Moms, I see your brain spinning with opportunities passing you by because you willingly choose to stay put, change the diapers and feed the snacks, answer Netflix “yes, I’m still watching”…. Play the next episode.

These work from home hours, months, years.

Replying to emails in between Lego building, sticker pulling, and breastfeeding. Wait, replying to emails while breastfeeding.

Does laying on the rug outside the bathroom count as “yoga practice?” Because it’s about the closest thing I have found to a studio in the past…. Oh I don’t know, long time.

This is where I long to be, but I also desire to use my gifts, and stay impactful in others lives - I know I am here, but I want to “out there too.” I also desire an uninterrupted glass of wine…. Sometimes it happens after bedtime.

Sometimes.

Moms, I see you on the zoom meetings mixed in with “staying home.” This is me thinking… “I hope they don’t hear my kid upstairs”,  “I hope my toddler doesn’t find the permanent marker again,” “how long is this meeting going to last?” “Is the expectation I’ll have the camera on? Because that seems very dangerous.”

Moms, I see you. At home work out videos are a thing of the past because that’s all there is now- at home. Try to make plans, I dare you. Sickness, Covid, dark at 5pm… I mean let’s be real- showering or applying makeup…. Nah, we will stay home.

I tried to update my resume today and it asked me my “skills”…. Well, shoot. I can change a diaper in the dark, I can find any missing item my kids or husband lose, I can make a meal with hardly any items. But also… I am a killer galvanizer of people, educated, intelligent, goal oriented person who would be good at any role I accept…. But it all feels silly doesn’t it? I bet we are in the middle of the shift though. The shift for working women (and men I bet)… where we actually get maternity leave and where jobs are actually helpful to family’s, not just the income of them, and where they don’t require you to feel like your rejecting your family in order to “get the job done.”

What about the mental energy. Moms, we honestly feel like we can “do less” or we have “less capacity.” Are we freaking kidding ourselves??? Less capacity??? We literally keep other humans alive, we pack bags full of diapers, bibs, snacks, wipes, pacifiers, outfits, just to run to the store. We work, play, create, clean, pray- we do it all on not one single night of uninterrupted sleep for many many years… we keep schedules, we put down for naps, we meal plan, we fill up with gas, pack lunches, mow lawns, ANDDDD work. Emails, meetings, management, meet others expectations, run organizations…  and than what about everything in the middle?? Like soccer practice and finding baby sitters, registering for school and dentist appointments, oil changes…

I mean come on. Low capacity. What a joke.

What about the shame. Of agreeing to attend something and than not being able too. Small groups, or parent teacher conferences, or wine nights with friends…. I mean the list is long of stuff that gets canceled. And why?? Oh maybe 1 of the 10,000 reasons. Some you wouldn’t even believe so I’m gonna send that text “I can’t make it” and give no excuses.

How about shame about the “baby weight” that hasn’t ever been lost. Or the books that sit half read. Or the 1st grader who can’t read yet. Or the husband who feels neglected? Or the shame that comes with extended family and gatherings we just can’t do. Shame shame shame. What about the mom rage that only your kids see, or the wine bottles that are empty, or the tear stains on the closet floor. What about the shame that comes with “not using your degree.” Or not participating in that school field trip, or just writing the check for $50 for the fundraiser so it can be done. Shame. Shame about the dirty bathroom or the room with no pictures hung yet. Or the boxes that stay packed.

Moms, I see you. There’s beauty here in the middle, in the mess, in the days that seem to last forever when everyone reminds you that “it goes so fast.” What reality is that?

I’m just here to tell you, you aren’t forgotten, out of touch or unnecessary. You have value, you are worthy and you are doing amazing things…

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So Now What? Update that resume, or don’t. Shower or don’t. Eat the ice cream or don’t…. But please please please know you are necessary, you have the right to show up and be seen, heard and loved for your real, true, ever changing self!! Not just the physical changing self, but the one deep inside you that is changing, learning, healing, hurting…

Cheers to us Momma’s.

“Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. On it you shall not do any work, you, or your son, or your daughter, your male servant, or your female servant, or your livestock, or the sojourner who is within your gates. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.” Exodus‬ ‭20‬:‭9‬-‭11‬ ‭

What does this even mean? I was a pastor’s wife for 10 years and worked inside ministry walls for 12. Today, I mowed my grass at 10am on a Sunday, and I’m sure if you practice your religion inside an organization there are ounces (or pounds) of judgement showing up as you read that… “Shawna, you looked like the world.”

Well, sure, maybe, I was mowing while my non religious neighbors were, so from the outside looking in, maybe I did look like the world. But let me assure you, I felt less like the world than I have in a few years…. Waking up rushed, dreading the push to pack up the kids and make sure everyone looks presentable, to speed on the way to a building to check a box of an organization- looks and feels much more worldly than what I did today. This wasn’t the case every Sunday, but it sure was a lot of the time, especially towards the end of our time at our last location. The pressure to perform was present, the fear of disappointing people’s perceptions of who I wanted them to think I was. Although, I never was a good fake.

This Sabbath day: slow morning, journaling and praying, reading scripture and communing with the Lord; crying and releasing, showing gratitude and praise. All while letting my little boys sleep until 9am and wear their dad’s shirts around watching cartoons… imagine that, heaven forbid, I let them rest on the sabbath. Is this forever? No, but it is for now.

What is the sabbath supposed to hold for us humans in order for it to be holy?

Pete Scazzero shares in his book Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, 4 biblical principles of sabbath:

1. Stop “we stop on sabbaths because God is on the throne. When I trust God and obey his commands He provides. We can trust Him enough to stop.”

2. Rest “whatever delights and replenishes you.”

3. Delight “delighting in what we have been given: to see, hear, taste, smell and touch.”

4. Contemplate “pondering the Love of God remains the central focus on our sabbaths.”

All this to say, I “sabbathed” better mowing my lawn than I did walking into an organization I’m no longer welcome in anyway.

Ministry leaders, Friends or Pharisees: take a hard pause on how you’re sabbathing… holiness depends on it.

And judge me for mowing my grass on the sabbath, although it provided the opportunity for me to stop, rest, delight and contemplate better than something else would have offered today.

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So Now What? Consider what Sabbath currently looks like in your life, is it working? Are you Stopping, Resting, Delighting, and Contemplating God’s Love? I believe this can happen at “church” - although I firmly believe this can also happen outside of church. If you are on staff, or overly involved in making “church happen” - consider when during your week you are actually practicing Sabbath.

No time like the present to make a necessary change.

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Ok, now onto this new part of the my writing. “Let’s Just Practice” is meant to be an online outlet/place for us to share about the everyday. This is designed to be ACTIVE in nature, maybe you can do this with a small group of friends or chat through this with us in the comment section. What is better than being alone? Being together.

We need to normalize the practice again. We need to normalize the try. The doing something for the health of it, for the hope it restores for the process- rather than just the outcome. The vast majority of what we were created to do is practice.

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So, Can I ask you some questions? If you are a yes - continue reading. If no, if you are dead set on being right, stop reading and go somewhere else - there is no point to continue. Your fixed mindset won’t find value in the questions, don’t waste your time.

What Can Women Do?

Have we asked her? Have we sought to understand the individual? I have known and currently know hundreds of ladies who do ministry, and each one is uniquely gifted, has a unique desire and a longing to use her personal spiritual gifts to serve the Lord.

Have we spent more time trying to decide what we can allow her to do, or what roles she can “biblically” hold, which category or job description, or label she can wear, rather than taking the time to sit with the sister and learn her well enough to help plug her into the right spot?

Based on the time, energy and effort spent, we seem to care far more about the sides we will piss off, or the group we will upset, or the change our website will have to include, rather than what she can actually do. We have considered the hit we personally will take if we take a stance or move a little from our current seat to the next one on the right or left. People do care, and we sure care what people think.

What if we “allow” women to do more, do differently, and participate fully?

Have we valued traditionalism over allowing the body to function more fully?

Have we traded being Spirit led for comfortability?

Have we forgotten how to hold the door open?

