…in which we discuss that which is always kept quiet.

I’m in a really weird mood and I’m about to overshare in an obnoxious and rambling way. Please feel free to skip. 
…if you don’t want to skip and want to read the continuation, it’s here.



So… I joined a club this week, I guess. Unfortunately. It’s not the club I wanted to join, and most of the members are silent.

I had a miscarriage. (Am having a miscarriage? I’m not familiar enough with it to know exactly how the verb tense works with the timeline.) And I’m looking around, knowing the stats that say 10 to 20 percent of pregnancies end this way, and it’s a weird and silent place to be in, knowing I’m not alone, but knowing very, very few of the others who have been here before.

Why is it so quiet?

Where is everyone? 
I’m not judging my sisters who choose to deal with it privately. There are so, SO many reasons a woman wouldn’t want to walk through this publicly… It hurts too much. There aren’t words. There have been several and you just can’t talk about it one. more. time. If that is you, I am so, so sorry. Please hear my heart here: if you need to work this out on your own with Jesus, please, please, don’t feel any judgement from me.You don’t owe me or anyone else any explanation at all.

But also… is everyone choosing to deal with it quietly, or are a lot of us just doing it because that’s culturally how it’s done? I feel like there’s a weird veil of silence over the whole thing that’s not just because so many of us want to process alone.

I’ve kept three pregnancies (now four, I suppose) under wraps (sort of) until the magical mark of 12 weeks, because that’s how it’s done. 
Why? Well, in case it doesn’t work out.
Ok, I totally don’t want to announce a pregnancy at five weeks, lose it at six, then have people hearing about and congratulating me on my happy news while I’m trying to process the loss. One of my best friends walked that road and it was heartbreaking.
So I know why I choose to wait to share the news. But, now that loss has happened, why, again, do I feel I have to stay silent?
Culturally, it’s no big deal, I suppose. “Just a lump of tissue.” (It’s only a baby after it reaches a certain size, perhaps. And only if the mom wants it. That makes sense, right?)
Nobody knows what to say.
It makes people uncomfortable.
Here’s the deal. It happens. A lot. And not talking about it doesn’t make it into something else, something more palatable, something that didn’t happen at all. And this week, I have no bothers to give about the cultural norm that says “we just don’t talk about it.”
I don’t need your sympathy, but I suspect we would be better off if the people who wanted to share felt free to do so. So I’m going to.
So, sister, if you’re out there, this is my story. You are not alone. Your story probably looks different than mine, and that’s totally fine. Take the parts that are helpful and leave the rest.
I found out I was pregnant on a Saturday morning. It was a faint but unmistakable second line.
It took me the whole day to even start wrapping my head around it.
A baby. I love babies. But I HAVE a baby. And he’s still… a baby. So, [mental calculations] we’re looking at end of April. So… 17 months and change between the youngest two. That’s the same as the gap between the girls. So… that’s insane. We. are. insane. Also? Four carseats will not fit in the Ridgeline. I’m going to have four children before the first even starts kindergarten. One-way ticket to crazy town. Wait. My due date is like a day after the Weekend to Remember. I’m going to drive to Anchorage and work really hard at 39 1/2 weeks. I had like a week and a half of increasingly convincing false labor with #3. That could be really disconcerting driving 360 miles, twice, in week 40. 
On and on it went, my brain doing a thousand different calculations to wrap my itself around this baby’s place in my nearish future.
But, at the end of the day (and I do actually mean the literal end of that Saturday), I’d come to land squarely on gratitude for this gift and a sort of nervous excitement.
Tuesday, I decided to test again, hoping for a less faint second line, so I could tell a few family members about it. Negative. What? Negative again. Hmm… Chemical pregnancy? Early miscarriage? Highly unlikely false positive? Or slightly more likely false negatives? Later in the day, I took one for reasons I’m still not sure of, and it was positive. No, really. What?!? Obsessive as I am, this led to a weird ritual of testing a couple times every second or third day, with mixed results. I was very, very tired of holding emotional space open for either outcome. Come the following Tuesday, I was getting all negatives (including an officialish one at the birth center. Same technology, but administered by professionals, so I somehow have more faith in it. Not sure why.) It was over. I talked with a midwife about what to expect when I’m suddenly NOT expecting.

I carried a dead baby inside of me for at least several days. It was weird. Sad. Disturbing.

