Author: jnadile13@gmail.com

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

We just took our annual girls’ trip. With all of our responsibilities, we have to move mountains to get there. We moved mountains, and we made it.

We escape to a retirement community in the off season–it’s mostly a ghost town. That’s exactly what we are looking for. Most days we sleep late and don’t go to the beach until almost dusk to try to avoid the unforgiving sun. So the beach is never crowded.

On this day, there may have been four other groups of people. We put up the umbrella, sat our chairs out, and soon after getting out our magazines the huge, daunting cloud moved in. After a couple of rumbles of thunder one friend, along with almost all of the other guests, grabbed her things and headed toward shelter.

Lightening struck out on the water, and the last group left on the beach packed their things, along with my second friend, and they all headed toward safety. At that point I thought, I should head in too. I don’t want to be caught out here in a terrible storm. But another part of me said, Stay. Be still. Be here.

One other friend must have had the same voice. We talked about leaving. We considered it. Honestly, we both had reservations. But neither of us were willing to give up just yet. We sat. We talked about life, love, loss. We watched for any sunlight or break in the clouds to cling to. But for a time, there wasn’t any.

All at once, the cloud moved out over the water, and the sun returned behind it. We saw the sun. And if we could just ride out the storm, we would get our beach day back.

God never leaves us. But there is something about the majesty of sitting in front of the ocean that reminds me how big He is. It makes me feel small. It makes my struggles and stresses feel small. It forces me to remember the beauty in all things He makes. If He can speak that ocean into existence, why am I so overwhelmed, anxious, and afraid?

I looked out toward the horizon. And there He was. His promise of love.

As scary as the cloud, storm, lightening, and thunder were, it never actually rained on us. It missed us completely.

It’s so hard to know when it is time to move and when it’s time to be still. Early in my relationship with my husband everything inside of me and outside of me told me to move on. But God told me to stay. I didn’t want to. But I did. And that has been the most beautiful and rewarding experience of my entire life.

Just as importantly, is to know when to move.

In the past year I have had an urgent desire to move. Just like when that lightening struck so close to the shore. My heart and body screamed, Go! Is it fear? Anxiety? Frustration? Or is God saying, “it’s time.”

I have messed up so many things. I have been wrong more times than I care to admit. I still have trouble trying to decipher His voice from my own. But the only true way to know when to go and when to be still is to listen. Griff is my rainbow after the storm. And my reminder that God brings beauty through the darkest of days if we let Him.

So much love.

❤️ Shalom❤️

Monday started like most. The baby couldn’t find her backpack. I saw her wearing it outside on Sunday, but nonetheless it was gone, and I didn’t have time to look for it. It’s preschool, so I just rolled with it. Monday afternoon the middle child’s teacher texted me to remind me that he was the groom in a wedding between Q and U at 7:30 the next morning. This was the first I had heard of this! But not because she hadn’t communicated it. There was a note…in the backpack. Oh the papers, oh the backpacks!

Tuesday started with dressing my son for the wedding. The other son was supposed to dress up as well. He wanted to wear a neck tie that we found in the bottom of a sock drawer. It was wrinkled. There was no time to iron. I actually attempted to iron it using my flat iron. Note: I was not fixing my hair. The flat iron was just nearby. Hair fixing, shoe tying, backpacks -all except for the babies which we still haven’t found- and climbing in the car. I pawned the preschooler (with a toy pet carrier in tow) off on a neighbor to get to school because there is no way to get her there and myself and the groom to the wedding on time.

Midday, I received a text from the preschool teacher that she is putting the school papers to come home in the pet carrier. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of this. Bless that teacher’s sweet heart.

Luckily, I have acquired a precious yet tough sitter to help out on Tuesday afternoons. At 3, she took the kids so I could have a tutoring session. While tutoring, I received a phone call from a co-worker in the parking lot. She thought I had been abducted. My car door was standing wide open and obviously had been all day long. I rush out at 4:15 to get to the yoga class I teach at 4:30. I try to focus and teach until 5:15, when my husband brings the baby to the gym because the boys have baseball practice.