In the ideal family of God we would worry more about glorifying Him, protecting His sheep (one by one), opening the door and sharing the ministry. We would seek to serve and empower. We would humble ourselves, unlearn behaviors and stand flat on the same ground as she does. You have said it from your mouth, the ground is level at the foot of the cross. That can’t simply only mean for sin, can it? Surely not. Mary the mother of Jesus stood there, next to John. Mary the redeemed stood there, weeping next to Peter. Maybe that saying is more about what our eyes and souls are focusing on, who they’re focusing on? Rather than who is right to stand closer, or serve Jesus in a particular way? Have we resurrected man made religion to fit our traditional way of thinking? Have we wanted to feel more holy and justified ourselves, so we stop allowing others to stand close to the cross? Unless, of course it is because they are in need of the saving power of Jesus, which we seem to be blocking and owning with our power.

I have met my fair share of controlling owner type women in the church. The kind that label scissors and cabinets, carry around candle stick holders and master keys. The ones who say their groups or serving areas are open, but their side eye, mood and language say something very different. I have met the ladies who plan an event with greater detail than some men plant churches: name tags, assimilation tools, invitations and pot luck dishes enough to feed the 5,000 not just the fish but egg casserole too. I have known the kids coordinators who hold the line on background checks and protocols better than must hiring managers of big business.

Sure, us ladies can cause some problems, be controlling and manipulating, can talk to much, be easily offended and not share our pew with others…. But is this why some of our sisters hit the glass ceiling going a 100 mph after salvation? “On fire for the  Lord” is a great thing as long as you’re not trying to take the brother’s job. “Spiritual gifts” can include administrative roles and assisting others- but what about when a sister can preach? Or lead? Or teach? Is there only room for them to do it in a kids classroom because she’s easier to control in there?

Honestly, brothers, what’s the fear?

Heaven forbid, she deliver a word from the Lord and lives be changed?

Heaven forbid, she open her mouth and the Spirit speak?

Heaven forbid, she look to pretty and make a brother stumble (not her fault)?

Heaven forbid, she knows her Bible?

Heaven forbid, she can communicate effectively and people fall in love with Jesus?

Heaven forbid, God use someone that isn’t you, or like you to glorify Himself?

I’m not sure what the fear is. But I do know it’s time to figure it out. Process it, repent, learn, ask forgiveness and move on. The Kingdom of God is better than our beliefs, the Kingdom of God is bigger than our traditions, the Kingdom of God is more worthy than our interpretations. The Kingdom of God is for all who believe - gender included.

I’m not saying throw it all to the wind. I am saying, be quiet a minute, evaluate your kingdom, open a door, and get to know a sister.

After you ask her, be patient. She might need some time to figure herself out. I’m sure she’s spent more time learning what the organization deems appropriate for her to do, than time spent discovering her own gifts.

My guess is that she has spent hours, months, years, learning where she can fit in, rather than belong. Learned what roles and spaces she’s welcome to show up too, but only as half of herself. My guess is she walks through any open door and sits in rooms full of closed doors. Where she’s asked to take notes on a notepad but not to participate because this is a man’s role. Because men know best leading churches full of men and women?

My guess is she feels stupid and ignorant when she finally is asked a question because if she doesn’t communicate correctly, with meekness and submission, in a 3 sentence well articulated statement that doesn’t disrespect anyone or make an actual stance in any direction; she will be yet again misunderstood and left out of the next conversation or 6 months of conversations…

My guess is she knows something about complex situations, showing up with empathy, listening to understand, and holding space for all of the people, opinions and changes that come along with ministry inside the church. Especially if she’s doing those same things in ministry inside of her home. Just a guess.

So maybe give some space and some grace to answer, give her a try at a few things, a few times. Don’t expect her to be good right away, or to know what she’s capable of, or how she’s anointed by the Spirit. Did you know right out of the gate? How many at bats did you get before you felt comfortable, do you even feel comfortable? So don’t judge her based on how shaky her hands are, or if she misses her spot, or missteps.

Give her a chance. Let her try. Open the door, support her, not in a “your weak-I’m strong” kind of way, but in an actual way of “let’s discover your gifts together.”

Women are complex and their seasons constantly change, as do they. So don’t hold their feet to any crazy hot burning fire. Let her be, let her become, let her rise and fall and try. Give her a chance, and then another one. Encourage her, don’t pity her, pray for her and befriend her. She’s not one of the guys, but she is strong, and capable and has God given wisdom and gifts. She doesn’t only deserve a seat at the table, she and her friends should account for half of the seats, and your organization will be better for it.

Women are warriors, armor bearers, soldiers, spiritual giants, prayer partners, and they have your back, start having theirs.

View her as an asset, treat her like an asset, she actually is an asset to your life and ministry. She’s not a negative, she’s a positive and just because it’s painful to change and grow doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. You maybe should?

I can confidently say, the moments I was used by God the most inside a church was when my husband held the door open for me, even when it wasn’t the norm at the organization. Things were best when we were doing them together. And for all of you Pastors, Preachers, Teachers who are doing these things - You my friends are the real Hero’s. I have met some of you, and you make the ministry better - don’t stop.

So Now What? Ladies- let’s do ourselves a favor, IF you are in a faith community where your gifts aren’t welcome, wanted or celebrated: GO FIND A NEW ONE… God didn’t give you the gifts for no reason. I promise (and I know from my personal experience) there is a school, a business, a community center, a non profit, a sports team, a “You fill in the blank” THAT NEEDS and WANTS you and your gift.

Stop wasting it in rooms you aren’t welcomed.

Husbands: If you want to protect your wives, then start. Start protecting them from organizations that belittle them, where they have to change to fit- I assure you, if they are doing it to your wife; they are doing it to you. God didn’t give your wife her gifts just to serve you. God gave her, her gifts to serve God himself. He will find her places to do just that - help her out.

Pastors: Make some space. Invite her to do something, do more. Encourage her to take a spiritual gifts test and LET HER TRY to do more than organize your files. If your Executive table and Elder’s room isn’t split 50/50 than I promise you are working with blind spots. If your congregation is made up of male and female - your leadership teams should be also. Stop wasting your time trying to control what she can and can’t do…. Start Letting God show you what He has gifted His Daughters to do.

At first I didn’t understand what he was doing, and realized he was filled with peer determination to let me know he was pissed. I began to shush him calmly and try to talk to him, that did nothing. He got louder and more red in the face, he closed his eyes, and opened his mouth wider, reveling his shaking tongue. I started moving quicker and realized he wasn’t going to stop until I was finished. I couldn’t button his pajama legs fast enough and all of a sudden his angry, tense, red hot body, stalled. He got quiet, passed right out. It was horrible.

I quickly picked his limp body up and held it to mine, I began to pat his back, thinking he must be choking. His little head lay against my shoulder, and his arms hung loose. I stood up with him, and began to say “help, help me!”, I quickly realized I was home with my 24 month old and my 6 year old, they weren’t the help I was looking for. I ran toward my phone, and again realized I had seconds not minutes. So I bolted toward my front door- knowing a few of my neighbors work from home.

My plan was to run out the front door, stand in our cul-de-sac and scream for help, with my limp baby in my arms. I grabbed for the door knob and as I swung the door open, I felt his little lungs fill up. I paused, held him out with both hands and began to speak loudly into his little face, “are you ok?!” His little eyes began to blink, staring at me like I was the crazy person. I closed the front door and sat on my reading chair, and I sobbed and held him for a good 10 minutes- my heart pounding and body shaking. My 2 little boys trying to comfort me with their little hands and voices “it’s ok mommy, he’s ok mommy.”

Inside that moment I was prepared to use my voice like never before, it felt like life or death were in my ability to scream. And I was going to scream for help.

This past season it feels like I have been set outside the distance of who will listen, even worse it has felt like the people I expected to hear my cries for help, stood there, in ear shot with their backs turned towards me. Surly hearing, but too proud to turn around. The people who are most available to help, the pastors, preachers and teachers, small group leaders and the mature Christian’s, backs turned towards me- listening to my life line screams. And never turning around. Not all, but most.

Their game is too important, and when your in - your in, but when your out, your out out. And out means your voice, your need, your pain, your hurt, your screams for help- are no longer wanted; not only that, now your just adding to the noise and its not the good kind. The longer they stand their, they know eventually the cries for help will stop, my voice will eventually run out, and the volume will lower, before it comes to a complete stop all together. How do I know this? Because I have seen it before, others of course, before it was my voice.

The truth is when my baby was unconscious, I knew that a woman next door worked from home, as well as a man who lives across the street. I knew the other young mom was most likely home trying to get her littles to nap. I knew in the moment I needed help the most, who was available- I knew one of them would help me. People show you their real selves when you’re desperate for help. The way they respond is a reflection of them, not you.