Thursday, ten days after I found out about the littlest, my body decided to let baby go.
Somehow, that isn’t better.
And I’m sad. It’s not the soul-crushing grief that I expected, the grief I’ve experienced in empathy with friends over the years.
And that fact leads to a fair bit of guilt. (I firmly believe this baby is an actual human person, not just tissue. But apparently, emotionally, I’ve absorbed the cultural belief that it’s not a person yet. What kind of Jesus-follower am I?!? A crappy one, that’s what.) (I totally don’t believe that. My head is a jerk and I wind up feeling irrational guilt over stuff like this sometimes.)
There’s relief. Certainly NOT relief at the loss, but it was so very taxing to have to hold on to both “He gives” and “He takes away” in the same moment, for the same baby. So there was some relief just in knowing. {Insert more guilt.}
And I’m still living inside my crazy and beautiful life where my kids are running around half-naked, screaming like banshees about having crayon stuck in their teeth. (True story.) And that sort of helps. Rather than crushed, I’m numb, sad, distracted. And tired. So very, very tired. Thankful for the healthy babies I have. Thankful, somehow, that I knew about this one. (For various reasons, it would have been really easy for me to not know about the littlest one at all.) But also, this morning I was looking at my baby boy’s toes, and realized that the little one we lost was just a little smaller than his pinkie toe, and I won’t ever get to smooch his little sweet self. Somebody actually did die. 

And here’s where I come to an abrupt and awkward end.

Because that brings us more or less to now.
I don’t have anything neat to tie it up. I don’t have any big perspective or any reason why this generally applies to you. It probably doesn’t. I hope it doesn’t.
Well, actually, it does apply to you, at least a little. Can we make a little room for this discussion? Be willing to hear and be a safe space for a friend? I’m thankful beyond words for the people in my life who have been that safe space for me for the last little bit. (I’m sure your job isn’t over!) 

As far as my story goes, as always, there is grace enough.

There’s grace enough for the relief and the sad and the numb and the distracted and the thankful. We’re OK. God is big. He gives and takes away. Blessed be his name.

now about the *other* thing that happened june 26…

Sigh. I’ve had this post sort of percolating in my head for a long time. Like since before I had a blog. But also, I hate getting into it. So in general, I avoid the drama. But then something bizarre happened. While my husband and I were celebrating the anniversary of our marriage, the Supreme Court decided to redefine the word. And then my facebook feed blew up with pretty colors and not-so-pretty words. The response from my Christian friends has been mixed. Some use the rainbow filter. Some warn of doomsday. Some walk the middle, with a “love, despite disagreement” kind of attitude. Do I have an opinion here? You betcha. Do you care? Probably not. I mean, really. At this point, it’s been talked to death (and it’s only been a few days!) and you kind of scroll through, filtering folks into “like me” and “not like me” boxes in your head, because it is really not worth the energy of processing everyone’s opinion on the matter.

I figure the only people that I’m actively leading on this point are my children, two of whom currently believe marriage is not a gender-based thing as long as the prospective spouses are either a.) stuffed animals or b.) relatives. (So I clearly have work to do here.)

So this whole thing… Where do we stand? What do we do? I kind of hate to add to the noise… but I’m going to anyway, because I haven’t seen much attention to this obvious point: maybe we spend some more energy on the things we can actually change.

So while a huge portion of the internet and the country is flipping the heck out over the implications of this, I want to ask those who love Jesus and are married…

How’s your marriage doing?

See, here’s the thing.  

Marriage was designed by God to show the image of Christ and his Church to a world that doesn’t know him. And we, God’s people who live in the US, have been doing a generally terrible job of it. I know the divorce statistics are really not as grim as the 50% number we’ve heard tossed around for a couple decades, but it’s still not great, plus some of the decline is because people have lost faith in the institution as a whole and are opting out, choosing cohabitation instead. And even within marriages that last, how are we doing? There’s so much energy this week (and in general) being spent freaking out about the federal government’s definition of the word, but how much energy are we putting into the thing we can actually change? I don’t know about you, but my ability to change anything on a national level is very, very small. I have a vote, which I happily exercise (despite the hassle of all the preschoolers in a voting booth.) But seriously? That’s not much. But you know what I can do? I can pour a lot of energy into obeying God in my own marriage. In doing that, I can encourage  couples around me and show others the picture God had in mind, however imperfectly we do it. Will my marriage change the course of the nation? Nope. But can you imagine what would happen if followers of Jesus everywhere started obeying him in their marriages? That would have some effect. People would notice. The beautiful picture God created to show Himself to the world would be so much clearer.


  • Do you love your spouse?
  • Do you respect your spouse?
  • What about porn? Is that playing any part in the denigration of your part of this marriage picture? (This isn’t just about images… Romance novels? 50 Shades?)
  • How do you talk to the person you married?
  • How do you talk about the person you married?
  • Demanding sex?
  • Withholding it?
  • Using it as a weapon or a reward?
  • Do you keep score of wrongs? Of favors?

I could go on, but you get the point. I’m not saying ours is perfect or that yours has to be in order to have or state an opinion on the Supreme Court’s decision. And I’m not against political activism or spreading awareness, per se. (I’ve gotta be honest- it’s really, really not my thing. But if it’s yours, I have no problems.) But can we please use this national facebook fight discussion about the meaning of marriage as a reminder to spend at least as much effort working on the one at home as we do talking and worrying about who else does or doesn’t or may eventually have the legal right to get married? Because all of it is messing up the picture.

