I want to be like YOU

It happens when she’s the most stressed out and anxious and tired.

My six-year-old whines, “Mom! I wanna be like YOU! I just can’t be like you!”

Now, you should know that Jenna is like me in more ways than I can count. We’re both firstborns with a lot of younger siblings. We even both hit “oldest of four” status at just barely five and a half. She likes to write. She likes to take pictures. She sounds EXACTLY LIKE ME when she talks to the littler kids. She’s precocious and independent, as I was. She loves jalapeños, for heaven’s sake. Her strengths, weaknesses, interests, and mannerisms are eerily (sometimes frustratingly) similar to mine.

So when she starts fussing about wanting to be like me, I start countering with all of these things. “Baby, you are like me. You are so like me!”

She hears none of it. “But I CAN’T be like you! I’m only six! And you’re… far too old!” (I know.) “…and you have four babies! I don’t even have one in my TUMMY. And you know how to cook! And drive! I can’t do any of those things! I. JUST. CAN’T. BE. YOU.”

You know what? I feel her pain.

I have the same problem. I’ve been living this life as a follower of Jesus since I was younger than she is now, and I get frustrated.

He’s gentle and kind. Usually, I’m neither of those things. I want to interact with my kids in ways that are calm, consistent, and compassionate, but in general, I can hit two out of those three on a good day.

I get angry about really stupid things. For instance, nap time. When somebody wakes the little two during that sacred space in the afternoon reserved for glamorous things like bathroom cleaning and meal prep, I about lose. my. mind. I don’t think Jesus would get enraged at a random teenager playing basketball in the street because she caused His dog to bark and wake the babies. He gets angry, certainly, but not over inconveniences.

He is wise. I… try really hard. Most days, though, I’m at a loss. I have these little ones and I’m supposed to teach them how to be people, but I don’t even know how to be a person sometimes. I’m not sure what to do when my kid’s teacher lets me know that she’s been getting calls from other students’ parents because mine plays rougher than she should sometimes. I don’t know exactly what will connect with my kids’ hearts to impress upon them that sneaking out of their rooms at six in the morning to play with the iPad and go for a walk outside is SERIOUSLY not okay. I alternate between overreacting and underreacting. I want to parent with grace and truth, but I can’t find that line. I am fairly certain Jesus isn’t completely winging it like I am.

He is righteous, faithful, impartial. He knew Scripture very well (well enough to do battle with it when he was 40 days without food) and He was in constant communion with the Father.

He’s growing me in each of those areas, but I’m really not there yet.

As I sit here, listing off all the ways I’m NOT like Jesus, I’m tempted to be discouraged. All I can see is the ways that I fall short and how those insufficiencies affect the people around me. But then I hear Him telling me the same things I told Jenna the last time she and I had that conversation.

It’s fine.  

You have time.

That’s what you’re here for: to learn how to be like Me. That is the entire point.

 You’ll learn all of those things and it’s completely okay that you don’t have them all under control right this second. I’ll teach you when the time comes.

I love how much you want to be like me. You already ARE like me in more ways than you know. 

Try to get some rest. I love you.

 And, like my firstborn, I’m learning (very slowly) to obey and to rest in the truth that “God, who began the good work within [me], will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.” (Phillipians 1:6, NLT)

We will get there, friend. Slowly, incrementally, but as sure as His promises, He’ll continue His work in us.






a family shaped by grace

I’ve been pondering how to talk to you about this. One of my favorite things about hanging out online with writer types has been launch teams. I didn’t even see that coming; didn’t really consider what happens when a book comes out. Sometimes, there’s a team of people who get to read the book before it is available to buy, and then share it with their friends as they like. I enjoyed the stories in All the Pretty Things and Love Him Anyway, so those were fun and easy to share with you.

A Family Shaped by Grace is different. I mean, I certainly enjoyed it. Gary’s voice is relatable and kind. But, you guys. It’s so useful.

This isn’t a parenting book.

Or a marriage book.

This really is about any family relationships.

In a humble, gentle way, Gary talks about the things that you and your family probably do that create friction, then shines light on each, giving intensely practical steps to move away from disharmony and toward grace, through the gospel.