Maybe the most grief in this past season has come from the realization of who people really are- and by that I mean, the ones who were no where to be found, or the ones who kept their backs turned, silently moving forward, silently living their life, or even better loudly posting on Facebook about how righteous their life is, how involved, how “blessed” they are, how business as usual; how clearly they are posting things to make an ex jealous. This is our actual life- not some bad breakup where you try to make sure we see you are thriving.

My screams for help became whispers and the ones I ended up getting the help from where the ones who were facing me, walking towards me, standing in the in between.

In the midst of all of this I get a text from an old, true friend “Shawna you taught me how to care, how to walk through hard stuff with other people. Thank you.” Little do you know I’m feeling deserted by most of the “Christians” and helped by the neighbors who were home. What a gift to have angels among us, what a gift it is when God surely does provide a few.

Heaven forbid, I ever turn my back on the screamers, the ones who cut their arms, the ones who wear their pain on their sleeves, the ones who are weak and scared (aren’t we all sometimes?). Heaven forbid, I don’t see the people right in front of me, screaming with their actions, behaviors, desperate for someone to love them like Jesus. Heaven forbid, I walk by the Samaritan man on the side of the road, or don’t ask for a drink from the woman at the well, or make space for the little children to come to me. Heaven forbid, I take someone’s pain personally, assuming they are leaving because they don’t like what I give, when what I was offering was never the point. Heaven forbid, I assume someone’s refusal of “reconciliation” is them being “stuck in their sin” - when maybe, just maybe I could be totally missing it. Heaven forbid, I don’t hear the screams for help because of my own pride, or limited view of someone else’s demons, life, pain, mental health, situation, past, trauma, or anything else I don’t understand about who they actually are. Heaven forbid, I judge based off of the story I tell myself in my own mind, thinking I know enough to discern the situation (it isn’t discernment, it is actually judgement).

We need to start listening. Listening with our ears, and our hearts and our homes, calendars and plans. We need to be interrupted and eager to help the ones screaming for help, and the ones not screaming for help in the ways we think are appropriate, righteous, or what we are used too. We need to be aware that there is ministry waiting to be done around every corner, well we are on our way to do “The Ministry.”

And to those of you who are praying for revival, church growth, and for God to move…. I can assure you, He’s answering, unfortunately your backs might be turned.

So Now What? This week, stop and think who you are facing and who is getting a view of your back. Pray that the Holy Spirit awakens you again to the need right in front of you, and if it is your own soul (weary, hurt, broken) find the courage to tell someone. Life is too beautiful and short, to live half alive.

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Two years ago, I was trying to swallow the thought of you no longer being around. The atmosphere changing, and recognizing that I could live my life without you here. Not a day goes by that I don’t stop and realize that I’m so grateful that I don’t have to do that. I know time isn’t promised. And at any moment, it could be our last day together. But one thing that I want to do is share how grateful I have been to spend the last few years with you.

Life changes dramatically when you feel as though you’re living on borrowed time. In reality we all are. I’m grateful that we’ve gotten to have more morning talks. You and your mushroom coffee, me with my hard stuff. I’m grateful that you can drive the six hours down and stay with our family. You can play endless games, bake, and cook with our middle man, who knew Osmo was so good. And sit next to me at the baseball field. Though I have been worried a few times that you’ll get kicked out of the game… us in our matching dresses.

I’m grateful for our early morning voice text messages. I’m grateful that you provide the lake house, a place where I can still run away to. Where we can fish for hours, laugh and play, find abandoned parks and eat ice cream. I’m thankful for Grandma Camp and how our boys get to know you.

I’m grateful to learn who your friends are and to walk with you through new seasons I’m grateful for the chicken nachos and the date nights that you help make happen. I’m even grateful for the random questions about technology you ask Matt. And the ping pong tournaments that turn into late nights…

I’m so thankful you can hang out with our boys, attend baseball games, play board games and teach them about corn stocks. I’m so thankful for the Costco runs, fresh flowers in a vase and full freezer. Baking and taco meat filling the stove. Mom, it really does mean the world to me.

I often wonder what I would have done without you, and I’m so glad I don’t actually have to find out. I’m so thankful for the beautiful memories these past two years. You heading down the biggest water slides with your grandkids in the Dells, bursting through our front door and finding the hiding boys, all loud Squeals and squeezes. The many rotations of the kissing bug in Bug Bingo, long lake days, you driving your boat like you stole it; Sand island, and coffee shop stops, Superman ice cream and Whitefish Whip. Long conversations in my wingback chairs and in yours. Thanksgiving spent at our table around candle sticks, you decorating our entire house for Christmas, and spending 3 days on my tree, just because you can.

Of course the future is very much unknown. Of course I hope for the best, a future that’s full of you. Birthdays, Thanksgiving trips, football games, basketball games, baseball games and all the other games we will watch and play the next multiple years. I hope to have you next to me at graduations and weddings and when life rocks us back and forth again and again. Life is better next to you. And I hope we get to share many more memories. Yes, the big moments, but also the ordinary days, the ones that are easily taken for granted. I never will, take our time together for granted.

Truth be told I’m just grateful that there wasn’t a massive hole left from where you were. I’m grateful that you’re still taking up space on this earth. Still have breath in your lungs and health in your body. I’m grateful to see the spark in your eye and hear the laughs come out of your mouth. I’m so grateful we didn’t lose you to cancer.

I’m so thankful for our borrowed time.

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So Now What? Take some time this week to write a letter to someone you care deeply about. Let them know how they make you feel, what you enjoy doing with them along. Pick someone who would leave a huge hole in your life if they no longer were there.

To decide.

To feel. To be angry at unjust behavior. To be sad at what we lost, to be outraged at “good Christian behavior,” to be horrified at “Christlikeness” when it looks nothing like Christ.

To wonder why they haven’t reached out, to stay in the perplexity of the unknown, how they could feel abandoned when they are the ones who decided to stick with corruption.

How are we the bad guys for leaving? When what we left isn’t because of Who we left, it’s about what we left- even though the Who has no idea about the actual What. Good luck. Keep thinking we are the bad guys, it’s easier that way. For you, and them, but not us. But no one actually cares about us or how we feel. It’s just easier that way. I just want permission to be misunderstood.

I just want permission to say “no more.” To live small and matter to a few, and be friends with the so called “sinners” although they model  Christ much more than the Christlike mentioned above.

I want the permission to not share my actual life anymore, it’s painful and disorienting and I guess it’s for the faint of heart. The ones who crave and need peoples validation, that’s not me anymore. I won’t live inside the expected even though I was always the unexpected. I won’t conform just for “unity’s” sake- I wasn’t called too, by the One I actually follow. He isn’t asking me to become someone I wasn’t made to be.

I just want permission to live for Him, in my classroom and living room and on the sidewalk and at the park and maybe even inside a church, although I’m not sure I’ll walk inside one of those again, unless it’s very different than where I have come from.

I just want permission to sit. Quietly and calmly. To stop the worrying and spinning and fear of the future, for just a second to realize I have been Martha-ing this whole situation that I have no control over anyway. I guess I want permission to sit now, like Mary and live my damn life. And I want permission to do that only with people who want to with me, not because I can offer them anything, besides me, as I am.

I want to hold the hand of the four year old girl who wants to walk next to me up the walkway, to research the college options for the student who never thought she could go to college, to listen to the story at the same table of the person who is now “they/them”, to still sleep near my 4 and 6 year old because they still want the comfort, to celebrate the small victories of another day lived, to drink lemonade on the patio of the house where we pay the mortgage: who cares the floors are dirty and the counters are full; we live here, we are Life-ing here.

I guess I want permission to allow the vision for the future to burn down with the ship we just got out of. Maybe it is all connected and maybe I’m not ready for the actual fire, but maybe I just need some hope that the future can happen even though it’s going to look differently than expected- doesn’t it for all of us?

I need permission to consider and assume that just because we may not be in “full time” ministry, God still loves us just the same, and maybe can actually use us more for His glory because maybe we won’t be half ourselves anymore.

I need permission to say to myself “Good job”. To see my boys and our marriage as things to be celebrated not just survived through, to know I made it through the baby stage 3xs, and a pandemic, and 10 years of ministry, - all of which kicked my ever living ass. But I’m alive, and I need permission to recognize how these seasons have changed me, and I need permission to recognize I’m not ruined. I need permission to find myself again, to apply my effort to my own life, to rest and restore and exhale- I never have learned how. I need permission to keep trying.

