Baby On My Hip

Yesterday I sat down in a beautiful auditorium to witness a beautiful moment. The church reserved seating for family and friends to observe the life-changing proclamation my son made to follow Christ.

There were 20 seats reserved for our group. And we were pressed to fit. Almost immediately after taking my seat, the grief sunk in. And an amount of loneliness. Of all of the 20 seats, only one of those was filled with a member from my family of origin. The others were my husband’s family and our close friends. Overwhelmed with joy and gratitude for those surrounding us and grief for those who didn’t, I cried. And I cried. And I cried.

Most of us are familiar with grief. And the experience is different for every person and even the same person in different circumstances. The grief I experienced with the loss of my first love, my grandfathers, and my exquisite grandmother all come with immense sadness partnered with joyful memories and experiences. Remembering each can bring me comfort and happy memories at times.

But grieving the living has been a very different experience for me. Sometimes we are separated from relationships due to necessary circumstances. And we grieve the loss of that loved one and deep down wish things could be different. They could be there, but they can’t.

In other circumstances, we grieve something we never had. We might not grieve the person as much as the relationship or bond that was never formed. The empty space in our hearts for a father we never knew or a mother we never had. A mentally ill parent or an alcoholic family member……We can make peace with the boundaries we set. We can make peace with having no contact with those that hurt us. Some of them we miss. Some of them we do not. But it is in moments like my son’s baptism that I believe we will always grieve the empty seats, even of the living.

It’s in these moments we can be starkly reminded of the gaping holes in our family or childhood. And the empty seats likely symbolize great pain and loss -for many of us- over a lifetime. We can grieve what we never had.

Unlike the living, I didn’t grieve my grandmother’s passing in that moment. Because my grandmother was there. She was there in the love and grace she showed me. She was there in me. And in my children.

An important exercise in yoga is allowing oneself to experience polarized emotions at the same time. Grief and joy. The tears running down were filled with both. Joy for the ones God so sweetly provided to fill those seats for my baby. Grief for the ones not present. Joy for the beauty of watching my child begin his eternal journey with Jesus and the hope that brings. Comfort in the knowledge that God can and does fill the empty spaces in His way.

If you are grieving the living today, you are not alone. And know, that it is okay. Grief is hard and overwhelming. But it absolutely can be felt in the exact same moments as joy if we can find a way to allow them both in.

Much much love ❤️ and blessings.

Last night at a little league basketball game, I sat four feet from a large man with a booming voice who yelled repeatedly for his child to get my child……every time. After the second time the young boy, who kept looking to his father for direction, took my son to the ground on a layup I finally started to say, “that’s my baby.”

I continued to cheer for the young boys on both teams -his included- when they made good plays or shots. Because win or lose, those are LITTLE boys who are all out there to have fun and are playing their little hearts out.

Being aggressive as a player takes skill. Hurting other players to win, takes none. There is such irony in the fact that so many adults are concerned with the state of our society: bullying, violence, youth suicide, mental illness, and addiction. Yet, we are more than willing to encourage our children to prioritize winning over people….even expect it in some cases. And stand scratching our heads when they go to school or get on social media and treat one another hurtfully.

If you are a parent or coach who encourages bending the rules, pushing, stomping, or any of the like so your team takes away the W, hear me say……..sports aren’t real. Sports ARE NOT real.

This might be a good time to reflect. We might be unknowingly getting caught up in the moment and acting in a manner that is opposite of our true belief system.

If you jump up and down and scream at the court or field in a way that isn’t encouraging or positive……if your yells aren’t cheers…..you are a bully. You are a grown person screaming at a young child, period. And every child on that court or field deserves to be out there without being bullied by adults.

I saw a child get out on third base last year. He lay on the baseline and pounded the base with his fists. It was unnerving and upsetting to watch. And when he walked off the field, I completely understood why he had reacted that way. I assume it was his father that screamed at him in a way that chilled my spine, “why did you do that?!” After hearing his father yell that way, I decided I might have reacted the same way as that little boy. He knew that because he was out, he was about to face fury.

I have an aggressive child. He can be fiercely competitive. I always fear him being drafted onto the team of a coach that won’t temper that in him. With the slightest encouragement, my son can become an insatiable monster who can’t handle losing. Another parent asked me how I get my boys to stay so calm in sports. Let it be known they have their moments. We are far from perfect.