We’re all just spray painting on the Mona Lisa while whining about the mustache that somebody else sharpied on her. Yeah, the sharpie mustache is a problem. I get it. But can we please stop vandalizing the thing ourselves? Maybe spend some energy restoring it where we can? That’d be great, thanks.

So how about you? What can you do this week to invest in your relationship? Speak kindly? Give the benefit of the doubt? Serve? Love? Read a marriage book? Get off facebook for a few minutes? Speak positively about your spouse to a friend? Write a love note? Let’s each make a difference.


the simply tuesday of anniversaries

One of my favorite things of late has been the celebration of the ordinary Tuesday. Emily Freeman talks about Tuesdays as the smallest day of the week. And every week, there’s a little party on Instagram where a bunch of people snap pictures of the ordinary beautiful and we all enjoy each other’s small moments. (Here’s #itssimplytuesday. At the moment, the feed isn’t entirely representative of normal, because Emily has a book coming out soon-hooray!- and her launch team got it this week, so there are a lot of shots of that. It’s still lovely and wonderful and good for a smile.)

Today, Andrew and I celebrate eleven years of marriage.

Oh, how I love that man.

Before “selfie” was a word. This a little bit past our first anniversary. I had to scan the thing in, because we’re old and the first several years of our marriage were photographed on film.

And these later, not-divisible-by-five anniversaries feel a little like Tuesday to me. There’s no newness and no big round numbers. Last year, we celebrated ten with a four-day trip out of town. This year, it’s a simple night away in town. (Somewhere. He’s not told me where yet. The magic still lives.)

Please hear me clearly: I’m not complaining. 

Just like Tuesdays have become a favorite because of their ordinariness, I love the smallness of an eleventh anniversary. I love the fact that we’ve had enough years for there to be ordinary anniversaries.

Ordinary is where we live anyhow. 

It’s the little things that make life and the little things that make a marriage.

Quiet not-quite-awake workday mornings.

Not-at-all quiet Saturday mornings, when the kids are up before we want them to be, and asking for Daddyday breakfast. (This man makes hash browns that have ruined me for any other hash browns, period.) Better get them fed before somebody gets hangry.

Holding hands in the dark while we try to stay awake long enough to pray together.

All those times I get thirsty right after I settle in to nurse a baby and he gets up to get me my water bottle. (Usually without snarkiness.)

More than half a lifetime’s worth of inside jokes. (We were friends long, LONG before we got married.)

Talking in code or spelling to sneak stuff past our kids. “I was thinking we could go for I-C-E-C-R-E-A-M tonight after dinner. What do you think?” This is rapidly losing effectiveness. 

Companionable silence. 

Doing dishes. Lots and lots of dishes. Sometimes he, sometimes I, sometimes we. 

Brief back scratches in passing. 

The way he works around my BIG FEELINGS and I work around his sometimes-crazy schedule.

Reading each other’s faces and tones.

Apologizing for misreading each other’s faces and tones. 

Arguments about nothing. Or the same something eleventy billion times.

Lots of grace to cover (and frequently avoid!) arguments about nothing.

Choosing to be on the same side, over and over and over again.

Learning to give the benefit of the doubt.

Diapers. Thousands of them.

Rubbing off each other’s rough edges.

Growing up together.

For better and for worse. Until death do us part.

This marriage thing. It’s a good, good gift. By God’s grace, we’re getting better at it. We’re living the dream, Andrew. I love our very ordinary life.

Mostly mundane.

love letter to a three-year-old

Hey, Baby K.

You’re three!

This is the part where I exclaim, “I can’t believe you’re three!” except… I totally can. You don’t seem very two to me anymore. I mean, there are a lot of moments where I can still see the baby in you, but you’re less and less of a toddler and more and more of a preschooler. Three is a big year. You’ve said repeatedly, “I’m gonna grow to a hundred and then I’ll go to Cubbies with Jenna!” Well, you don’t have to grow to a hundred. This is the year! You get to go to Cubbies! And to swim lessons! We may start a little bit of school stuff, too. Just for fun.

You fascinate me, little girl. You’re such a mix of extremes. I mean, there’s the expected mix of baby and big girl going on… you chatter on about all kinds of things like a big girl would, using some huge words, but you still have a lot of your baby sounds. (My current favorites are “polliwog” and “authority.” I’m sorry you’re a little annoyed that I keep asking who has authority over polliwogs. It’s just so darn cute to hear you say, “Powwywogs have afoditty ovo demthelf!”)