This isn’t a magic bullet. He reminds us over and over that you can only control your own actions, but also that, within a family, your actions are contagious in the best ways. You guys know how much I love minigoals… Well, he even crossed that concept with showing grace to your family members. (Even that family member. You know the one. He calls that one your nemesis, and helps you come up with a game plan for making that bad relationship even one step better.)

(Side note: this book handles good, normal, and difficult relationships, but the “difficult” ones are what I’d call “normal bad” relationships. He doesn’t address abusive dynamics. If you are in an abuse situation, this book won’t address it.) 


Bottom line? If you want your family relationships to reflect a bit more grace, this book is worth owning.

And there’s a BONUS. 

This book is available for pre-order for a couple more days. It’s currently like 40% off on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and CBD, and probably anywhere else. So, for less than $9, you can order it and it’ll ship on June 6.

But also…

If you preorder, click here and you also get a short video course for free.

I’ve been through the course. It’s good content. And it’s available for anybody who preorders through June 5th (Monday.) Once it starts shipping on the sixth, it’s gone.

Here’s the deal. I like you. I’m glad you’re here and thankful that you take time to read my words. I want good things for you. Grace is a good thing, and this is a super inexpensive book with a whole kit of tools to spread more grace through your family.

(In case you’re wondering, I get nothing from sales- I don’t even have affiliate links. The only thing I got related to this post was an advance copy of the book, so I could review it. It was just well worth my time to read and I think it will be worth yours, as well.) 


Katherine’s fifth birthday

Hello, darling!

I just reread through last year’s letter, curious how things have changed in the last 365 days.

Mostly, you have become more you. And I know that’s how it goes, but it’s fun to see you become. You are a delight. You’re full of fire, light, spunk, and determination. There is might and sweetness. There are cuddles and fits. Your skin is still baby-soft and your grin is as impish as ever. You fear almost nothing right now, which is both beautiful and terrifying to your mama.

Sweet girl, a few weeks ago, you and Jenna got into a discussion in the car. Jenna asked which parent she was most like (me) and you asked, too (your daddy.) Then Jenna, being Jenna and the oldest and sometimes less than gracious, was taunting you, holding over your head that she was more like me than you.

You spent the next several days doing and saying things, followed by “am I acting like you, mama?”

It was both flattering and heartbreaking.

I told you this then, but I want to have it in writing:

I don’t want a version of you that is more like me.

I mean, in the ways I’m growing to be like Jesus, by all means… follow me as I follow Him. But in all the other things?

I want YOU. Just you. The you-est version.

I know it’s not always easy to be you. You’re close enough to your sister to feel compared to her frequently, but tailing her by just enough that you feel less-than. (For the record, I don’t see you as less than Jenna.) Your personality is big and your feelings are big and your voice is big and your impulse control isn’t quite developed yet and that causes some friction.

Can I be honest with you? I am ever so excited to see what all of that means as you grow up.

You’re strong and fierce.

That makes you challenging to parent, but it also means you are going to be unstoppable as a big person. (Well, you’re basically unstoppable now.) And now, while you do the hard work of pointing all that strength and fierceness in the right direction, you manage to be delightful and hilarious.

I adore you, my girl. You’re growing up just right. I’m praying for you this year, that you grow in grace and wisdom and self-control. You’re doing a good job.


doubts and babies and hearing the Shepherd’s voice

I have the attention span of a goldfish.

It’s annoying for all the reasons you’d imagine and some that perhaps you haven’t… my parenting, for instance, is far less effective than it could be if I could remember the instructions I give the kids past the moment those instructions leave my mouth.

Every situation, no matter how momentary, I project out to infinity. I have a stomach bug? I’m probably going to puke until I die in sixty years. Kids have a rough night? I’m never going to sleep again. My favorite is that around week 37 of every pregnancy, I end up convinced that I will literally never have this baby and I will remain miserably, hugely pregnant for all eternity. I wish I was joking, but anyone very close to me can attest to this. My husband stopped even trying to talk me down after the first pregnancy. Rounds two through four, I’d mention my irrational certainty that gestation was going to last literally forever and he’d just look at me (amused, but not so amused as to incur the wrath of the cranky pregnant lady) and say “mmhmm.” I simply can’t remember what normal is supposed to be, and assume that my current state is normal. Forever.