Someone gave me a book about raising boys years ago. The author communicated the true benefits of sports to society in the development of young men and the direct benefit of allowing healthy aggression and team comradery to combat violence. Boys that are allowed to be aggressive and competitive in a healthy manner express their anatomical need for aggression and therefore have less need for violence to relieve their innate tension.

Here’s the truth. We persistently tell our children that sports are not real. That always winning or always being the best isn’t a real thing either. They will win. They will also be outplayed. They will strike out. And thinking anything else will lead them to a lifetime of heartache. We tell them that sports are meant to be a fun outlet for children to PLAY and learn. Not learn how to be a superstar. To learn: how to listen to direction, to be a good teammate, to work together, to rely on others, to learn how to work for something, to learn how to win, to cheer for others when they succeed, to learn how to lose, to learn how to be a good person, to keep your cool when things are hard, to get up when you mess up or get knocked down. So many wonderful things to be learned on that court or field.

It is absolutely understood in our home, that the second sports stop building character or making you a better person, they have lost their genuine purpose and will no longer exist for us.

The adults are the teachers. If we are so distorted in our priorities that winning becomes the focus, our children will have the same. The mentality that I’m gonna get mine no matter what it takes can be directly traced to the total lack of consideration for others that is the devastating philosophy driving the catastrophic state of our children. Unfortunately, they aren’t even in the driver’s seat. They are pawns being used by us to further this toxic belief system. Yet, we can’t figure out why they are so apathetic, mean to one another, depressed, angry, anxious…..

Sit down. Just sit down. Cheer for them. Let them see you cheering for them. Let them be children. Let them learn the things they could be learning that will inevitably make their world a better place. If we want our kids to live in a world where people are considerate, hard working, team players, honest, kind, where people value one another, and all of the things listed above, little league is a great place to start.

Last week while rushing through the aisles of Target I discovered something poignant about myself. And it had nothing to do with the dollar aisle or home decor. Although I kind of wish it had; it would have been much more fun to write about.

Hurriedly walking through the main aisle, a woman was coming out of a smaller aisle pushing a cart, and we met. We didn’t run into one another by any means, but there was an abrupt moment where we both scared one another at the unexpected appearance of someone in our path.

I have an overactive startle response. This is one of the few things I’ve always been able to recognize about myself. So I, of course jumped a great deal more than she did. And I felt the sensation of being startled pulsate throughout my entire body. I immediately apologized. Not a polite, “excuse me.” But a deep, “I am so sorry.”

The woman stared at me for a brief moment, then continued pushing her cart.

Walking away from the exchange, I felt physically impacted. She —from what I could assume by her reaction— did not. Now, I don’t know how she felt. But based on the interaction, she appeared unaffected.

As I learn more and more about myself, I am seeing patterns arising in my interactions, in my autonomic responses, in my perceptions…..

The fact that this person had the exact same experience as me yet had an incredibly different response was enlightening to say the least. I realized that I receive so much of what is happening around me internally; where there are actually people walking around the world who are not internally affected by everything they encounter. This was nuts. I thought, there are people who go throughout their days that don’t have intrinsic bodily reactions to any and all stimuli?

Walking around in this state has led to exhaustion and an underlying experience of assault in even minor interactions. Possessing a hyper-vigilance towards danger and a over-whelming sense of responsibility for other people’s happiness, safety, and/or emotions creates an environment where someone might just have an overactive response to walking up on someone in Target.

It also very clearly brings to light a serious denial of self. Somehow, I have learned to believe that her right to be there in that moment was bigger than my own. She had a right to that space, and I felt gross for imposing on it. She, however, did not express the same belief.

As I ponder the larger implications of these aspects of myself, I can see them everywhere. Interactions with sounds and people feel intense. Because they are intense. Because they are impacting my nervous system. And therefore, I feel intruded upon and often powerless. And many times, exhausted. The implications of not feeling worthy of taking up space in the world, results in becoming invisible, mirroring people’s wants, minimizing my own, feeling unseen, and possibly frustration for feeling all of these things.

The biggest concern comes in the recognition that I have walked around like this for 40 years. What if a mere 10% of the population (likely greater) walks around receiving every interaction internally like I do? Would this contribute to the social conflict we are observing in society?

