Tantrums and Control: Learning to Love and Let Go
Watch Me!
Like Little Children: Trusting God with Confidence
A Perfect Disaster: Finding Joy in the Messiness of Christmas
It’s December 27th and the house is as quiet as the snow that silently blankets everything outside of our windows in the predawn blackness. The only light in the room glows from our Christmas village where it sits merrily on the mantle, high above greedy fingers whose enthusiasm threatens to crack its delightfully delicate rendition of an idyllic Christmas. The sight the villagers look down upon, however, is another story.
Awe in the Temple
Marks of... Love?
Just a Touch
Feed Me
Waiting in the Darkness
An Empty House
Wailing for Waffles
My one-year-old eats a waffle for breakfast every morning. Despite that I have never failed to feed him, he inevitably wails for the entire two minutes it takes to pop up from the toaster. I sing and dance, trying to distract him. I explain that the waffle needs to cook. Nothing helps; the waiting is too painful.
Prayer: 3 Lessons from a 3-Year-Old
We Need a Theology of Motherhood
Dear Mama in Quarantine
Dear Mama,
I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice: you are tired. Not just the daily grind of motherhood tired. Not even the loopy, delirious kind of tired that comes with having a newborn. You are exhausted. You are running on a treadmill that is set one speed too fast and you don’t know when the workout will end.
Devotion in a Time of Pandemic
Embracing Vulnerability in Motherhood
Twenty years ago, I curled up in the backseat of my parent’s Nissan Quest and spent an eight-hour road trip with only one book: Little Women. By the time we returned home from visiting my grandparents in North Carolina, I loved the four March sisters as if they were my own.
Over time, the exact details of the plot faded, but the deep satisfaction I felt after finishing the novel never left me. When I heard that Greta Gerwig was remaking a film version of the story, I knew I had to re-read the beloved book before heading to the theater.
Love in a Pile of Shoes
All of my shoes have been removed from my closet. They now sit in a pile at the foot of bed. My toddler, shoe relocation engineer, beams up at me with pride, handing me the last remaining shoe.
And I’m surprised by what I feel. Not frustration about the mess, or preoccupation with the burden of bending my 7-months-pregnant self over to put them all back again. No, this morning grace whispers in my ear…
Dismantling the "Just a Mom" Myth
One of the hazards of bearing a baby bump is the avalanche of advice on how best to raise your children. Friends and strangers suddenly feel the impulse to touch you without warning and share harrowing stories of traumatic birth experiences. And they always want to know, “Are you going back to work?”
For some mothers, this choice is easy, and their circumstances and desires align. For others, “choice” is dictated by circumstance. For many, this question is not simple, the answer is not apparent, their desires conflict, and the matter is never fully settled.
The Bump as Invitation
Any woman who’s ever been visibly pregnant knows that her baby bump is an invitation. Whether she likes it or not, friends and strangers alike regard the bump as a signal. It alters the laws of social interaction, eliminating the concept of personal space surrounding the protruding area. The bump also elicits a flood of commentary on one’s personal appearance, amount of weight gain, parenting preferences, and – my personal favorite – unsolicited delivery horror stories.