Also, I tend to forget lessons I’ve learned from and about Jesus. I have to focus really hard to avoid doing what James 1 talks about, where I read but don’t do, glancing in the mirror and immediately forgetting what I look like.

So it’s not any real surprise that now and again, I doubt my place. I’m reading a lot about the presence of God and the way his followers are to, well, follow Him, and suddenly, I don’t remember if that’s a thing that happens to me. Have I heard His voice? I mean, I know “my sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.” But suddenly, I can’t remember hearing his voice. Does it then follow that I’m not one of his sheep?!?

This Caedmon’s Call song circa 2000 plays loudly in my head.

Sometimes I fear
Maybe I’m not chosen
You’ve hardened my heart like Pharoah
And that would explain why
Life is so hard for me…

Cast all my doubts
Please prove me wrong…

And in this moment, when I’m honestly wracking my brain for evidence of my own salvation and of the Holy Spirit’s presence in my life, when I have suddenly forgotten everything that I’ve ever learned about the promises of God and I can’t remember what the Shepherd’s voice sounds like and whether or not I’ve heard it, Lilly wakes up.

Lilly is just barely nine months old and she’s every ounce as delightful as my babies tend to be. And she’s having a hard time with sleep. She’s become reliant on me to fall asleep, and increasingly touchy about getting transferred to her bed, so we’re gently trying to point her toward self-soothing.

Today, that means when she wakes up after twenty whole minutes of napping, I give her some time to decide whether or not she really means to be awake. She’s fussing quietly and intermittently, which means she isn’t sure yet. I’m on the love seat four feet away from her door, but I wait silently.

In that moment, I again hear the Shepherd’s voice, nudging me to pay attention; there’s something important to learn…

I wonder if she feels insecure right now like I do? She can’t hear me or see me. I’m right here, even though she can’t sense me. She isn’t alone, even if she wonders. She is mine. I’m not talking to her right now because I love her and that’s what is best in this moment. When she really does need me to get her, I will say her name and she will quiet immediately and smile. Because she knows my voice and knows what it means when I call her name.


Good point.

Lilly’s fussing slowed down to periodic contented chatter, then stopped. She’s asleep, still four feet away from me. I never left, and she’s calm.

I’m settled, too, and grateful for the patient reassurance of a Heavenly Father who understands my doubts.

the learning curve of motherhood

Today, I have the privilege of sharing over at Kindred Mom.

A couple things… first, it’s a collaborative blog where I find a lot of helpful and encouraging content. Also, it’s a facebook group where there’s even more useful stuff. I’ll share some links.

(Photo credit: Sarah Lewis Photography)

Hey, Mama.

I see you looking a little lost.

Your baby is new. She weighs less than a normal-size sack of flour, but when you aren’t occupied by the weight of her physical needs, the weight of her future and your responsibility to her sometimes threaten to overwhelm.

You’ve read books and Googled everything in a manic effort to feel like you know what you’re doing, which worked great until you figured out that each thing you read contradicts the last thing. Even when you’re not seeking information, well-intentioned friends, family, and strangers are bringing it straight to you. Sleep? Attachment parenting? Schedules? Vaccines? Breastfeeding? Solid foods? Work? Stay home? What’s with this crazy wrap and how do I tie my infant to myself with it? WHY IS THIS SO HARD???

 Oh, friend. I hear you.

I’ve been there, a few years and a few kids ago. Some days, I’m still there, trying to Google myself into a sense of control.

I can’t tell you what to do about these issues or any of the others. I could tell you what I do, but one more unsolicited opinion just adds to the noise.

What I can tell you is how I stopped making myself crazy over it.

Let’s back up about seven years. I was newly pregnant with my first, determined I would do this right. I decided I’d start by reading about birth options. I’d already blown through pregnancy books before I was expecting. (I know. This annoys me, too.) Once I learned what I needed in order to make a good decision there, I moved on to life with a baby. Everyone knows that newborns start out eating, sleeping, and pooping, but I had enough experience as a big sister and babysitter to be comfortable in the last department, so up next were newborn sleep habits and breastfeeding…. (read more)

Thanks for reading this far! If you would like to read the rest, hop over to Kindred Mom!