Are we walking around vulnerable to internal threat in seemingly non-threatening situations? When we experience slight and casual interactions on an internal level how could we possibly feel regulated or safe? The environments around us are constantly controlling our nervous systems.

From experience, that’s a rollercoaster. It only seems logical to me, if other people are experiencing what I am, and if they don’t possess a hiding, freezing, or disappearing response to threat rather a fight response to the same stimuli, this could result in external aggression. I personally prefer to turn my aggression inward.

I am not saying my goal is to walk through the world completely unaware or unaffected by the very real needs of others. But I am BIG interested in obtaining a stance where I feel safe in my own body and limit my input to a degree where things like Target become enjoyable and not exhausting.

Until now, I don’t think I really understood people lived the other way. And if anyone reading this experiences the world on a internal and exhausting level:

• Start watching for regulated people who aren’t constant receptors
• take note of the ease they navigate situations without interruptions in homeostasis
• realize there is another way to experience the world
• work like crazy to figure out how to get there
• know that you are not alone

As a former extrovert, in an extroverted career, I worked tirelessly to help people. I felt an obligation and a compulsion to meet the needs of those God placed in my path. Some events led to an abrupt exit from that career, which piggybacked on the abrupt end to life-long relationships. My world was flipped turned upside down.

The brokenness and destruction surrounding these events and losses led to an isolated journey and desperate desire for healing. Aside from the depression and grief I was inevitably experiencing, there was a foundational need to change more than just my career. My home was in shambles—a direct representation of my internal state.

With every invitation for coffee, lunch, a visit— due to my seemingly new freedom from the day job—I cringed. I cringed at the thought of social obligations. I felt as if this time alone was imperative, and I needed every second of it. I began to believe that I was allergic to people and that I was simply hiding from the world. But what was happening and is still happening is a transformation.

In these days where I am sitting alone, I am searching for something I have never been able to find. As I sit with God, prayerfully engaging in His word and spirit, reading and consuming all that I can to grow, I am healing. Slowly.

I am coming to realize that I am not allergic to people. I am allergic to the situations that trigger my shame and obligation. These silent and often dark moments have allowed me the opportunity to evaluate the destruction my constant desire to save people, help people, fill their needs emotional and physical, has had on my spirit and those I love the most.

This may sound extreme given a lack of knowledge or backstory. But in an honest look at myself, I realized that the shame, guilt, and unworthiness bestowed upon me as a small child has persisted and motivated my every thought and action. I NEEDED to help people. I NEEDED to feel like a good person. I NEEDED to do enough, care enough, to finally absolve myself of the shame that permeated my very existence.

And with the separation of constant service as a bandaid, I began to feel intense anxiety toward situations that I knew would trigger this guilt, obligation, and shame. Without a backdrop of trauma, one might not understand why merely turning down an invitation or juggling the fragile emotions of others feels impossible. Here’s why. When confronted with these feelings, I disappear. A magic trick I acquired at an early age to avoid attack and numb my own feelings in order to remain safe externally and internally.

This trick served me well as a youth. But as a wife and mother to three glorious children, it’s catastrophic. I am finally connecting my triggers with my coping mechanisms, and my coping mechanisms with the loss my children and husband experience as a result. They lose me. And not because I want to fail them. Because my brain perceives these situations as dangerous —because they were — and my current autonomical response is self-preservation.

In this season, I am grateful to be here. Sitting at the feet of Christ humbly asking for transformation. Focusing my energy and attention to freeing my spirit from bondage and toward repairing the relationships and tending to the needs of these sweet children who have already lost much. To breaking the cycles of hurt plaguing generations of my family. Giving them all of the love and attention they genuinely deserve just as a child.

I eagerly await the time when I can emerge, healed in spirit and home to serve God outside of these walls. When this happens, I will not be serving to fill a hole inside myself. I will be serving as a Christian filled to the brim with grace.

After spending so much of my time worrying myself with the demands of the world around me, I have finally found my place. I was Martha. Now I am blessed to have the chance to be Mary. It’s not easy to stop the internal obsession of busy, seeking validation through my acts and contributions. It’s quite counterintuitive. I’m wired to be a Martha.

Waging war against the strongholds of generational trauma is exhausting, but so was the weight of carrying them. Changing the world is God’s job. Placing myself in position and doing the work to allow God to heal my spirit, is mine. Breaking the painful patterns of generational trauma in order for my children to rise into the world as strong Christians, my job.