I need permission to say I’m tired, like bone chilling, absolutely, fried. Like when you walk through a desert and all you taste is dirt, when you crunch your teeth and taste beach, like when you start labor and you think you are reaching the end, and yet the doctor proclaims you are a 2 out of 10, we still have a long way to go- that has been my life for a long while now. I have thought the labor pains would end. And yet behind each contraction of intense pain, is yet another bigger contraction, only this life has shown me it’s not my uterus contracting, it’s my soul. And my soul is in need of some help to keep doing this living thing. And I need permission to admit that the ones I thought would be the IV drip of encouragement- are no where to be found. They have left, with their assumptions and commitments to the thing, rather than the potential of birthing something new together.

I need permission to say I’m really disappointed, in the church, in the people, in myself, in the many situations. I’m angry for not standing up for myself better, for playing a game I knew we could never win, although it was very much never a game to me, just the chess masters who control all the right pieces, the pieces being the people, ideas, money, plans.

I need permission to say I’m not just disappointed I’m absolutely disgusted. Like make me want to vomit from both ends of my body, disgusted. By the actions and behaviors and manipulation and control…. And the continuation of it all, and the movement of people who run out of space to damage one church so they move on to the next church. I’m disgusted that the term “nondenominational” has become a cover up for being able to do whatever they want to do, however they want to do it and labeling it the “call of God” or “following the cloud.” When elders are cycled through and certain verses are highlighted and processes are interpreted to fit the man made idea of what this “nondenominational” organization, oops- my bad I mean, church is “created by God” to do.

I want permission to now question why we need “non-denominations”… like is it helpful? To whom and how? I have seen it be the heavy quilted blanket that simply allows the people to do whatever they want to underneath the covers.

I want permission to feel. Without the weight of what it could cost me, to question without being cast or kicked out- I’m now in the wilderness, there isn’t any more being displaced out here.

I need permission to just be a God girl for a while or forever. To pay attention to Him and Him alone, to notice Him in the sunbeam through the clouds or the lightning strike, or the bird’s song. To see Him in the generosity of the door holding stranger and of my sister. To see Him in the details, when the gift came on the supposed to be last paycheck day. To see Him in the trees and water and breeze.

I need permission to wait a while. And to learn how to wait. I’m so bad at it. To sit down or even burn holes in my tennis shoes as I walk the same path through the neighborhood, nonetheless to wait. Waiting has to be intentional, for me now. Not like rush cleaning waiting for the guests to arrive or needing sleeping meds to sleep waiting, or to google one million reasons for one thousand outcomes of how this all “works out for the good of those who love Him.” Isn’t that me? I love Him, so the waiting must be for my good huh? Crap, That sucks.

I need permission to become who “nature and nurture” has made me to be, up until today… I need permission to change. To heal, to cry and scream, to laugh and love, to believe the best and reimagine a beautiful future with less people and less stuff and less in general. I need permission to consider what job and role and position and company can utilize my gifts and passions the best- inside and also very much even if it’s outside the church. I need permission to be “worldly” compensated for my experience and ability. Wow, what a thought. What a sin.

I need permission to work full time, and go away for a night, and vacation solo with my husband without the perceived or actual mom guilt put on me by myself or society as a whole. I need permission to be alone and quiet and also surrounded just by my kids on my days off, I need permission to allow some so called steady relationships that are cracked to fully break and I need permission to never pick them back up again, the pieces or the people.

I need permission to consider what’s worked for me in the past and reincorporate it back into the present if it promises to help. I also need permission to stop doing whatever is no longer serving me, or my health.

I need permission to fall back in love with myself and my husband and my own backyard patio rocking chairs. And all the simple things of living in the Midwest, I need permission to watch nature like a movie and be content with the fact that it is the only movie I have watched in years.

I need permission to own what I like and don’t like. To drink vodka lemonades in the summer and red wine in the winter. I need permission to feed myself without thinking I should be less every time something touches my lips. I need permission to stop punishing myself for my human needs, nourishment and love.

And at the end of the day, the biggest revelation of all of this, I realize, the only person I need permission to do all of these things is from myself. I get to decide. Permission granted my dear weary soul, permission granted.

So Now What? Consider for yourself what you need permission to do. Maybe its leave a relationship or start a gym membership, maybe is bake some bread or quit a job. Whatever it is, You get to decide. Grab a sticky note and write down

“Permission granted”

and go live your life. Oh, I would absolutely love to hear what you gave yourself permission to do, please SHARE WITH ME and with someone else.

***Final Note: We have so many NEW Friends here, THANK YOU FOR JOINING! I turned on my “Paid” subscriptions. Why? I can remember when I was 10 years old sitting in my room on my floor writing down my thoughts in my green spiral notebook. I can remember when I was 24 years old and 30 years old, and again just last week - wondering if it’s my turn to write and share and live my dream of becoming a paid writer; and I realized, I get to decide. So, in an act of courage, I turned on paid. If you feel like becoming a paid subscriber - well THANK YOU so much for helping my dreams come true, and if not, or if not now, that’s A OK! Truly. I appreciate you reading along and sharing my work to people who you think could feel less alone.

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Weird right? That seems off, even to read it. So, why do we act like it? Why do we subconsciously or consciously live this way? Why are we only showing up, attending, visiting, being - for our ‘own.’

If you read this and think, this isn’t me, this isn’t what I do, this isn’t what I practice. Well, let’s ask some questions, what table are you sitting at? Who are you inviting to sit around your table? Do they have your skin color? Do they have money to buy something to bring to your potluck? Does their food look, smell, and taste the same as what you already cook? Do they read the same books, and watch the same news channels as you do?

Beloved, who is at your table? And what table do you continue to show up too?

What do I mean by table? I mean the one you have in your kitchen, the nice one you have in your dinning room, and also, the table you fold up in the church fellowship hall, the table to serve the buffet style meal on at special events, graduations, birthday parties, weddings, funerals. What about the holiday table, with extended family, candle sticks, evergreens and cranberry’s in your fancy flutes.

What about the table you are being invited to sit at, are you even being invited to sit at a table you don’t own, or belong too, or aren’t a “member” of? You should be. Did Jesus sit at his own table? With His own guest list? If I remember correctly Jesus didn’t even own his own table, and if he did it wasn’t important because it wasn’t in the Bible. He was too busy out at other people’s tables.

I would venture to guess if we aren’t being invited to sit at a coffee table, or a neighbor’s table, a picnic table, - let me ask, are we nice? Kind? Friendly? Open to new friends? Do we come off opinionated? We can’t answer that question ourselves- we need someone in our lives we can ask (that someone shouldn’t be a yes man or who isn’t scared of the ramifications of answering honestly, which is different than answering correctly).

Are we willing to celebrate holiday’s that aren’t our own, at a table that isn’t our own, with a people that are not our own?

In the Wilderness, there is only one long table, and it is set for all, anyone, all kinds. The Wilderness is wide, open, free. The Wilderness doesn’t belong to anyone but God Himself. No membership dues, no perceived or real hoops to jump through. Just a long table, set for all; anyone who also finds themselves in the wilderness, alone, scared, unsure, or recently lost.

In the Wilderness is where we are found. No longer trying to fit into boxes that were man made and owned. No longer at a table that has a clear head and spots that are only open for certain kinds, and places that are filled with people following specific duties, staying quiet enough to not disrupt the fake peace, sitting in chairs that are painful and holding the secrets of shame and pain, because heaven forbit we share the real us. Seats that have to be offered, allowed; tables in rooms that come with invite only.

“The path is narrow,” and we have taken that to mean we have to make the path narrow in allowing anyone the opportunity to even hear the gospel. Oh, wait the gospel is free to all who will believe, we just make it extremely hard once the gospel is shared, and received. We pile on the rights and duties, spoken and unspoken rules of religion - even though we say we aren’t a works-based religion. Table chairs being offered only after righteousness increases, and following a demographic data set. Morality being decided by the upright and godly - leaders, who own the tables.