While you’re there, poke around the blog a bit. Maybe checkout their facebook page or group! There’s lots of valuable stuff there to minister to the hearts of mamas.

y-o-u-r welcome.

**This post was originally published in March of 2016. I’m republishing for April Fools’ Day 2017. Note the ultrasound I mention is OLD. I’m NOT pregnant.**

This is kind of an atypical blog post for me. Basically I have a funny story to tell that is a little too involved for a facebook post. There’s no useful, encouraging bit, no metapicture… just a funny story from the inside of my funny marriage.

So… do you remember that time I whined loudly on facebook about the grammar of the entire Internet last week? It went something like this:

Are we being punked? It feels like the entire internet did a search and replace and every “your” is now “you’re” and every “their” is now “they’re.” I’m looking up verses on multiple sites and every single translation that has either “your” or “their” has it wrong. YOU CAN’T DO THAT TO THE BIBLE. (Also, every blog post, magazine article, and news story I clicked on last night while waiting for kids to sleep had issues with those words.)


Too early for April Fools’ Day. What in the world?

Let me back up a little.

I’ve been a bit of a grammar nazi for most of my life. I try not to be obnoxious about it, but I generally notice errors. A couple weeks ago, I started seeing them in places that they really shouldn’t be. Places that should know better, like my email’s news site and Intuit.com (think Turbo Tax and Quicken.)

I took crappy cell phone pictures and sent very ragey texts to my sweet husband, who completely understands my hatred of misused apostrophes. The one that really killed me was this one:


Amazon. AMAZON.

Somehow this hit me as the worst kind of bastardization of the language. If anyone should be able to afford editors that know what they’re doing, Amazon should. I don’t know. It made me SO MAD.

But I kept it inside.

For a little while.

And then last week, I was writing a post about my (then) upcoming ultrasound and all my crazy fears. I was working so hard to point myself back to the One who can calm those fears (and who commanded me to “fear not.”) I had some verses in mind, but I try to link to Bible sites so that you can check my hermeneutics if you want to. I don’t ever want you to take my word for it when you could instead take His.

And when I went to both biblehub.com and biblegateway.com (my go-to sites), both of them had your/you’re, they’re/their/there and it’s/its problems in every single instance and every single translation. I lost it. And by “lost it,” I definitely mean “posted a very angry rant on facebook.”

A couple days later was date night. Andrew and I had a lovely time out, and on the way home, I finally remembered to ask him about it. “Did you do something to the internet?”

Yes. Yes, he did. Apparently, my loving husband found (as in went looking for, not stumbled upon) some Chrome extension that switched every usage of its/it’s, your/you’re, and rotated uses of there/their/they’re. (Also replaced every use of “less” with “fewer,” which I didn’t come across.)

In that moment, I wasn’t sure whether his ability to punk me in the most subtly effective way possible was evidence that he was the best husband in the world or the worst.

In either case, it was pretty clear that a counterattack was required.


Many months ago, I stumbled across an Instagram photo of someone’s color-coordinated bookshelf. I thought it was beautiful. I also knew that it was strictly out of the question in my house. Andrew would go insane. He’s touch color blind, and he organizes things by category in his brain (and certainly not by color), so he’d never find anything.

So, naturally, I laughingly showed him the picture, with the qualification that of course I knew this would never, ever happen in our house because he’d hate it.

He nearly made me sleep on the couch for “impure thoughts about the bookshelf.” (He was kidding. But only kind of.)

So obviously…


I picked a day I knew he’d be out late and went to work. The girls gleefully helped (I definitely just told them I was reorganizing, not that I was messing with Daddy) and we spent ALL. DAY. We have nearly 40 feet of shelf there, and a fair bit was stacked two deep.

(And, yes, I notice how nerdy it sounds that my husband and I have prank wars involving bad apostrophes and bookshelf organization.)

We sorted, we cleaned. It was a crazy mess, and it cut off access to the bathroom. (Whoops.) I even called in backup from a local “move a body” kind of friend. (As it turned out, I did finish just before she came, so we just got to hang out. Win!)