You’re really a funny mix of outgoing adventurer and total introvert. Sometimes you want to be the center of attention and you talk loud and proud at anyone nearby and climb things not meant to be climbed by people under four feet tall. But then I see you tuck yourself away in the background, just watching. I love learning when you do which. I love watching you kind of figure out your world and where you want to be in it.

You can be stubborn to the point of defiant. Except when you aren’t. Sometimes you’re so quick with a “yes, Mom!” and you scamper off to do whatever it was I asked. And then there are the other times. For the record, you come by it honestly. It absolutely comes from your daddy… I still have all of mine. Your stubbornness will become an asset before long, but I’m sorry this part is difficult. I promise to do what I can to help that happen, but that means some challenges up front for us both. It’s OK. I love you plenty for that. I’m praying that you become stubborn in doing what’s right. I’m imagining that in a few years, you’ll be a really good influence on kids around you, because you’ll be holding on to what you know is right, regardless of what everyone else is doing. There will be some kids nearby who know what they should be doing, but are afraid to stand alone. I doubt very much that you’ll be afraid to stand alone. And in doing what’s right, you’ll help those other ones do what’s right, too. I like your stubborn. I know it doesn’t always feel that way, but I really do.

I’m praying for you this year, baby girl. Praying that Jesus continues to draw your heart. That you learn that being stubborn isn’t worth it when you’re doing what’s wrong. That your friendship with your sister grows and your care for your baby brother continues and becomes gentle. That your relationship with your daddy continues to bloom. And I pray for me. Because I’m the mama, I’m with you the most when you’re pushing lines need someone to help you learn how to use your stubborn for good. I pray that I don’t get tired of teaching and start letting you slide… that wouldn’t serve you at all, as much as you think that’s what you want. And I pray that when I’m teaching you, I would do it with a heart that is for you and that you would see that.

I love you, kiddo.

I love your spunk and your adventure and your silly and your stubborn. You’re likely to hear “She’s growing too fast!” tonight, and they say that because they love your little self and it’s hard to see you leaving your little behind. I get that. I held you a long time last night, knowing I wouldn’t get to hold a two-year-old you ever again. But hear me loud: You’re growing just right. You’re lovely. I wouldn’t trade you for anything. Not even a version of you that stayed small forever.

I love who you’re becoming.

blessing for insult

So I need to start out by saying I’m totally embarrassed to share this… I’m going to look kind of like an immature brat a few paragraphs from now. But… it’s been something I’ve been specifically convicted to share since the beginning of this process (when I was being an immature brat, but before I realized it), so out of obedience, I shall.

(Because real blogs have photos, and I like this one. Oh! Wait! Pussy willows mean springtime here and springtime is all about new growth! This blog is about growth! It totally goes. See? Plus maybe if I stall you with a random picture, you’ll miss the bratty part.) 

Last week, I mentioned that we recently got help out at Family Life’s marriage conference. Part of the the volunteering gig includes actually going to the conference, and it’s fabulous. Also, the material is more or less the same as it’s been since I first went in 2004, and actually basically the same as it was when my parents first went in 1978. It’s solid, biblical stuff, and I come away with new insights every time (because that’s how the Bible is), but also, I’ve heard it a number of times, so occasionally I check out just a little. But every year, there are a couple of points that seem distinctly for me and for now. 

Last year, the big take-home was “blessing for insult.” 

1 Peter 3:8-9 says:
Finally, all of you, be like-minded,<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30433K" data-link="(K)” style=”box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;”> be sympathetic, love one another,<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30433L" data-link="(L)” style=”box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;”> be compassionate and humble.<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30433M" data-link="(M)” style=”box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;”> Do not repay evil with evil<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30434N" data-link="(N)” style=”box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;”> or insult with insult.<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30434O" data-link="(O)” style=”box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;”>On the contrary, repay evil with blessing,<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30434P" data-link="(P)” style=”box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;”> because to this<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30434Q" data-link="(Q)” style=”box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;”> you were called<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30434R" data-link="(R)” style=”box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;”> so that you may inherit a blessing.<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30434S" data-link="(S)” style=”box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;”> 

The idea as applied to marriage is that God’s plan for communication includes paying back an insult with a blessing. (Actually, that’s fair to apply to communication anywhere, but this was a marriage conference, so…) If my husband says something mean to me, I can choose to be kind in return.

So that was my big idea from 2014. 

Which I pretty much instantly forgot.

But God is patient and reminded me again. So we circle around again in 2015. 

Determined not to let it slide this year, I started kicking it around a bit and have continued to do so for the last two weeks. And you know what my thought was?

My husband almost never insults me. 

Now, he’s not perfect. But he’s a kind man and it’s pretty rare that he spits out something that could be considered an insult, even when he’s angry.
However… I happen to have a special ability to read insult into almost anything he says. It’s a gift, really. Except the crappiest gift ever. 