News flash: Pretty soon, those tables could be empty. And if not, please question those who are around it. They might be looking for handouts, they have hitched their wagon to a horse, they might be scared to tell the truth, and/or maybe you don’t know them at all. This is scary. What if your table has lost its flavor; your table has become dirty with other people’s bleeding hearts and hurts? What if your table is no longer pure; what if it costs too much to pay for a seat at your table? Not just the donation cost, but the relational cost to stay seated at a table where questionable things are happening. The cost of people’s own souls, will there always be someone willing to pay that amount?

Have we loved too much? Instead of people, have we loved vanity too much? Pride too much? Have we let our fear control our actions and invitations given, have we fallen in love with the type of table we own, and completely missed the point that the people at the table are the important part? Have we eliminated the invitations - by illuminating the restrictions? Have we loved ourselves and our comfort too much?

We have loved something too much, surly, and it hasn’t been God’s children.

So Now What? There is no time like the present to change, this week, let’s focus on what tables we are at. First step, find some courage and invite someone not like yourself to a table (coffee, lunch, picnic, park, dining room, folding). It doesn’t matter what kind, just be the the initiator. Secondly, stand up from a table you no longer belong at, walk away from what you know is wrong, and realize the table isn’t the thing with the power to help you meet your dreams - you and God are.

Until next time, remember to find your Lemon for today.

We are very good at being against things, but what are we for at this point? Let’s practice being for things for a few moments today…

Public schools for instance, if you find yourself “knowing” a lot about how their run and what they do, I challenge you to go be a lunch volunteer for 1 year. Get a part time job as the recess monitor or a substitute teacher, and see if all of the things you “know” still remain the same after you go work along side of the people and serve the kids.

Or if you hold strong beliefs about Islam, do you have a friend who practices the Muslim faith? If not, go get one, and again after you have shared meals and listened for a year, let’s see if all of those “knowings” remain.

How about the LGBTQ+ community, any strong beliefs there? If so, instead of posting negative statements of Sureism on Facebook, go volunteer at a library or visit a church who holds space for individuals that are different than you. Be quiet, go in soft, listen for a while, hear their story, and let’s see what things become more important, the relationship or the “rightness”.

So when I say, this is a different kind of Devo, I mean, this is a different kind of Devo. If you want a clearer understanding of the theology of the book of Leviticus, go look somewhere else. If your looking to laugh a little, cry a little and read about a real Human finding hope in the midst of laundry, and changing faith- well maybe I can share some of my life and you can find yourself inside my words.

I’m not confident in many systems or structures at this point, but I am confident in Jesus, and the beauty of the Creator, I know I have found God in a church, and on a baseball field bleacher. I know I have found community in structured small groups and also in neighbors just hanging out. I believe in the power of communion in a traditional, pass the plate type of way, and also the power of candles lit at our own dinner table with spaghetti and meatballs and spilled milk. I have known the exhaustion of overworking inside our “non works based religion” and I have found the freedom to sabbath practice. I know how to memorize scripture and write a sermon, and yet I know the true power of reciting the Lord’s Prayer as I walk around my own neighborhood block- interrupted by little kids at play and dogs barking.

I know how to be the good girl, and the Pastor’s wife and the Striver of fitting in molds that are man made, I know how to help grow a church and create a community and lead assimilation, I know how it all works, and yet, I also know that their is more freedom found outside of all of it. The System, the “up into the right movement,” the mega church, the hoops to jump through, the fear of failure, the power of the popular, the ownership of the few on top, the control and pride it takes to stand on a stage and ask for donations, spin stories, manipulate sheep. I know how too, for me, and my love, it never was a game. I wish it were true of the systems I have served, when I thought I was serving God all along.

What I have found is that I can now. Serve God that is. I can make a meal for my neighbor and not assume it will be on the church’s social media account, I can bless someone in need and not worry it will be a sermon illustration. I can pray for a student or a coworker even without them knowing. I can share about Jesus and his desire to know us and not have to equate it with a “salvation count” or a “hand raise” to pad some numbers for year end Christmas giving asks. I can be a friend, without hoping they join our church. I can read the Bible for myself.

So if you’re looking for someone with all the answers, that may have been me (pretending anyway), at some point, but it surely isn’t me now.

If you are looking for certainty and a confident leader to follow, there are plenty, just not me at this point. Here I hope to spur on thought, conviction even maybe? Share some words and ask some questions, help us ponder why we do what we do, why we stay when we know she should go, why we live in deep fear of failure when we are the saved ones, why freedom is what we have to offer others through salvation, yet we live in great loads of bondage. Why we read a book full of promises and joy, and we either use the words like a genie in a bottle, or are deeply hurting and in a great deal of pain. Why we say we forgive, but that’s only because we have to say that- we actually don’t know how to process the emotions behind forgiveness, and we feel shame after we erupt in anger on our little children, when all they did was simply be a kid.

There is a whole world of believers living inside perfectly square lines, that’s no longer me. Jamming myself into boxes that never fit.

I’m not even sure if this is a devo, besides the fact that the definition of a devo is: “religious practice, text, or short worship service intended to inspire faith, prayer, and meditation.” I sure hope my questions inspire your faith to grow and change, that your prayer life may shift into simplicity and a real talking with God. We spend all day meditating on stuff, if you spend 5 of your minutes on your phone having your thoughts provoked- rather than comparing yourself to someone else or ordering something on Amazon, well than, praise be to God.

I don’t have all of the answers for what this will look like yet, but what I do know is this space is meant to be a safe and soft place for us to ask the questions we haven’t felt like we could inside organizations or systems. To allow ourselves the room to breathe, and take some time to ponder some stuff, rather than just already knowing everything.

So What’s Next?: This Week, maybe we can practice becoming aware of how many things we are actively against verses how many things we are actively for. Awareness is always the first step. Throughout our days, may we stop and notice what battles we pick, when really maybe (just maybe) we weren’t ever called to pick them.

***Final Note: I turned on my “Paid” subscriptions. Why? I can remember when I was 10 years old sitting in my room on my floor writing down my thoughts in my green spiral notebook. I can remember when I was 24 years old and 30 years old, and again just last week - wondering if it’s my turn to write and share and live my dream of becoming a paid writer; and I realized, I get to decide. So, in an act of courage, I turned on paid. If you feel like becoming a paid subscriber - well THANK YOU so much for helping my dreams come true, and if not, or if not now, that’s A OK! Truly. I appreciate you reading along and sharing my work to people who you think could feel less alone.

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Until next time: be sure to find your lemon for today.

When you think of summer, what comes to mind? For me Lemonade is the puckery, sweet, and delicious beverage of my choice to cool off on the hot summer days. Not only do I love lemonade, but I love Lemons in general. They are bright, and embody Joy.

My husband and I took a trip to Italy, and in the rolling hills of the most beautiful place on earth, holds the biggest and brightest lemon trees of all time. I love lemons so much that I even have a small yellow lemon tattoo on my left wrist. I never imagined the amount of times I would need to look down and be reminded that there are bright spots in life, no matter what.

My BFF made me this new Logo (thanks Hil), and it has been almost 2 years since I posted last and I AM BACK!!! This time around, with a much less filtered, older and wise, version of me. I have permission this time to be who I am.

Each year I pick a word for the year to focus on, and this year’s word is COURAGE…

”Courage is not the absence of fear but rather the assessment that something else is more important than fear.” Franklin D. Roosevelt

This is me being courageous. It’s time to stop letting fear hold me back, it’s time for me to jump back into this writing and sharing thing, it’s time for me to live out who I was made to be in this area of my life. A Life long dream of mine is to become “a paid writer” - and it is time to let that dream dance - I will be opening up paid subscriptions for you lovely people who want to help make this dream of mine a reality! :)

What to expect: Keep an eye open for my new post coming later this week!

For now, I hope you spot your own lemon of today. A bright, beautiful moment or sight that reminds you to smile.

Although I hardly have enough time to drink my coffee hot in the morning, today I stop and pause, reflect and leave a small amount of space to consider, to wonder what you would be like.

Although my lap is hardly ever empty and we have more than enough, I do wonder if your hair would be the bouncy brown hair I was hoping for.

Although I don’t have enough quiet to even hear my own thoughts, I do wonder what your laugh would sound like. 

Although I don’t wish any of them away, I do wonder what our lives would be like: yours and mine, all of us together.

I wonder if you would be carefree and joyous or if you would have taken on the rest of the family’s fierceness for life. 

Although I don’t often take the time to consider or to wonder about you, today I do. I pause and reflect, you would be 5 years old now, and some months.