The baby and I went home and she sat with her hand down my shirt and talked to me while I listened to my professor for my online Master’s class. Boys got home, ate, and went to bed all while I was in an interactive course. Once class was over, I had to wrap the oldest child’s birthday gifts. Due to a lack of materials (because anyone with children knows that one can buy all of the tape in the world and it will be gone in 11 days), I wrapped his gifts with Christmas paper turned inside out, gorilla glue, and neon bandaids.

At this point in the week I was feeling particularly creative and ingenious.

Well, happy birthday to my oldest! Pancakes for breakfast. Wait, he couldn’t find his homework. He was rolling around in the floor screaming like a dying cat because he was going to be in trouble at school. I begged and pleaded and coaxed him off of the ledge and into the car. I tried to explain to him that it is one assignment. This kiddo struggles to regulate-he doesn’t really have a middle. I convinced him that when we make mistakes we accept the consequences and move forward and do better. That he is in control of whether or not it ruins his day–his only birthday for 364 more days. This was not what he heard.

Spent the day having tests run on the middle and rush back to work to do “stuff.” Middle dumped entire milkshake in car in route. Received email from teacher–my son has told all of his teachers that he doesn’t care if he gets in trouble, no one can touch him, cause it’s his birthday. Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. OH MY GOODNESS.

I called her to explain that it was my fault and what I was trying to teach him. She was sweet and understanding, thankfully.

I rushed home. The plumbers and contractor were there. My mom was there with the kids. There was a new hole in my kitchen ceiling. Wait, what? A hole in the ceiling? I looked at the contractor, shrugged my shoulders and said, “well, it could be much worse.”

I returned to the main floor of the house and ran into my mom. She said something about the neighbor and a bird and my basement. I followed her into the basement trying to understand what was happening. The neighbor was mowing a field behind my house and could see a very large bird in my glass basement doors. At the moment she got the story out, I heard the bird flapping and hit my knees. I am terrified of birds.

At this moment I was ready to throw in the towel for the day. But it was my son’s birthday, and I couldn’t. I was ready to shut the door and pretend like that wasn’t happening, but my mom and contractor chased the bird out of the house for me. It would be fun if this is where the story stops, except… it isn’t.

It was amnesty week, and I needed to drag all of our trash to the road to be picked up. Well, I did. And some interesting young men came by and wanted some of the things. We talked. Former student. The conversation led to him telling me he has three felonies. During this time, my dad pulled up. He was coming to see B for his birthday. Fast forward 10 minutes, my dads 70 pound dog pooped in my house. My son took him outside and tied him to a bike. Bike fell. Scared dog. Dog ran back into house afraid and urinated all over the place. He was afraid and wouldn’t stop urinating or go outside. We drug and pulled and he kicked and slung urine all the way out of the house.

My in laws were coming in 15 minutes. My dad felt awful, which made me feel awful for him.

In laws came. We had cake. We opened presents. Kids went to bed. I did a homework assignment and washed veggies for a tray for school the next day.

Where is it? Where is the bird? The backpack? The homework? The workers to pick up the mattresses in my yard? The necktie? The hidden camera?

So thankful none of these things were tragic. So thankful that the chaos means that my life is full. Prayers that I can keep some perspective in these times. Thank goodness I wasn’t searching to find the joy along everything thing else, or I would have fallen completely apart. Don’t get me wrong, there have been and are times when my perspective is off, and I let the small things get me down. I think we all do. Prayers for peace, laughter and a little less chaos for all of you!

❤️Shalom

This post is likely never to see the light of day. More likely than not, I’ll never have the courage to post it. But I have to say it. Because my heart is BROKEN.

Tonight, after putting my sweet babies to bed I came downstairs to have some conversation time with my husband. We talked about the day and giggles at the kids silly Halloween antics. He went to bed, and I did my ritual social media screening. My settings are set to be silent when I get messages because as a teacher, my family would never have me if I didn’t. When I happened upon my Instagram I had a message. I clicked to see if it was something hilariously funny from one of my girlfriends…..but it wasn’t. It was a brief message from a student. This is a student I have become very attached to, a student I have deep love and appreciation for. And her message was simply, that she wouldn’t be back, and that she loved me.