So as I’m pondering this idea of returning a blessing for an insult, I started to wonder what I’m supposed to do with the fact that like 95% of the insults I hear from him aren’t really insults. They’re just him talking, and me being weird about it. Really. (Don’t you wish you lived with me?) So I hear myself asking (I warned you that bratty was coming)… So… if he’s not really insulting me, but I feel insulted, is blessing really the best way to go? I mean, if I bless him when he pseudo-insults me, he won’t catch that I’m returning blessing for insult, he’ll just assume that’s the response he earned (after all, he wasn’t being mean) and carry on his merry way. Sounds like a good way to encourage behavior that, while not malevolent, isn’t very considerate. I mean, he’s coming off really rude to ME! Plus, won’t that build resentment in me, if I just keep being nice and he keeps being [sort-of-not-really] mean? 

Seriously, y’all. It was like a week and a half I was having this huge conundrum. Are you annoyed? Because I totally am. Here’s the [completely obvious] truth that finally hit me:

Who the heck cares?

It’s not my job to figure out at that moment whether or not he was trying to insult me. And anyway, how backwards is it to withhold kindness if he isn’t?!? (…If it’s not legitimate “evil,” I apparently don’t need to return blessing? Mmkay.)

So here we are. My huge, genius, lightening-bolt idea from Weekend To Remember 2015, just like 2014:

Blessing for insult. 

And we’re counting anything that feels like an insult.

Now I’m not saying I’m going to be good at it. (Hon, are you reading this? No promises this is going to be as great as it sounds!) I am the girl who forgot for a whole year. And what, exactly, does blessing look like in this case? I have no idea, honestly. But I’m committed to doing my best. Every single time I remember. And because depending on my memory basically guarantees failure (see: 2014), I asked for a some backup from the Holy Spirit… Because He’s all over this kind of thing.

grace extravagant

I’m pretty comfortable with the idea of grace enough. Like daily bread and strength to match my days, grace sufficient for my various circumstances is sort of soothing. I named a whole blog for it, actually. 

You know what I’m not as comfortable with?

Grace extravagant. 

It feels… too much, sometimes. It feels awkward or something, receiving a huge gift that you can’t reciprocate in any way. 

This happened last weekend. It was my favorite weekend of the whole year to start with… Every April for the last several years, my husband and I go down to Family Life’s Weekend To Remember. We get there a day early, set up all the sound and stage stuff, then stay late to tear down on Sunday. It’s a chance to get away, listen to great teaching on marriage, and to serve together (which we don’t do nearly as often now that we have kids.) But this year, somehow it exceeded even my (rather high) expectations… In a million ways, big and small, God showed up and showed off and I spent a bizarre percentage of the weekend on the edge of laughter, dancing, and tears because we were having SO. MUCH. FUN. 

Just one example: this was our view.
I loved it. And I was (am) thankful for it. But also, there was an uneasy feeling. Unworthiness? Maybe. Probably. “Wow, thanks! …But I don’t deserve it.” or maybe, “This kind of awesome should be reserved for someone who DOES deserve it.” 

And at this point in my ponderings, I’m totally pierced.

OF COURSE I don’t deserve it. Nobody does. That’s why it’s called grace. (And did I really use the word “reciprocate” earlier?!?)

But what of “grace enough”? 

I think I’ve gotten too comfortable with it. Too entitled to it. I seem to have forgotten that it’s still grace, so I can’t possibly deserve it. A fresh experience with over-the-top grace reminds me of this:

It’s all over-the-top.

Common grace is extravagant. Sun and rain and baby giggles? He doesn’t have to give any of that, but does. Because He loves us. 

Saving grace is REALLY extravagant. 
(I keep looking at a blinking cursor at the end of that sentence, waiting for something else to say, but there aren’t words.)

Anything this side of Hell is grace.
… And now I’m back in my real life. Where it’s ordinary. Where there’s relentless noise and discipline issues and bodily fluids and a medical thing that has most of my right foot temporarily useless and do you KNOW how many things you need a right foot for? So I’m back in the place where I’m just asking for grace enough to handle this day, this situation. But I’m aware, in a fresh way, that sufficient grace isn’t small grace, and now grace enough is overwhelming me the same way grace extravagant did. 


Life has been… mildly confusing of late.

Nothing earth shattering, just a few things that seemed like God had been leading me or people around me towards turned out not to actually be His will. And it’s throwing me off. Depending on which situation we’re talking about, I’m somewhere between annoyed and reallyreally bummed out. I’ve got all these random out-of-context Bible stories swirling around in my head that my brain keeps applying to my various situations. (Or maybe some of them are things the Holy Spirit is bringing to mind? This is a struggle for me- I have to be pretty stinking sure to label it as “God talking to me” and at this point, I just can’t sort it out that well.) None of it makes any real sense. So we’ve been talking, He and I. I happen (ha!) to be in Job, and, while I would never ever ever in a million years compare my stuff to Job’s, reading through his process is helping me with mine. 