I wonder if you would have a mouth full of teeth or if you would have lost a few yet.

I wonder if you would like your nails painted pink, or enjoy flower patterns on your dresses.

I wonder if you would enjoy matching mommy or coloring pretty pictures.

I wonder how you would like your room painted or what backpack you would pick for school. You would be getting ready for kindergarten in the fall.

I wonder how your dad would act towards you, I’m sure he wouldn’t be letting you go to kindergarten in the fall…

I wonder if you would enjoy ice cream, vanilla or chocolate.

I wonder if you would play Barbie’s or tuck in your baby dolls for bed each night. 

I wonder if your older brother would disgust you yet with his man like smell or fart noises; or if you would have only stars in your eyes for him, 4 years older than you. 

I wonder if you would talk a lot like the middle brother, or want to play solo like the last brother.

I wonder if you would have brown eyes like all of the boys, or if you would have had mine, hazel. 

I wonder if you would have long legs or be short.

I wonder if you would like Disney Princesses or favor Spider-Man and Hulk, simply to fit in around here. 

I wonder what you would smell like, or if you would eat the strawberries right out of the garden.

I wonder if you would walk around barefoot or prefer pink flip flops like me. 

Oh little girl, I wonder about you. Moments like this I have to remind myself that it’s ok to wonder. Wondering doesn’t make me discontent or unhappy. Wondering makes me heal and whole. 

Would you ride a bike yet, would it be the hand me down hot wheels one? Or would you refuse to ride anything boyish?

Would you be rough and spunky?

Would you be as intrigued by worms as the boys are, or would you be picking me the wildflowers out of the grass?

What would you be like, what would we be like, you and me. Gentle, soft, calm maybe? I’m not sure if there’s enough room for that in this home. We would have made the room. You were wanted, desired, and prayed for. 

Would you have olive skin appearing tan year around like some of the brothers?

Would you be a natural born cheerleader like me or would you prefer to be on the field?

Would you fight like the rest of the kids or would you prefer different toys, would we have to actually label and organize?

Would there be more than monster trucks and animals to play with?

Would you be cool with cheese and salami for snack? Or would you want your apples cut up? Would you enjoy peanut butter and chocolate chips?

Would we have tea parties with your teddy bears?

My world is so full of boys, what would it be like with you? 

I am thankful for your heartbeat, although you broke mine. I’m thankful for your memory, even though it brought with it some of the darkest days of my life. I’m thankful for the journey, the “experience”, the growth, the loss, death and the rebirth of my very own soul through learning to live with losing yours. 

So although I don’t hold you physically, I still hold you in my heart. And although my motherhood plate is plenty full, I still miss what I think you could have been.

They say, whoever “they” are, when someone dies, the hopes and dreams of their future dies with them. Well, here’s to stopping long enough to wonder, to consider what your life would have been like.

Here’s to you, the Girl I Never Knew.

One year ago today I lost a baby. And the hopes, dreams and desires for that little one went down the toilet right along with the blood, cells and soul. 

Yet here I sit, rocking my beautiful son, purpose oozing out of him. Hot tears running down my face, thankfulness and mourning both taking up half my heart. 

My emotions running high today, maybe because I am postpartum, maybe because of my lack of sleep, or over doing it yesterday. Oh wait, the date screams off of my iPhone like a “surprise!” 

I do feel somewhat surprised, officially 365 days, I have lived with the truth of what it feels like to be the 1 in 3. Holidays, birthdays, vacation days, and everyday in between.

This year I have journeyed with so many I love and care for who have also lost. Lost big time, lost babies. And the compassion that now exists in me, I am forever changed, as is my response. 

That right there is how I know God has big plans for my Franklin. Because even before he was born, God was using him to change me. 

To all who have lost and now hold a baby in your arms, grief and Joy can coexist. I hope you catch yourself smiling today even with tears in your eyes - especially with tears in your eyes.

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I have 3 sons and there is no mistaking who their father is. They are all cookie cutter images of him. Eye spacing, physical features and truth be told even actions and personalities resembling their dad. This is a good and beautiful thing. 

That’s us. We were created “in the image” of our Father, God.

This is taking on new shape for me in these days. Brain scans, genius testing, therapy... the amount of scientific information about how our body, mind, and emotions work is truly amazing. Maybe I am late to the party, but nonetheless I have arrived to the party (that party being the one where we realize we are made up of a “full personhood.”)

What I’m recognizing and realizing is that we are created in God’s imagine. Not just the parts I or someone else deem “good”. No, actually the make up of our being. 

My juvenile mind has always assumed that only what is deemed “good” is in the image of God, and all other things, I must have created/wrecked/failed in some way. I messed up, I screwed up which equals bad. I am bad. It’s so easy to assume my definition of weakness must mean lack. So those parts can’t be in the imagine of an amazing God. A good God. A perfect God. 

What I’m discovering is that I am created. This is seeping into my understanding of the Gospel. I grew up thinking/hearing/understanding that God sent his Son into this world to save us from Bad (not just sin). I lack. I need rescuing. That’s what Jesus does. 

But let me be very clear in my new found understanding: The Creator didn’t send His Son into the world to save His creation because He created it wrongly. The created isn’t bad. He didn’t mess up, screw up, or somehow make a mistake in His creation. 

There wasn’t a glitch in the system, an overlooking of the All Knowing, a pass on “good” when He knit me (and you) together in the mother’s womb. 

I am created. Uniquely. So the words found in verses like “chosen,” “worthy,” “loved”. These words aren’t just talking about the deemed “good” parts of me. The seemingly acceptable. The “God like” characteristics I pick... no. These words mean that my tendency to become anxious, the jump towards fear, the effort it takes to fight off negative thoughts, the battle it takes to live with depression, physical weaknesses, how the weight fits and falls, colors of my skin,  my blemishes, tendency toward anger. The way I was born/created. Even these parts of me, especially these parts of me: Chosen. Worthy. Loved. 

It’s so easy for me to play God and to think I somehow own it all, that I can change myself with enough effort (and in many ways I can, but in many ways I can’t). I remember learning more about my actions and responses more than I remember learning about how I was created. What I understood: Anger equals sinful. Strong feelings sinful. Emotions sinful… Forgive. Clean up. Get back to being good and made in the image of God. 

Am I justifying behaviors. No way. We are responsible for how our created selves respond and behave. What I do with my emotions, will, physical body is my responsibility, nobody else’s. I am not justifying sin. What I am saying is sin is bad. The creation, on its own, isn’t. Sin is the reason God sent His Son “God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through Him.” John 3:17 ESV.

Maybe if I grasped this understanding better I wouldn’t have such a watered down gospel. I failed through sin, not through being created. God saved. My failure isn’t in how I was made. My failure is in my sinfulness. 

Lately I have been practicing saying phrases like this:

“I wasn’t made on accident.”

“I was made on purpose.”

“I am not a mistake, even when I make them.”

“Failure isn’t final.”

“I am made uniquely in His image- emotions included.” 

As I look into the eyes of my sons and see their Dad,

maybe I can start to look into the mirror and see my Creator. 

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Today, I sit here with my cold brew, which is actually hot coffee 6 hours old poured over ice. As I look out over the garden beds in the yard I notice that my elephant ear hostas are emerging with a particular eagerness. And I find myself wishing that same thing for myself. I sense a desire for that same spring like eagerness and yet I find in my soul some apprehensiveness to springtime. 

Apprehension isn’t usually something we desire, it’s more of something we fall into, an emotion that is learned through wintering. It’s amazing to me that these hostas come poking up out of the ground and stretching toward the sun so eagerly and easily every springtime! Doing exactly what they were made to do. It doesn’t seem as if they are living with any heaviness at all, no disappointment from the snow falling on them, no bitterness toward the Creator for the cold weather or length of time of the freeze. They don’t seem weighed down by the fact that their previous leaves from the summer before all just died. 

I was journaling this morning and I found myself writing down the things that are looming large in me, and what I found at the bottom of each one of them was fear. As I sat through church today, I found myself praying to God to release the heaviness I sense. I’m not exactly even sure what the heaviness is from, maybe grief from losses, or weight of carrying incredibly hard things with people near us, maybe it’s from seasonal depression, maybe it’s from fatigue, maybe it’s from numbing out or not processing enough, maybe it’s from lack of silence or discouragement of some kind.