This is it. This moment when my heart broke. She can’t leave. But it’s not about me. I’m certain she needs us ( the support system God has created for her) at GHS. She needs to be the one place, the one place in her entire life where the world made sense. The one place where (in the first time in her life) she felt unconditional love, and tomorrow……she will be gone. My husband came downstairs to comfort me because he could hear my hysteria. He could hear my cries and heartache from an entirely different floor of our home. He didn’t know what he was walking into; all he knew was that he left me moments before and I was fine, and now he could hear me in complete hysterics.

This is the part that no one sees about teachers. The part where we have tests due for classes we are taking to further our education, we have children who need a mommy who is present and not distracted, we have husbands who need us to be present. And yet, we are sitting at our kitchen islands at 1am trying to desperately figure out how to save someone that we have no legal ability to save. We are crying. We are scrambling. We are still trying to save our babies.

We watch them. We love them. We comfort them. We follow them. We gently watch them grow. We give them space to grow. We search for them when they are missing. We abandon our families if that is what it takes to save them from despair. We love them fiercely. And then in one message, they are gone. I am not political. But for those of you who aren’t close to a teacher, let me explain why all of this is so important.

My soul is crushed. I cannot imagine letting go of this student. I have 80+ students that will be waiting for me to show up in the morning. I have three babies who will need me to make sure that their school, Halloween, and party needs are met. Yet, I am sitting here. I am unable to sleep. I am unable to think about anything but the loss of these kids. My husband knows me well enough that he hugged me, held me, and listened to me cry hysterically. And then, he went to bed. Because in 13 years he has learned that sometimes, there will be no sleep in our home. Sometimes, he cannot heal my heartache. He knows my heart. He knows that these children that he has never laid eyes upon and will never know anything about, take up such a vast space in my heart that he has to just let me be.

I am sad. I am angry. This shouldn’t even be. But it is. It is heartache. It is love. It is life. But I’m so broken right now I can hardly lift my head.

So the next time you see something snarky posted about teachers and benefits and politics… think about reality. To be honest, I don’t have time to care about what they are trying to portray. I don’t have time because I am out there doing. Please know… that any given night, somewhere there is a teacher sobbing, and his/her family is longing and without. That there is a teacher completely devastated by the state of the world, her students’ world, her inability to save them, or the loss of a beloved student that she is left empty and broken. Her husband and family are left without a mother, because she is so incredibly, emotionally invested that in the sight of losing them…….she falls. She breaks. They are all left with a hole. A brokenness that these poor family members will never understand but yet are no less impacted by.

People can call me spoiled. They can say I don’t deserve whatever….to be honest, none of that matters. Because tonight I can’t lie down. I can’t lie down in bed because my heart won’t stop jumping. My heart leaps around in my chest every time I think about losing this student. Every second I can’t stop thinking about these babies. These babies that so desperately need someone to love and protect them. Take my retirement. Take it. To be honest, I won’t miss it for years and years anyway. And once again, my family and I will be the ones to suffer. But if I have to make a choice, I choose grace. I choose love. Tonight, the only things that are hurting are my heart, my soul, my students, my husband, and my children. As I sit here in the early morning hours, those —- things are secondary. My job requires that I be present whether the benefits are there or aren’t. While many are sleeping, I can promise that every night there are teachers…. not sleeping.

If you pray, please pray for your teachers–the ones you have and the ones you don’t. Please pray that they can find the strength to love and keep fighting . Let’s face it, if we quit fighting for our kids, the outlook is grim. Pray for our families. Pray that they can understand and find grace in the fact that they must share their parents’ hearts with broken children they might never know. Pray that there is enough of me left over to have something to give them.

Pray for grace.

❤️ Shalom

Prior to getting married, my husband and I participated in some pretty extensive marriage counseling at our church. I took many valuable lessons away from that experience. Among those lessons, one stands out.

We had been attending for months. I had always noticed that our well-dressed minister never had matching socks. Never. I finally built up enough courage to ask one day. He said, “my socks haven’t matched in 30 years. There are way too many important things happening in the world to spend time and energy matching socks.”

Wow. Have there ever been truer words? Almost ten years later, those words are still so poignant to me. I thrive in consistency. I love the predictable. When things all line up…..it makes my insides sing. But then there is life……My life.