Sometimes, we are called to be still. In my stillness, He is working. And I am so grateful.

When we moved into this house, there were so many questions. Most of the questions were from me, as I had never lived in town. I had never lived in a neighborhood. I had never lived anywhere where one could have pizza delivered to their house. We moved onto a street that had almost entirely been inhabited by retired people.

Well unfortunately for them, our family is anything but quiet. Since then, other families with small children have moved onto the street. It is lively to say the least.

The home right beside of ours houses a retired preacher and his wife. When we moved here, I just thought she was a quiet wife to a Baptist preacher.

In the last eight years, I have seen the progression of faith and devotion. And thankfully, so have my children. The beautiful wife, who I thought was simply timid, was battling health problems that I knew nothing about. Her health declined, then revived and declined again.

We have been here for 8 years. We have watched this man push her chair (when she was unable to walk), or walk her hand in hand on small journeys out to feel the warm sunlight. I have seen him take her to church, guide her to the swing to sit, and struggle to get her out into the world so she can see and feel life.

His kindness and grace has been evident to me. But more importantly, to my boys. My boys have seen this love. They have witnessed his unshakable love for his wife. There are no words that can explain what witnessing a man who loves his wife in this way means. He makes sure she is wearing makeup. He ensures she is wearing a broach and her favorite earrings. I’m assume that years have gone by in their marriage where he was busily serving the church that she was unsure that he even noticed the care she put into what sweater and which broach she wore together. But in these years, it is evident….he noticed. He takes such pride in ensuring that she looks the way she always did– beautiful.

Every woman wants to be loved the way Mrs. Rebecca is loved. We all long to know that someone will love us unconditionally. But what I have witnessed surpasses any of those expectations.

We received an unimaginable blessing when we moved onto this street. True love and commitment residing right next door. Every year on their anniversary, he relives their love story’s beginnings for us. He colorfully tells us how she chose him over a brand new car, and how they married the day after his birthday so people wouldn’t judge because she was a few months older…all with boyishly growing excitement and love.

Thank you, Mr. Whittacker for showing the 7 young children on this street (and their parents) how strong, resilient, timeless, and pure love can be.

❤️ Shalom Mr. Whittacker and Mrs. Rebecca

I have been teaching high school for a very long time. So very long. There are certain and real truths that emerge while watching youth grow. You see, high school can very similarly mimic the adult world.

This is truth: any time there is controversy or a fight amongst teenagers, there are always parties standing by. Among these parties when one looks closely, we can find the catalyst, the antagonist, the gasoline.

So often we get so wrapped up in watching or fighting against the “aggressors” or the ones drawing the most attention. I can promise you this: those individuals are not at the center of the problem.

In all of my experience, the individuals that are at the center of the issue, the pain and the anger are standing idly by and watching the fire burn. The fire in which they started. And they watch as the innocent parties fight a battle that they insighted. And all too often they walk away unscathed.

We are in a place where we are forced to see blue versus black. And both sides see hate and violence. And both parties are currently afraid. And we know enough about the human brain to know that when fear arrives, logic leaves.

Look it up.

Fear paralyzes the frontal lobe. And the frontal lobe allows humans to think and process, to make decisions that are based on logic and consequence.

But are we looking at the crowd? Are we looking around to see the real cause? Those standing smiling on the sidelines when other more real and genuine people do their bidding. I promise. They are there.

Recently, my family attended a peaceful vigil for prayer and love. One-hundred feet away were strangers heavily armed with visible assault rifles. These individuals were not invested in our community. They were from another state entirely. They didn’t care about us or our town, yet when asked about their attendance they claimed they were present to “ensure safety.” They were not police officers who leave their families on holidays to ensure our safety. Our local police officers were not as heavily armed nor as guarded. Our officers were not afraid, nor was I, nor were my children. The citizens were not afraid. Until the strangers bearing arms appeared. When my children saw strangers (whom they didn’t know or trust) brandishing visible guns, they were afraid. Those men were ugly. Their sole purpose was to instill fear. And fear breeds panic. And panic breeds chaos.