At one point, Jenna decided it was way too dusty and insisted on a dust mask, which she made with string and a styrofoam cup:


The girls loved it. Jenna gushed on and on… “It’s so pretty! Daddy’s going to be so surprised and SO pleased!!!” Oh, he’s gonna be surprised!


It is pretty.

(Also, we own a LOT of blue books.)

Now… we have a rule in our house that you can’t pull any pranks you’re not willing to help clean up, so this actually represents a tw0-day commitment to the silly bookshelf. (But I love my husband, so it really won’t stay.) (Andrew: if you’re reading, weekend after Easter?)

So I got done, put kids down, cleaned things up, and awaited his arrival.

10:30 pm, Andrew walks through the door. He takes a few minutes futzing with the fire, then he looks up. “What did you do to my bookshelf???”

I answer, with a very satisfied smile, “Y-O-U-R welcome.”

He thinks for a beat. I’m pretty sure I see it all register. “…You suck.”

And that, my friends, is love in real life.


to my friend struggling with infertility

This isn’t written to one particular friend. I’ve had at least three or four of these interactions in the last week or so, all with different women in my life, and plenty before that, I’m sure. So if this is you, then it’s to you. And I’m sorry.

Hi there.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. All I can say is “hi there”? I had this whole letter composed in my head last night, but now that I settle to write it, I can’t think of anything more to say.

So hi.

I see you.

I see you as a whole person and not just someone trying to get pregnant, as if “trying to get pregnant” is even a decent category to put someone in. Let me just tell you right off… you are certainly more than your struggles to grow your family. That’s something I know (or suspect) to be part of your life, but it’s just information about you. That’s not YOU as far as I’m concerned.

Just the same, it’s there.

You’ve told me casually that you’re trying to start a family, but that was a year ago and you’re still slim and lovely as ever, but no bump.

Or you’ve shared your heartbreak with me aloud.

Or someone else mentioned that infertility is a thing you deal with.

Or I suspect it based on the way you interact with me and my kids, so maybe it’s a medical thing or maybe it’s just not time yet, which isn’t so easy, either.

Or perhaps I know nothing. And you’re just someone I know who’s hurting in this particular way and I just wander clueless through your world from time to time.

Whatever’s going on, you want to have babies and you don’t and it’s messing with your heart and your marriage and your faith. (Ok, I don’t know any of that. I can’t even pretend to know what you’re feeling- those are just guesses based on a reasonable imagination and conversations I’ve had with friends who have also walked this road. But I don’t know. Because my life is different than that.)

Because I’m a breeder.

This is painfully obvious to us both, all the time. It’s only a few kids, but based on their movement and number of words, it feels a little like seventeen. Everywhere I go, I’m surrounded by a vortex of joyful (or not so joyful) chaos.

I’m tired. I’m 200% preoccupied with the kids. I can’t seem to find anything else to talk about, and I’m certain that’s annoying, at least sometimes.

And then the other day I complained about it.

I suspect that this is a struggle of yours. But still, I got going on yet another kid story (sorry) and I made some comment about my sleep deprivation or how I’m completely over gestating right now and I heard the words and I knew they were poorly timed but they were falling out before I could stop them and I couldn’t scoop them back up and I didn’t know how to fix it.

Would you allow me a second to back up? I honestly didn’t know what to do at the time, except to awkwardly move on.

I’m so sorry.

I know you’d love to have the issues I was just complaining about. Pregnancy and parenting are gifts. They have challenges—anything worth having does. And I’m sorry that I was being an ungrateful brat about something that you want so much. That’s pretty graceless of me, and I feel like it probably rubbed salt in a wound and I’m so, so sorry.

I don’t know why this baby-having thing is easy for me and not so much for you. It’s certainly not a value or ability thing.  I think you’ll be a pretty great mama. I can see it in the way you interact with kids that are around you. You’re kind and loving and wholehearted both with them and with me, even though I’m sure sometimes it hurts to be those things when they’re all tangled up with desires unfulfilled so far.

You’re a whole person. And you’re breathtaking. And I’m sorry that sometimes I poke at tender spots. I’ll learn. I will. And in the mean time, I’m sure glad you’re in my life. Thanks for being gracious when I’m not so good at it.