I really want to be the mom whose children match. I’ve always wanted to be the mom that threw cool birthday parties for them. I want my children’s hair to always be fixed. But I am failing miserably at all of these things. There are times when you (mostly I) are speaking to the retired minister who lives next door in the yard and your (mostly my) child yells, “that was a helluva throw!” Or those times when the boys black the baby girl’s eye playing swords, or when one of your children thinks it’s way too cool to pee on the other when he isn’t looking. Those are the times as a mom I crave the normal. I long to be a family where things make sense, and we function like “normal” human beings.

But then there are those other times. Those times when your family is standing in Old Navy and Run DMC’s, It’s Tricky comes on in the store. The two year old starts dancing. What do you do? Do you move her out of the center of the aisle so people can pass? Do you let her dance? Do you join her?

Do you prioritize matching the socks? Or do you just live? On Sunday, all five of us had a full out dance party inside of Old Navy. She started. And we ALL followed. (Seriously, who doesn’t want to dance when they hear that song?) Some people smiled as they passed. Some looked annoyed because we were blocking a huge portion of the aisle. The rule-follower inside of me wanted to move her to the side, so no one was put out by her spirit. But Jim’s words have stayed in my heart. “Way too many important things in the world.” So we danced. We all danced until we were out of breath. Completely.

Today like many days, I wore one yellow sock and one purple sock. No one knew that but me. Truth be told, more times than not my underwear are inside out. Today I smiled thinking of my minister and his profound impact on my marriage and who we became. I am so very thankful he didn’t spend his time matching socks but rather blessing us with his genuine love and presence. I don’t pretend to be super awesome like Jim because I have mismatched socks. But I try to remember (and often fail) to be present for life.

There are nights we miss homework. We don’t do one single bit. Those are the nights when my teacher self feels guilty and inadequate. But I try really hard to find a balance. Sometimes we have to feed our souls and our spirits.

Lord, please give me the courage to dance in stores and live in the moment. Lord, please please allow me to serve you above the pressures and rules of our world. Lord, pretty please allow me to be present enough to be grateful for the life You have given me.

Shalom. ❤️

Sitting in the darkness of my room, I am wrestling with God. I awoke to news that makes no sense. No part of any of it can be rationalized —in my human heart or mind.

To lose such beauty in this world at such a time as this is inconceivable. For a soul that shines so bright everyone around him is better to be gone too soon… this is a tough one as a believer. I know the world would be a better place with him in it. Not kind of. Not a little. But the world is and would be better because he lived. The impact that he would have on people in the future is immeasurable. And the impact he has had on people thus far is nothing short of ordained.

So, I know with every ounce of my being that God is good. I also know that He doesn’t make mistakes. I have walked through dark times where I could see no light. I have come through those times to see that God can and does make light and good from all things–even when it appears no good could come. And I sit here this morning speechless. As good as you can imagine someone being, this guy was better. Even at 18, he left a mark on me. Just as he has left a mark on everyone who has crossed his path. I still can’t make sense. To be honest, I don’t think there is sense to be made. He is healed. But this world so desperately needed him.

He had a light. God’s light. It shined through his smile, his eyes, his mouth. So, it’s our job not to let that light dull. If you loved him, if he touched you, honor him. Try to live more like him. Bring beauty, love and light everywhere you go. Cause that’s what he did.

❤️ Shalom sweet, sweet Spenser

When will the middle child stop finding humor in urinating on his brother?

I mean, when? Ok. So once upon a time, it may have been a little funny. But only a little. When he was potty training, it looked a little creative — a little forward-thinking. Then there was the time in the back-yard. And the time at the ball park. You get the picture. Even the neighbors have heard us yell, “stop peeing on your brother!!” –which I didn’t realize until a very awkward conversation.

I keep hoping we are way past that. We got into the car yesterday to leave the sitter’s house when the eldest proclaimed he just had to pee! The lazy and tired mother in me told him to jump out of the car and pee in the yard. I know. Don’t judge. I’m a teacher. And it’s almost December. And I am tired. To be completely honest, I didn’t want to spend the next 90 seconds it took to get home listening to him complain about said problem. The middle child immediately professed his urgency to urinate, and I sent him to follow his brother.

Shortly, the older of the two came rushing back to the car to tell me that his brother had peed on his shoes……and a little on his pants. I sat for a second. And in all honesty tried to weigh out whether it was worth the energy to discipline the middle child. The middle boy came running to the car to explain himself. He knows we disapprove, but this is obviously not enough to deter his bad behavior. He gave me a huge story (of which I shall spare you) about the timing and his pants, and his stream, blah blah blah. Truth is, he finds it absolutely hysterical to pee on his brother when he least expects it.