Their sole purpose was to bring chaos. Who were they there to protect? Me? My little white children? I was in no danger nor were my children. And in all of our whiteness, we were more afraid of those ugly men than anyone present or in our everyday community. Luckily, I live in a sweet, docile town where all people feel loved and protected for the most part. But that is not true everywhere. And for that, I am sad. In my town, police and civilians alike came together for love. And the reason this is possible is that is how most citizens of my community live their daily lives. But we have an intimacy that isn’t present in most places of the world. And I recognize that.

However no matter what city or state you live in, I ask that you please please stop. Don’t stop fighting for good. For the love of all things good- don’t stop standing up for what is right. Just stop and take a breath and see past what is being “said.” Please look around. There is pain. But there is good. And we must not allow those few -very few- to light our fires in a way that blinds us from grace and paralyzes us to the point where we fight the wrong bad guys. Those ugly people are waiting. They WANT to see the world burn for whatever side they “believe.” Do not be their hands. Do not fight their battles. Do NOT put yourself in harm’s way to fight for a coward spouting lies on the sidelines while they watch you sacrifice your safety, time, family, and peace. The most pure and genuine people are the ones standing beside and even those across from you, no matter what side you are standing.

Every minority you encounter is not the opposition. Nor is every police officer. As we have seen in recent days, so many officers are leaving the safety of their homes to fight a losing war that they may likely not agree with. But they believe in civility and safety. And so many of our beloved minorities are doing the same and have been for many years. There is a message to be heard. But that message is of love, respect, and truth. And the truth is, both sides have been doing this for years and years before it became trendy to side with either. There are ugly guys on both sides. But ugly is the minority, not the majority! Let me say that again, the ugly is the minority, not the majority.

Yet, it will take all of us: black, blue, brown, white, red, and purple to take a step back and look at this with genuine perspective. Who is the real and true cause of our pain? People are hurting. But that does not mean that every person you meet is the cause for your pain. We need grace. We need real perspective. Or this battle will not accomplish anything but more heartache.

Stop. Just for a second. Humans have a right to feel free. Officers who are also humans have a right to feel safe to sacrifice for that freedom. And if we can just find the catalysts and remove their power over people, we will find a new world. Because I can promise this….most people are good.

Shalom (God’s perfect peace),

A mother whose heart hurts for the world my children will live in, a teacher who longs for a world where she doesn’t have to teach her students the unspoken rules of society, and a soul that longs for a world where we can simply love the way that we are so generously loved.

In my new and current role, I have been blessed with the opportunity to guide young people toward the direction of service.

Service seems simple. It appears to be a close and shut case, right? Wrong. We live in a world that supports the idea that service comes with stipulations. I will bless you if you NEED it. I will bless you if you meet my standards of what neediness looks like. I will bless you if you look the part, meet my mental picture of what neediness looks like, or if you appear to be trying to bless yourself.

When I pass you at an intersection holding a sign stating you need help to feed your starving children, only, if only, I feel like you are deserving of my blessing, I will concede and then sit back basking in my self-righteous glory that I gave and fulfilled my command to God.

What a terrible and misguided mentality that is.

Who am I? Who am I to determine your level of neediness or deserving when I am so blissfully and undeservingly blessed? Sure, I get up and go to work every morning and so does my husband. But does that mean that we are more deserving than any other human being to receive love and light? Plenty of people work their entire lives to never get the chance to live as comfortably as most of us do. It’s completely narcissistic to the think that hard-work alone placed you in such a comfortable place. And if you do believe that……

We make snap judgements and say “they should” or “if they did”, but the reality is that those stipulations are self-centered and nasty. True grace is given with no knowledge or understanding of the recipient. After all, the grace most of us so readily accept is given rather than earned, yet we aren’t willing to offer the same to our fellow man.

As Christians, we accept a grace we did nothing to deserve. We are freely given a love and grace that we offered no sweat, no pain, no work to receive. Yet, we turn to our neighbor and say, “you don’t meet my expectations of my gift, therefore you are unworthy.” How conceited. How arrogant to think that we are the Shepards that get to dole out the haves and have nots of those around us.

I make so many mistakes. More than I genuinely care to admit. But I strive to teach our children (mine and yours) that service is not a blessing to hold fast to–waiting for the opportunity to bless someone that meets a mental picture we have of a deserving candidate, but an idea that as blessed and freed people we are called to serve blindly. We are called to serve all. That means we serve those who look the part, just the same as those who do not. So often students ask me, “what if they spend the money on drugs?” What if they do? “What if they don’t really need it?” What if they don’t? None of those variables change any part of the equation because we are the Shepherds of our own souls. Service is our calling. It is our responsibility. The only thing we are in control of, accountable for, and responsible for is ourselves.