Whatever it’s from (the heaviness), today I find myself praying for the shifting, releasing, the reminder that I’m secure, I am okay, we will make it through each trial, we don’t have to carry the burdens alone. 

It’s hard to articulate, it’s hard to communicate. But I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m sick of being apprehensive of springtime. 

Today, I’m going to be like my hostas… I’m going to focus on getting enough sunlight, drinking enough water, resting in the soil around me, simply, fully, wholly. 

I’m not sure what it is in your life, but maybe take a moment and ask yourself:

What has me apprehensive to springtime? 

And maybe you, like me, can lay that down as a thing of the past, and shine in all of our springtime glory-

It’s a New Day.

It’s a New Season.

It’s a New Beginning.

Today is The Day.

Tomorrow our oldest starts 3rd grade, yesterday we had a solo date. Dad held down the fort with the 2 and 4 year old and we had a chance to get away just us 2.

These are my best motherhood moments, because instead of trying to listen to 1 with 2 others interrupting, I get to actually listen, and see. Yesterday, we did Panera, quickly becoming “our spot”. Practicing opening and closing the door for each other and asking each other good questions are just a few of the many things we do on “dates.” Dad usually takes the time to “prep” him on what a gentleman does on a date, he is learning from one of the best.

As we went up to order he took out his wallet (mostly all chore money from the summer) and got ready… the man kindly took our orders, asked for the name and said the total was $16.74. My son quickly followed that with handing the man a $20 with a big smile. The man asked “wow you’re paying today?” I smiled back and let him know we were on a date… this guy was so kind, he quickly changed his tune from taking our order to becoming our server. No “name call” when the order was done, rather he brought our items right to us and kept the vibe very personal.

My son made the comment that it was only $16 and I had to laugh. I asked if he expected it to be more, he answered, “well yeah, I thought closer to $20. That’s why I had my $20 in the front.” Moments like these are the best moments of motherhood…

These moments are when I realize the thoughtfulness and kindness under all those older brother emotions. In many ways, this summer completely kicked our butts. Yet, a moment like this reminds me that I do actually like him, not just motherly love him.

He’s becoming and growing, maturing and changing.

It’s a privilege to mother him, and it’s even a bigger blessing to date him occasionally. 

Here’s to third grade champ. Go be yourself, mom is proud of you. 

*A few years ago I found myself with 3 of my own kids (2 babies) and many friends having babies for the first time! It was such an exciting time, and because I was separated by thousands of miles from some of these friends, I wrote down what I text them! Now a few years later, I find myself constantly around new Moms! It’s still exciting and I wanted to share this incase it helps someone! If you find this helpful or just funny…please share with your expecting Momma friends!

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“Honestly, the baby will be absolutely fine and good IF the mommy is good….. so truth be told spend just as much or more time thinking about what’s going to make yourself comfortable.

Get yourself a really soft and comfy robe you can feel modest in and wear around the house. Easy access and soft nursing bras- big girl underwear that can get bloody and you can throw away once your body heals through the birthing process/ postpartum.

Get a nice beautiful water cup, or a few- from Target or Starbucks that has a great straw and you like to look at (you will be drinking A LOT of water and you need them full, you don’t need another thing to remember), so get yourself 2 and always have one chilling in the fridge, and one on the table/stand next to the rocking chair, the worst thing is when you finally settle in, get the baby latched and realize your water is out of reach…. Sucks!!

Also, a nipple shield for the other boob when you nurse- I did not use my breast pump one single time with our youngest- I just used the shield starting 2 weeks after birth (don’t start earlier- I made that mistake and suffered because of it with our first) and had a lot of stored up milk!!! This way of doing it was much more gentle on my body!! 

Speaking of feeding… Nursing, Formula, bottle… YOU DO YOU! You are a great mom regardless of how you feed this coming baby, the point is that the child gets fed. Remember that. If something isn’t working as expected, or you need to make a second decision for baby or yourself - do it without shame. I did not, and I remember standing in the isle at the grocery store bawling my own eyes like a newborn. I left without formula that day, and I sure could have used it…

Get yourself a few pretty magazines- easy things to look at and process- do NOT start reading any heavy books or life transformation crap, or heaven forbid Baby Wise! Do not do it. Trust yourself. You absolutely will be a natural mother! You will know what’s best, and when you need help or feel stuck you can Google it or ask me…. Don’t fill your already tired and full brain with a bunch of endless stupid pressure causing information that is so beyond unnecessary!!!!! My husband banded me from mom blogs my first few months of motherhood - for that he was Wise and I am thankful!

Socks or slippers that are pretty! Get yourself a pedicure about 35ish weeks so you are prepared incase baby comes early! You will want some pretty toes to look at when your legs are up in the air! And you will need to feel good about one area of your body... 

Chapstick. So random, but much like the water bottles…. Just get yourself your favorite kinds and leave them places that will be helpful!! 

Rocking chair. Our best investment before our first babe was buying a huge, ugly brown recliner. All though it wasn’t the cute name brand rocker I saw on Pinterest… behind Jesus and Coffee, that chair has saved my life the past almost 9 years. Night feeding, sometimes turn in to all night feedings… It’s a great thing to be able to pop up your feet and rest a little yourself. I will say, this chair has rocked back in forth a million miles, and held me in it’s big comfy arms, just as I held our sons in mine. It’s actually falling apart right now, but I can’t bring myself to put it on the curb just yet.

Do not worry at all about your body. You are and will (worry about it)… so just be kind. You are growing a human and will keep that human alive for the first months of life! It’s enough. Don’t try to fit into your “pre pregnancy jeans” put all those clothes in a tub and put them away…. for a while! You don’t need to feel any ounce of shame for the miracle that you preformed…. Wait at least 6 months before you try on any pants from pre pregnancy. Just take my advice on this one… 

Get yourself a cute diaper bag that you adore. It doesn’t matter how many pockets it has- you will surely forget something the first few times anyway; it doesn’t matter how functional it is. I know you and I know you like nice things- splurge on this one. You will be grabbing this bag for a long time. When you are rushed, nervous to venture out, completely exhausted and overwhelmed. The last thing you want is to be grabbing the “functional bag”… you want be grabbing the bag you feel sure about, secure in and confident to carry! You will not feel this way about yourself or your ability as a mother. Feel this way about your bag…. 

Feel absolutely no pressure to share your “birth story!” But do please please please take the time in the hospital or in the first few days at home, grab your phone, open the notes app and document what happened and how you felt about it. Write down all of it. Process and cry. Share disappointments and the feelings of pure love you felt throughout the whole thing. Type in what your spouse did and what was the reaction… you will be so thankful (especially because it will be traumatic) that you had this all written down after a few months or years to go back and listen to your own voice, because you will create a story that changes with time. You will be thankful to hear what it was like from yourself. I hope that makes senses. 

Feel free to play into all the new mom things if they work for you or feel right. What I mean is…. If you want to chop your hair short in 6 weeks after birth- do it. Don’t not do it because “every mom does it”- if it’s helpful for you- cut your dang hair. And this applies to so many things…. Order the Starbucks delivery, cry the first day you go back to work, morn your pre delivery days, express your fears… all of it. Just do what you need to do and don’t care if you’re playing into stereotypes. 

Send someone to target to pick up stuff everyday the first week. You don’t know what you need because you have never needed it before…. You will literally need something different everyday. Maybe it’s hemorrhoid cream, maybe it’s bigger pads, maybe it’s zip up onesies because you like them so much better than the ones that snap, maybe it’s premie clothes because baby is smaller than expected, maybe it’s for Diet Coke and frozen lasagna because you are craving it… all of these are 100% real life examples of things I sent my husband to target for our first few days home! So when you have your baby shower and you get 2 of everything or things you don’t like/won’t use- RETURN IT FOR STORE CREDIT! I promise you will use all the money and you will feel better about sending them…. 

Be honest on the mental health questionnaire before baby comes and after. And if needed, take the Doctor’s advice on the healthiest option to get through postpartum depression and new mom anxiety. It’s real, it’s scary (and normal), you don’t need to do this alone.

Most importantly, you will feel like you lose yourself. And you will. But don’t worry, as you birth this baby and bring a new life into the world, you are birthing your new version of yourself too. Just as baby will need time to transition and change, so will you. You are being remade. Embrace it. I love you, and I’m just a text away.”