Growing up in a family of girls means I understand not one single thing about this. Nothing. I don’t think it’s funny to scare people. Or pee on people. Or take things from people who are innocently playing. Everything about the male interaction is so foreign to me.

At what point will peeing on one another stop? Will it ever? Or will this aggressive form of interaction continue on forever and ever? Moms of multiple boys—this question is for you. Am I plagued to live a life of urination and poor choices? Or is there a magic number where they will learn to act like real people? I love my boys. And I love my husband. But boys, are not civilized people. They just aren’t. And for a mom who was raised with sisters and a dad who was super sensitive to his three girls, I’m lost, in way too deep.

Sincerely,

Utterly confused Mom of two boys

❤️ much love and Shalom

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My marriage isn’t perfect. It’s hard. As my good friend says, we are in the “weeds.” This time is hard. Young children, bills, work, insurance, all on very little sleep –its tough. But I can honestly say, that life is wonderful. 

Don’t get me wrong. I threw a scooter the length of my driveway this week in frustration. The baby has a black eye (from falling on the pool steps) and a broken radius and ulna (from trying to jump off of the couch). Things aren’t easy around here. And most days I feel like a failure. But my husband and I both share this one very pertinent idea. The goal. At work or at home, the goal can make all the difference. 

Our goal is to be great. Not as individuals, but as a family unit. We want to be great as a family. We do not, I repeat, do not keep score. It’s easy to fight the fight in order to win. We all want to be right. Right? But at home or at work, if I am focused on winning myself or being right, I’ve missed the whole purpose. I’ve skipped the opportunity to leave the place better than I found it. 

We all know those people. The ones who walk around looking for someone else to make a mistake. When they do, they get to point it out and be better than the wrong doer.  Because they found the mishap. Shew. That feels awesome. But what purpose does it serve? 

When our husbands go to a meeting or have dinner with friends – What do we do? Do we keep a running tally and wait for the moment to use it as ammo to get our own time away hanging it over his head to get what we want? When a co-worker drops the ball, what do we do? Do we use it to better ourselves and point out another person’s flaws? 

I’ve been there. I’ve done it. And it is an empty journey. My husband is a good man. He loves God and us fiercely and leads us with strength and grace. When I see that he is struggling, do I show him grace? 

The truth is I need him to show me some. On the days when I am struggling and he walks in the door, I need him to show me love and grace. I need him to say (without strings), “go take some time.” I need a jog. I need to go to the grocery alone. I need to wonder aimlessly around a discount shoe store. And I need that to come without judgement or strings. And so does he. 

He does 85% of the laundry. Not once. Not one single time has he ever used that in an argument against me. Because our goal isn’t about winning separately. We want to win. But we want to win together. 

Those shells are sharp. Each individual one was once its own complete shell. But over time they have broken and become only pieces of what they once were. If you look closely, they are hard. They are sharp. But as I walked across them, they were smooth against the bottoms of my feet. 

Somehow, God takes millions of sharp pieces of shells and makes a fluid, smooth, place on which the bare human foot can easily tread. That doesn’t even seem logically possible. And yet, it happened. 

If I had stepped on any one of those seperately, I would have likely winced in pain. But together, they are a beautiful blend of colors somehow woven into a blanket of smooth sand. 

If I spend my time at home or at work keeping score, I am missing my opportunity to be a smooth piece of God’s bigger plan. And my children will have a sharp and rocky place to tread. And I am not willing to do that. 
❤️ Shalom
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With the beginning days of school upon us, I felt it important to share our recent events. I do this because I am certain that the months ahead will leave you feeling tired, defeated, or possibly inadequate. And when you do, remember this…….

Last week we attended the back to school bash. My oldest is entering 1st grade, and my second will be entering kindergarten. There is much anticipation about this because #2 cried every single day of his first year of preschool and a significant portion of his second year. So kindergarten is kind of a big deal. 