In a mad rush this morning, I pulled into the gas station trying to decide how I was going to pump my gas and get on the road in time to make my appointment. My leg is broken and pumping it on crutches would have taken triple the time. When I pulled into the station I saw a former student I hadn’t seen in years. In a rush, I asked him to help me. Without asking for a single detail, without asking me to justify why I needed him, he smiled and said, “yes.” It was a perfect example of grace. He was ready and willing to help me without any qualifiers or explanation.

In my home there have been many heated conversations about my blind and sometimes silly service. My husband and I both teeter on the edge of going too far at times and have to check ourselves and one another because it is easy to get all wrapped up in the process. I steer far from any public proclamations that bring light toward us because that is ugly. The ugliest of ugly, really. Truthfully, that is just as detrimental toward His purpose as any other selfish act we could mention. But in this season, I feel it important to remind myself and all of us that we do not give because of the merit of the recipient. We bless because we were blessed without stipulations. We were loved before we were worthy. We were blessed before we deserved it. None of us will ever truly be worthy of the love we freely receive. Let us look around and search for the opportunity to bless, and to bless without requirement or restriction. We love because He first loved us.

So much love — Shalom,

❤️

My sister sent me this picture last week as a reminder. Unfortunately I had forgotten this gem along with so many others.

This picture represents a time in my life when I didn’t really have time to document the daily fun and struggles. I think the oldest was three. The middle was two, which meant the baby was an infant. The oldest had gotten into the car (keep in mind he was three) and unbuckled the two year old’s seat just for fun.

It is with regret that I admit that I didn’t catch this. I had no idea. My husband drove my car somewhere, and when he took a turn the middle child toppled over in his seat. He was buckled into the seat which made this situation much worse.

My two year old was sitting sideways in the back seat. Helpless because he was strapped in. Some might say, “how could this happen?” Others might say, “I get that. Happened to me once or twice before.”

There were many hard times in our home. Many days when we just barely kept everyone alive. This picture made me laugh. Although there weren’t many days when I laughed at the time, it was still a very fun, beautiful, yet challenging time. On more than one occasion, I called or messaged my husband before 9 am to tell him to pray because I wasn’t sure I could keep them all alive that day.

I’m certain I’m not the only one. I’m certain we all feel like our very best is nowhere near enough. There were so many days that I cried in silence. Not because I was a mom, but because I was human. These kids are amazing. They are so brilliantly funny and ingenious. And some days I cackle and laugh at the absurdity that is our lives, and some days I crumble at the idea that I can’t be everything.

No one was hurt in the sneaky unbuckling of the car seat. Unfortunately, until my sister shared it, I had forgotten this epic moment (which was another tragedy in itself).

We all think that we couldn’t possibly forget. But we do. Because our lives are demanding. We battle the never-ending piles of housework, ball schedules, spelling lists, and the million other things on the never-ending to-do lists. I promised myself I would never forget. But I have.

I was certain I couldn’t forget anything like the other mothers who have gone before. I knew that every minute was so demanding and so challenging they would be seared in my memory forever. But I am not special. I am just like all of the moms before me.

But when I received this picture I realized that none of that is even remotely true. Even now, every day at our house is a gamble of who will live and who will need stitches…and as hard as I tried to be sure I never lost a moment, they are gone. This funny and scary memory was simply and easily wiped from my brain.

As special as I like to think I am… I am not. As special as I like to think this journey my family embarked on is, it’s not. I am not the only mom who prays for safety for her children to live through the day in her care. We have been doing this for centuries. In the moment, we all think, there’s no way I could ever forget my toddler flooding the kitchen, or I’ll always remember the day my toddler covered the house in vaseline. But we do. We all do.

We are surrounded by distractions and expectations that keep us from being able to live in the moment. I allow the mundane to distract me and steal my joy. The truth is, I’ll never remember every score on every spelling test. And unfortunately I will fail to remember the moments that I so earnestly long to remember.

