child, messy with sin, but rejoicing in the constant love of my Heavenly Father.
I am learning to be honest, even when it is awkward.
depend on His grace. I need it like I need air.
I need it more in every season of my life.
Grace frees me to be the child that I am,
and to ask my Father for help.
Welcome to my blog
I love when the kids pick wild flowers from the yard and bring them in to me. They give me a gift, that cost them nothing other than the time to pick it, and they are thanked for it. And rightly so: they noticed the beauty around them, they gathered it, and they couldn't help to share it with me.
I try to do that same thing here in this cyber place.
I notice, I gather, and I use words to pass the grace along.
You are living your own day, running through your list, tending your own garden. Your garden is filled with your own weeds and gifts and worries. I imagine you, when you come here, stopping for just a minute, taking a breath, and allowing my words into your day. What a privilege that is for me, to be with you in your work or in your rest. I hope my words are a slowing down and a pointing up and a passing on of blessings.
Why do I write?
I write because the flowers grow,
because the grace showers down on me
and I am compelled to gather it up in words.
I'd love to hear from you!
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