We loaded up the family in a rush and headed that way. There was a long line to get in the doors. The doors were covered in rosters. We eagerly looked to find out who their teachers were. The oldest is the kind of kid who will be successful no matter where he goes. But the second one is tricky. So there was a level of anticipation for all of us. However, as we scanned the lists of names, he wasn’t there. I knew one of the teachers at the door, he even helped us look. Nope. He wasn’t on there. We visited the oldest child’s first grade classroom. Then we headed toward the kindergarten hallway to check with the teachers. Surely they would know. 

I approached our teacher from last year. I asked her if she knew what room my babe would be in. In her kind, soft, beautiful kindergarten teacher way she gently told me I hadn’t enrolled him. I said, “no way. The preschool does that.” She knew that wasn’t correct. But she responded again -just as gently- that she wasn’t sure, and I should go check. At that point I glanced at my husband, and we both knew it was pertinent that we hide this from the children. 

I walked back to the entrance and stood at the table where the guidance counselor was seated. Now, it is important to note here that I was wearing a shirt that said, Mommin Ain’t Easy and of course, a messy bun. The baby was sporting her hot pink cast from complete radius and ulna breaks, a bright pink tutu, and a rockin’ black eye from falling on the pool steps a few days earlier. 

I approached the bright and sunny guidance counselor and stated that there had to be some mistake. She assured me kindly that there was no mistake. I hadn’t enrolled him at all. I stood in complete and utter embarrassment. Y’all, I teach in this school district. I’m the teacher who forgets to enroll their child in kindergarten. But it gets worse. In the spring, my oldest was chosen to be the kindergartener to represent the school on the open enrollment commercial for the radio. I took him to the radio station to record the commercial. I helped him practice. I shared the commercial with family. And yet, I hadn’t enrolled my other son. 

I took my raggedy children back to the sweet kindergarten teacher’s classroom and completed the enrollment forms. Now, my son has absolutely no idea any of this happened. No harm, no foul, right??

What a way to start the year! Happy first days of school to all of you mommas and teachers. Just when you think you have made a mess of things, remember me. After the bash, my neighbor told me that I made her feel better about herself as a mother. I’m not certain that is a compliment. But I’ll take it. I’m all about lifting people up. Much love. 

❤️ Shalom

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Walking out the door filled with excitement and guilt, suitcase in hand, I second guessed myself. My oldest was crying for me as I left for a girls’ trip. Did I really need to go? What kind of mother leaves her children to board a plane and relax on the beach for a few days with her girlfriends? Will my husband survive or will they devour him in the first 24 hours? Am I selfish for needing time for me? 

The guilt didn’t subside until the plane landed and we were there. During the day to day my insecurities as a mom seem to plague my every move. All day I think I haven’t read enough books or given enough hugs. I think I wasn’t patient enough. But then again, did I discipline correctly? Were the meals healthy enough? I don’t know. That’s the truth. I have no earthly idea. 

But what I do know, sitting here watching the waves crash in is that I love my family. I love them with every ounce of my being. And I give them everything I have to give. And today, it’s ok to be me. As guilty as I felt leaving, I need a minute……or two. I have to turn off my mommy brain and remember who I am, and to connect and remember my purpose. I am a wife. I am a mom. But I am also a girl. We all are. 

We are girls that need to laugh, and read, and dance. We need to be still and reflect. We need to miss our babies. We need to be one with God. We need to wiggle our toes in the sand and drink a hot cup of coffee in its entirety. We need to cry- not out of frustration or defeat. But out of sheer emotion. 

As a new mother, I thought I couldn’t leave my babies. Outside of work, I never left them. Ever. Honestly, I didn’t want to. But it took me three babies to realize, nobody wants to leave their babies. But sometimes….. we need to. 

Before our family leaves the beach, I take the kids down to the ocean. I tell them to look as far and as hard as they can. I tell them to take in just how big that mighty ocean is. When they have soaked it in, I remind them that their God spoke it into existence. That no matter how big their fears or problems are, their God is bigger. He is bigger. 

As moms, we tend to forget to give ourselves a moment. That moment to let ourselves be penitrated and washed by grace and goodness. Although I have guilt for taking some time for me, I know at my very core, that I will be better for it. I will return a better mommy and a better wife. I will have more to give those that I love most. 

Take care of yourselves girls. Too many people need and depend on you. 

❤️ Shalom
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