I am currently battling my desire to be everything the world tells me to be, because it is in direct conflict with who my heart tells me to be for my family. I so much want to be present. I think we all do. And currently, I am losing that battle. I don’t know the answers. But I’m just going to keep on fighting. And praying. And hoping I’ll get a strength from God to be able to manage. Because if you have read more than one of my blogs, you will know I need something greater than myself to make it.

Much love mommas.

❤️ Shalom.

I see all of these posts about moms who don’t need friends. They don’t need anyone outside of their families. And that is awesome. And amazing. But that’s not me.

Judge me. Shame me. But I need my girls. This is tricky. Because I don’t pretend to think that what I have is what every woman has. I am honest enough to understand that I have been blessed with a ridiculously special “tribe” of women. And I have undoubtedly the very best friends that any one could ask for. And I NEED them.

I need them to pull me out of myself. I need them to remind me who I am. I need them to laugh at me, with me, for me. God gave me women: women that were strong, faithful, resilient, funny, and loyal.

He knew that I would stumble and sometimes fall. He knew I needed friends to drag me out of my house kicking and screaming to remember my heart and my passion.

When I see those posts about women who don’t need friends I think, “you go!” But I also know that I need my women. A part of me wonders if those girls who don’t need friends are ok. I wonder if they have the same feelings I have about feeling lost and overwhelmed. Maybe some women don’t feel completely inadequate on a daily basis. I certainly hope so. I, however, feel like I failed, like I’m not enough, like I should have been more or done more every, single day. But I also know, all of our journeys are different.

But this girl, she needs her friends. God gave me these women through much pain and heartache. Heartache that I obviously would trade in a second. But when I stop to think about the richness and beauty they bring to me, my life, my faith, and my family, I realize why. Each one was brought to me to serve a purpose. And with each one I have a deep connection that has nothing to do with graduation dates, or kids’ birthdays, or convenience. These women feed my soul. They know my heart. They feed my spirit.

They remind me of who I want to be. They call me out when I am being bratty or selfish. They love me and push me to my limits. They carry me when I am down.

I wish all women had friends whom they feel a deep connection to. A friend they simply can’t live without. I can’t imagine a single breath without them. And the good news is that they support my purpose. We are all trying to be the best versions of wives and mothers that we can be. We don’t abandon our responsibilities to run off together when it’s convenient. They want me to be the best for my family. They want and expect me to be better.

We build one another up and hold one another when we are weak. These women tell me when I am wrong. They don’t allow me to fold. They hold me accountable when I am self-righteous or self-centered. And as hard as it is to swallow, they make me better. They make me a better mom, wife, and Christian. I might not always love what they have to say…but I can trust that these women love me enough to make me comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.

For all of the posts out there that state that there are women who don’t have close friends and for that they are thankful- kuddos. You rock. If you are able to juggle the insurmountable challenges of life without help, you are a Wonder Woman. I’ll gladly accept that I am not that strong. I need my girls. I honestly need them like air. And God knew that, which is why He wove them into my soul through heartache, pain, joy, and laughter. They are my breath. And I am certain God strategically placed each of them in my life to make me stronger and better for my purpose through Him.

I am humbled that He loves me enough to go to any length to surround me with beautiful souls that I probably don’t deserve. And I will never, ever celebrate the fact that I don’t need or want them. So much love and

Shalom,

A struggling woman. ❤️

On your last day with the family before the rush of school starts back….you do something. You try to make it meaningful. My husband took off from work, and we decided to go kayaking (my goal, not his).

On the way out of town we stopped for snacks. I took full advantage of having him in tow as I “dashed” into Walmart for supplies And left him in the car with all three children. I was making pretty good progress and time. I was in the napkins aisle and just finishing up the last bit of necessities for a lunch on the river. I turned and saw a face. I’m pretty sure I saw the face once and moved on with my life because I was busy. I had things to do. People were waiting. But then I saw the face again. Underneath a ball cap as I was staring at the (forgive me) plastic utensils 🤭 I saw it again.

I saw the face of the woman who nurtured and loved my husband and I through one of the darkest times of our journey. There she was…standing right by the plastic knives and forks. And her sweet face hadn’t changed. She spoke my name.

When I saw her, for a moment I couldn’t breathe. And then it came. Tears. Tears rushed from my toes, to my heart, and came rushing out of my eyes. I began to sob uncontrollably right there in the napkin aisle at Walmart. All I could say was, “God knew I needed to see your face.”

