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.






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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. 

Confused.

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. 

First. 


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.