See, I ask a lot of “Why?” and “What’s going on here?” kinds of questions. 

Not in a demanding way (usually) but just because I’m honestly confused and curious about it. And as I finished Job just now, I’m getting some perspective. He’d been suffering and then arguing with his friends (as a side note- my big take-away from all of Job’s frienemies the last couple weeks was a conviction that I make too much of my understanding… just like them. Listen first, talk later. Maybe. But anyway…) and then finally, finally, God steps in. And, rather than directly answer ANY of them, he points out how much bigger he is than all of their arguments and all of Job’s problems. And then Job’s all, “Oops. I’ll stop talking now. I take it back. You’re right. You are big.” (Paraphrased my me, obviously.) So even though God didn’t actually answer any of Job’s questions, Job was simply satisfied with the reminder of… God. 

And this has always annoyed me up to now. 

I sort of grudgingly accepted the end of Job… I mean, it’s scripture and stuff, but it sure would have been nice to see some actual answers. It seemed like kind of a non sequitur from God and Job seemed ok with that. 

But today? I kind of get it.

Or, rather, I don’t, but it’s OK. God’s big. Bigger than any of my stuff. So much bigger that it doesn’t matter for today whether he answers any of my questions or not. 

My stuff is still confusing. I still don’t quite understand why some things are the way they are, or why it is that God would so clearly confirm something to me and then, um, not. But there’s peace here now, in the knowledge that He’s got everything well in hand, and “everything” includes my corner. I don’t need to know why. I don’t even actually have to ask why. 

She’s writing again…

So… Let me just preface this: 

I have no intention of making this a good, polished, life-changing post. 

I just set my timer for 10 minutes and we’ll see what comes out. Edit later. Publish. Share? We’ll see.

This year on vacation with my family was goal-setting time once again. I made a point of spending some time thinking about it most days. For a lot of days, I had nothing. Just a lot of swirling ideas and good intentions. No “one word” coming up, no overarching direction. Then, toward the end of it, something clicked. 


My time with Jesus has been comfortable, but not especially… vibrant, I guess. It happens pretty much every day, but it feel like what a lot of marriage writers talk about as “drift.” I read His words for a few minutes, then talk to Him for a few. I thank Him for a bunch of things, pray for my babies, my husband, sleep… frequently a lot of other things, but always those things… and then I go on with my day. It’s kind of rote.

It’s time to get back to my first love. 

Seeking first the kingdom of God.

So my word for the year is first

First in chronological order, first in importance.

I frequently find myself having conversations (at least in my head) with friends about things that I’m doing or processing. Or things they’re dealing with. Sometimes, I’ll even tell them what I’m “praying for” without actually doing said praying. What?!? It’s not on purpose, just sort of… happens. (If you’re one of those friends I’ve said those words to, I’m sorry. I promise I do actually pray for you, but sometimes it takes a little longer to remember that’s what I’m supposed to be doing.) So my commitment here is to stop myself when I’m about to text a friend (or, again, more often when I’m composing said text in my head) and actually… I don’t know… talk to God about it? Writing that, it seems pretty basic. But that’s where I am right now, and it’s time to make some steps back to where I want to be. That seems like the first one. (First! Get it? Haha!)

With that clear, a whole lot of other little things began to settle in my head.

The conversation I’d been having with Jesus suddenly became a lot less confusing. The things that were important came to the surface (complete with reasons and mini-goals!) while the rest just kind of… fell out of my head. I sort of wonder if this is just example number one of the way “first” works. 

…and all these things will be added unto you.

If you’re curious, here are the other areas that I’m working toward this year:

Writing clears my head. Makes me feel… real? visible? like I’ve done something relatively permanent? It’s a way to encourage people using words I can think through thoroughly during a season when both other people and coherent thoughts are otherwise a little scarce.

Photography increases my appreciation for beauty and preserves some pieces of beauty from my little corner of the world. (Like this picture. I was at a lavender farm on Maui, and was absolutely transfixed by water. On grass.)

Singing is good for my soul. I was blessed with a chance to help lead worship this fall for the first time since I had kids, and it was amazing. I can’t quite put into words how vibrantly alive I feel when I sing, but I have no question that it’s part of the way God made me, and my whole being resonates when I live within His purposes for me, so I will be doing more of that. I can’t wait another four years.

Exercise improves my mood and energy. It burns off stress and makes me feel strong. My body’s been good to me, and I’d like to keep showing it love. Also? I’m way more fun to be around when I’ve exercised recently. Just ask my husband. Or don’t. 

Connecting with others needs to happen in an intentional way. My world feels like it’s gotten very small in the last four years. It’s time to come out from my cozy little baby world and invest in some women around me.