The truth is I’m struggling. My family is just barely staying afloat. We are in new waters. And I’m not always sure I’m equipped. The very day before I was speaking to my husband about one the last sermons I heard her husband give. I go back to it often. I need to hear it again. Probably weekly. He spoke of the men in the boat in the storm. They looked around for any type of savior. They kept searching and no rescue came. All at once -with no warning- Jesus appeared on the water. He was the last place they looked for comfort. Yet, He was the only One who could offer safety.

As I stood in the napkin aisle at Walmart searching for the last pieces to make our trip successful, I stumbled upon a face. A face that represented the good and glory and never- ending love we are supposed to have, to find. She is not a savior. But her face is a reminder that when we are stranded, destitute, drowning, that we can look for all kinds of answers….many types of saviors. But the only answer is clear. It is sweet. It is gentle. It never fails. Even when we are looking for something different.

She and her husband have since moved into a different chapter of their lives. And so have we. But in so many moments we reach back far into our memories to find the strength that God meant for us through their guidance. The strength He used those people to teach us. But in moments of despair and weakness when we are especially barren- He ever so gently says, “Remember.” Remember where you were, remember that I met you in the storm. And remember that I am faithful. I will meet you. I will be with you. I will be in the storms. I will be in the aisles at Walmart even when you aren’t looking. I will never leave you, no matter how big the task or obstacles seem. I’m there. Always.

I hugged her tightly. Probably longer and harder than I should have. I love her. I love her for what she was and is and what she represents in my journey. I love her for being there. I needed to see her face. I needed to see her face to remind me that the God I had 10 years ago isn’t different than the God I have today. I have changed. My life has changed. But He is always the same.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe my lack of strength or consistency is what is causing me so much anxiety and strife. He sent me that moment. He wanted me to feel covered in love and peace. He hasn’t moved. I have. When the men in the boat were terrified and afraid- they were disciples. They had seen and knew of Jesus’s strength; yet, they immediately looked to another source for safety. It’s definitely me. Not maybe but definitely. I have seen His miracles. I have seen His grace. Yet in the midst of this storm, my first reaction is to look for some foreign savior.

And He was ever so sweetly there. He wasn’t walking on water, but He was there. As I stood in the boat fearing for my survival, purpose , and existence, He was there in the distance. Even when I couldn’t make out His shape and wondered what in the world was coming to save me. It was Him. Right there in the storm. Gently and sweetly gliding across a tumultuous, stormy ocean to save a person or persons whose faith was evidently inadequate.

I believe. I know. But I am sitting here in the knowledge that in this storm as I looked out across that scary ocean my response was the same as the disciples. I saw a ghost, I saw a lot of things coming to save me, all of which were before I saw God. I knew He could. I believed He would, yet I looked for something else. Some other form or being for safety. But there He was in all of His gentleness and mighty, standing right there in front of me atop the unstable waters promising me comfort, stability, safety, and grace.

This very same woman told me once that God breathed the very same breath of life into me as every single person on this planet. Knowing that He created me, breathed life into me, yet I continue to look for another rescuer is sobering.

We look around all day seeing the faults of others. They should have… I can’t believe they.. Yet, I am no different. I know His power and grace. He has delivered my family. He has shown me He is with me. And I still look out upon the stormy waters in search of rescue from something else. She was right. The same God breathed life into every single one of us. I fail. We all fail. And the very best news is that He never fails. He waits patiently for the moment to say, “I’m right here.”

Some of us walk closely with God for our whole journey. Others of us walk closely with Him for a time and slowly move away. When we meet someone who is in despair, do we step back in judgement and cross our arms, or do we lovingly say, “hey, I’ve been there, too” with open arms and a smiling face?

We can rate our discretions. We can say, “well at least I haven’t …..”, but the truth is we all fail. We all at some point look for some other rescue whether it be drugs, alcohol, people, money, or fame. We are all like those disciples. And can we just remember that every breathing human on this planet was created by the same breath of God? And we all need grace. His grace. And we all need to extend that to those around us, even when they don’t look like we think they should. He is calling us to remind our fellows that He is present, close, and ready to rescue us from all despair. It’s our duty. Because if for no other reason, we need someone to do it for us.

❤️ Shalom