Organized environment saves my energy for more important things and preserves my sense of calm. I fairly recently became acquainted with the concept of the “highly sensitive person,” which has given me permission and ideas to work with a part of my personality that I’ve fought against for a long time. This is part of that.

“Quiet” is kind of a catch-all, but I dearly want to be able to take my thoughts captive and calm my busy mind. (This had a wildly diverse set of action steps which included, among other things, eating mindfully, a few minutes of quiet meditation per day, deleting facebook from my phone, and going outside regularly. It’s all related, at least inside my noisy head.)

So why am I telling you all of this?

Pretty simple. Falls under “writing.” I promised me I’d try hard to make time to post a couple times a month, so here I am, showing up. (And the writing of it actually took me ten minutes on two different days. Because I’m sure that matters.) 

Thanks for joining me here! Any thoughts? Do you have a focus this year? Things you want to bring into your life in a more intentional way? I’d love to hear them. 

Happy birthday, Little J!

Hey, Little J… 

Happy fourth birthday, little girl! I love you. Have I told you lately that I love how you’re growing up? Not to fast, not to slow… just right. It’s fun that you can have very involved conversations with me. (It’s fun that you frequently carry out both sides of involved conversations with, say, stuffed animals. Or infants.) I love that you know and use all the big words you hear us use. I also like that you still say “somefling” instead of “something.” I’ll admit that I’m not working very hard to teach you the right way to say that… I want to hold on to that very last hint of toddler in your voice. I still call you “Baby J” from time to time, but that’s more habit than anything. You’re less and less of a baby and more of a little kid. 

It’s fun (and sometimes scary) to see the ways you’re like me. You’re so empathetic. It blows my mind that a three- (now four)-year old can and will pick up and verbalize how people around her are feeling (and respond appropriately), but you frequently do. It’s so funny to hear you interact with K and B- you’re such a little mama. It’s like hearing me, but in a preschooler voice. (And sometimes you say “Oh, MAN!” or “Shoot!” and I realize that sounding like me isn’t always a good thing. I’ll work on that.) 

I love your fun… The twirls, the dancing, the fairy wings and wanting to “really fly”… I love your songs- both the ones you learned and the ones you make up. (I won’t lie- I appreciate that you have pretty good pitch, too. Much easier to hear 2,341 rounds of Frozen songs when they’re not off-key.)

I love how you see God. Every pretty sunrise or snowfall finds you saying, “Look, Mama! We should thank God for that!” And the questions. Oh, the questions. You give me a run for my money, child. (“Wait. So God sent Jesus? But Jesus is God! So God sent Himself??? That doesn’t make any sense.“)  I like that when you’re sad, you talk to Him. I also like when you ask him to make your toys “real.” (And I like that you tell me, “I asked Him, and I hope He does make my giraffe a REAL giraffe, but if He doesn’t, I’m ok with that.” Much easier for me that way, to be sure!) You’re such a fun blend of little kid and big kid. I am praying that this is the year you understand, really understand about “God’s rescue plan.” (Because, as cool as you are, it’s obvious you need the Holy Spirit every bit as badly as your Mama does.) I am excited to see you grow to understand “grace.” (Other than “No! Don’t take that away! Give me grace!” when you deserve discipline.) 

I’m excited for this year.

Things you’ll learn to read and write and add and draw.

Fun things you’ll learn to do. (Swim lessons happening when K turns 3!)

The way you’ll learn to relate to your sister and help with your brother. 

Greater control over your words and emotions. (Not perfect- heavens! I’m not that good at it!- just better.) 

Growth in grace and character and wisdom. (As much of those as a 4-year-old can soak up!)

Mostly, I am just excited to see you become more you.

Because you’re lovely. And we love you. 

ten years.

So… ten years ago, my husband and I got married.

Not gonna lie, I feel a little old. Somehow this marker was reserved in my head for a crowd older than I thought I was. Definitely 30’s. (Wait…)

The cousins who were the ring bearers and flower girl? High school and college. College.

My baby brother, then twelve, who wouldn’t usher because, in his words, “I don’t want girls holding my arm!”… He’s apparently gotten over that phobia, we watched him marry a fantastic girl a couple of weeks ago. (Ryan and Amanda- sorry for the repeat here, there’s a lot coming that was in your card.) (Also? I just considered the fact that when they celebrate 10 years, we’ll be ready to celebrate 20. Because math. And I’m good at math. But still, framing it that way freaks me out.)

A lot happens in 10 years. 

There’s a lot of learning and growing. 

I’ve been thinking about this, specifically, for about a month now… we are really, really happily married. It’s good. Really good. Marriage? Well designed by a master Designer for our good and His glory and I couldn’t possibly be more grateful. (Well, actually, I’ve said that before. And I was wrong. And I’m sure I’ll be even more grateful, I don’t know… tomorrow. But today, I’m as grateful as I can imagine for this amazing gift.) Also, as Andrew and I grow together toward holiness, we’ve learned a few things. And I need to write at least a few of them down so I don’t forget and maybe, just maybe, to remind and encourage you.

Really quickly, here’s why I’m not writing this.

I’m not writing it because we’re perfect.

I’m not a perfect wife. Not by a long shot. He’s not a perfect husband (though, in all honesty, I think he’s a lot better at being married than I am… Most of the stuff I’ve learned, I’ve learned largely because he does it pretty well.) 

We still have our stuff. We fight. We have communication differences that have been issues for ten years. (Actually, we probably have some dating back a lot longer than that. Maybe 17 or 18 years? That’s how long ago we met. And when I developed a crush on him. But that’s a whole other story.) Sometimes it comes down to the simple and obvious: I am a woman. He is a man. Language differences make us crazy now and again. 

We don’t have it figured out. (Which is why marriage is supposed to last more than ten years.)


But God is good and his grace is more than plenty for all our stuff. 

So here’s some stuff that I’ve learned in ten years of loving and living with this man.

We have to be friends.

We were friends for a loooong time before we got married. We’re good at it. But it’s not something that happens on its own.  The first couple of years, it was simple enough. We had school and work and stuff, but a lot of time was basically our own. We played. We talked. We worked together at things. We served together. We did all the friend things we’d already been doing for years. It was fun. And we got used to living together while still doing the friend thing, and life got hectic and being friends took a little more intention. Then kids came. Finding the time to connect and play (and prioritizing that over sleep sometimes) takes a little more effort now. 

But it’s so, so worth it. 

(Post-bedtime is currently our favorite- sometimes we talk watch a movie or just sit and read our separate things together or play a game of Dominion or Sequence.) 

I have to work on me.

If mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.


A healthy marriage is ideally made of a pair of healthy people.

It’s really easy to go all martyr these days… My job is kind of round-the-clock and based on other people’s needs. But when I just “selflessly” chug through, getting stuff done and people fed and bottoms wiped and laundry and All The Things… I do a pretty crappy job. (Honestly, this is something Andrew’s probably been encouraging forever, but I’m only learning in the last year that he’s right. That EVERYBODY’S right on this point: self care is not optional.) 

It’s easy to scroll facebook during a nap and call it a break. But I’ve learned it’s not actually that restorative. 

It takes a little bit more to discern what is actually a useful rest. For me, “useful” is writing, reading, running, talking with friends. Sometimes (um, last weekend), it’s scrapping all of those things in favor of sleep. Despite everything in me yelling that I needed to go out and be alone or, at the least, check some stuff off of my list. Not sleep through my only window of “me time.”

Anyway, my point… it takes effort and intention to figure out what is restorative and how to make it happen. And if I don’t do that, my kids get dregs and my husband gets nothing. Well, he doesn’t get nothing, he gets yelled at. Poor guy.

And it’s not just me. Andrew needs time to process and be, too. And I’m not as good at encouraging and enabling this as I want to be, not as good as he is, but that’s something I’m working toward.

Respect is a big deal.

We were fortunate to have been a part of a great small group from the start of our marriage, and one of the early studies was Emmerson Eggerichs’s Love and Respect. It’s not a secret that love is essential to marriage and that it must be unconditional. But in my early-20’s head, respect was definitely on a lower tier in some hierarchy of needs. And totally NOT unconditional.

Glad to have learned otherwise, and early. It’s not a small thing. I’m not always good at being respectful (especially when we’re having *ahem* a “discussion”) but I’ve gotten much faster at apologizing for being (or sounding) disrespectful! 

It’s still hard to find things that are specifically respectful. It’s easier to figure out what comes off as disrespectful. But I’m learning. 

We have to be generous.

This covers… kind of everything. I stumbled across a blog a few years ago that’s all about this, and I’ve been kicking it around since.

When I’m generous in 

  • loving and blessing my husband
  • forgiving him
  • giving him the benefit of the doubt (when I could otherwise assign him poor motives for something)

… everything goes much, much better. 

So there we have it.

Looking over the list, it feels like it should be longer and, I don’t know… more earth-shattering. If I’d read this blog post 10 years ago (which I wouldn’t have, because blogging wasn’t really a thing then), Little Me would have nodded along. Yep. That’s true. Check. Sounds good, I agree. But somehow actually implementing that list of things that I am sure I never would have especially disagreed with has taken ten years (and counting.) 

I’m hoping in another 10 years, my list of things that work for us will be a touch longer and I’ll be a little better at the things on it. For now, I’m glad to have gotten it down in words. It’d be a shame to forget. 

Anything you’d add to it? What have you learned?