Yesterday I hugged and held a lady at Church who resembles my mom, but it was very much not my mother…. The day before yesterday I FaceTimed with my mom and the cancer is obvious now, I should say the chemo and the treatments and the cancer are obvious now. No hair, hat, dark eyes, weary eyes. The sparkle still shows up, but it’s not as bright as usual.

And that’s ok, because it just is. 

I have been leaving my “Learning to Play Piano” book open on the piano, and I have found us, even my husband, wondering over, sitting down and trying it out. Placing the fingers in the right spots, playing over and over C, D, E, F, G and C, B, A, G, F. It’s not natural yet, it’s taking much thought and intentionality to hit the right keys at the right times with the right fingers, even to play something as simple as Yankee Doodle. But it’s been a present add. Now at night one of us shows up and we do a little learning, a little playing and a little trying. 

I’m sitting outside, the breeze is a bit fierce, us midwesterners sit outside no matter what when the sun shines and the temp is above 50 degrees…. I’m in a huge cozy sweater, socks and of course my target $10 sandals. It just is. 

Back to yesterday, after the FaceTime call the day before, I’m feeling rushes of grief, waves that are new with this new journey and stage and season. On top of the faintest slightest yet still waving waves of seasons and traumas from March’s in the past…. Isn’t it interesting how our body, mind and soul remembers even when we consciously don’t. An unsettledness, a wrestling, an early wake up even when the alarm rings at 4:15 anyway. It just is.

We showed up at church and this beautiful lady came walking down the hallway towards us, our middle son proclaims loudly, “Grandma Pam!”… I so wished in that moment it was my mom, with her beautiful hair and health, walking towards us with warmth. It completely threw me off. And then our youngest protested going into his class and I ended up holding him during worship and walking him back out half way through, the whole morning felt interrupted. 

But there right behind me sat my mother look alike… multiple times during the service I teared up imagining the situation from the hallway. And finally at the end of service I turned around, and said hello. I also asked her if I could hug her. And I broke down in her arms; tears, tears, tears. I explained to her the situation and she was gentle and kind, warm and in person. She hugged me like my own mother would have and maybe just for those minutes she was an angel. She also shared about her own mother, and of her passing and how she missed her also. 

Life in the present feels a bit like learning to hit the right piano notes. Like a forcing of new knowledge, a new skill, an awkward practice. Not even very good at the simple songs yet. This season is requiring a whole lot of intentionality and focus. It just is.

C, B, A, G, F. 

My mom has her first round of chemo today. She’s currently hooked up to the machine right now, the one pumping in the lesser of two evils into her body. To kill the greater of two evils.

I sit here in my gray chair, just having sent two of the 3 boys out the door for school. I’m a bit clueless. I’m a bit restless and I’m a bit grieving. I know 5 hours away my mom is on a journey fighting for her life. And I know us adult children are each raising our own versions of life.

Body’s are strange. Each of our boys bouncing off the walls (literally), doing laps around the table with the puppy chasing them, wiggling and giggling, hurried and raw, intense and spirited. Never still, always energetic. 

And now my young mother’s body is being attacked from the inside out. A mass and cancer spreading, taking up too much space, causing pain and anguish. Today, if you saw her on the street you wouldn’t notice, she looks “normal”. For now.

Yet inside she’s in a battle. 

It’s never easy to see someone you love suffer, it’s even more challenging when there isn’t much you can do about it.

I hope this ends well. Whatever that means. She’s stage 3. And was just told again yesterday this is curable. I’m going to be honest, my trauma response brain doesn’t feel those words with any comfort. I feel those words land on me with apprehension and doubt. I’m not really sure why, it has absolutely nothing to do with how strong my mom is, and if anyone can beat this thing, it would be her!

I think it has everything to do with the fact that I know what it’s like to lose a young parent. My dad was 50. I know what it’s like to be shocked, and then sad, and angry and accept a life I never thought I would live, without someone I thought I would live it with.

Today, I can send flowers and I can text and I can pray and I can cry. Today, I can find hope and I can raise life in these 3 boys. Today, I can defy odds and even laugh. 

To God be the glory great things he has done, just started playing behind me. And that’s true. To God be the glory. He has done great things. And He will again. He will heal my mom, I know that, one way or another. This side of heaven or the next. She won’t have cancer forever. I’ll either be looking her in the eyes this next Christmas or I’ll be looking to the sky wishing her the best Christmas ever. 

It’s such a strange feeling when a solid person gets sick. I’m not sure if it’s meant to reveal an idle in my life or what. She’s had her fair share of hurt and pain, struggle and hard. But this is different, those things have all been outside of her. Before, it was circumstantial or situational. This feels more helpless because this is internal. Before they were seasons of life or stages of death, this is a huge question mark, this outcome is so unknown.

This battle - so unpredictable. So unique. Even though so many suffer with cancer, each person’s journey through it is unlike any others, like a snowflake. I have heard it said every single snowflake is unique and yet has 6 points. I’m not sure if that’s true, as I look out my window on 2 feet of snow. I guess the reminder here for me is that I’m not in control, God is. And if He can make that many different snowflakes He surely can walk through this journey with my mom.

I can remain feeling helpless, that’s very different than hopeless. I’m not hopeless. 

I don’t know how this ends. We are very much only at the beginning. Regardless of the outcome: To God be the Glory, great Things He has Done. 

After I received the news, I was restless and needed to write. These are the words that came flowing out, as did a pound of wet tears. I then got my jacket on, walked out into the rain and called her to share these words. It is a memory I will always hold near. I am sharing this with her permission and with the desire it helps articulate so many other’s realities as they walk with loved ones who have cancer.

Dear Mom,

Yesterday on the phone you told me “you know Shawna we have to live like we are dying because we don’t know how long we have.” That has me thinking, and so I want to share what you have been to me, what you mean to me, before I’m potentially sharing this with a bunch of other people besides you. 

I also want to document how life has been up until this point with you. Because now knowing you have breast cancer, there are a whole host of unknowns. But there are also a whole host of knowns… and I want to share with you what life has been like up until this point. I’m not sure how life will be now, knowing and journeying through this new season with cancer. 

Mom, you have been to me a safe place, kindred spirit, a rock and my very best friend. We are alike in some ways and because of that we know each other on a very deep level. We both have the golden retriever traits, which help us love well, stay loyal and befriend anyone. It also helps us get dragged around on a leash by some people we shouldn’t be following behind. 

Your heart is huge, bigger than anyone I know. Open and tender, soft and breakable. I’m not sure how you have lived a whole life, like yours and remained soft. Not to be confused with weak. You are not weak. You are tender and generous, and I would venture to guess that everyone who has you in their life, knows and understands hospitality because of you. You, your actions and your presence are what shows up in people’s minds when they think of the best experience of hospitality. 

Your middle name: Joy. And that’s what you are. Joy. Pure, whole, big, Joy. Your parents just must have known, your spirit would be one that encompasses joy, even in sorrow, even in pain. When you are present you shift the atmosphere. Considering living without your atmospheric shift has me freaking the heck out. I’m not sure how we all are expected to live. But one thing you have shown us all is how to live past traumatic situations. How to practice daily habits of generosity and kindness, to others and in the past few years, to yourself. How to burn the biggest pile of leaves, to build whatever you set your mind to, to remodel a whole lake house, to rearrange furniture weekly, and when you need too, “just call Mark”. 

Your love for nature, long walks, love for the water front, all of it points to the sure, secure relationship you have with your Savior. Truly you know what it looks like to walk hand and hand with Jesus. To be led, to be held, to be comforted and to be known by the God of the universe. To not only survive but thrive through hard seasons. 

You have known pain and sorrow, you have known disappointments and you have received sucker punches from your time here on earth, and you have grown, become, healed and pointed others to Jesus along the way. Your beauty and grace, confidence and peace are breathtaking. 

When I think about the word home, you come to mind. You have made many places home for all of us, but truly it’s not about an address, a court name, a family name sake or a lake… it’s you. It’s your home presence. It’s your warmth and love for flame burning candles, it’s not the stuff that counts, although you probably should have opened a boutique at some point, it’s about the culture you create and the expectations you hold near to your heart. 

Mom, you have been life’s best gift to me. Thank you for being who you are, for showing up, for forgiving, for changing, for helping, for nurturing, for seeking restoration, for holding on to hope, for staying, for leaving, for becoming, and of course for the thousands of hours you spent praying. 

You have lived a good life, one where you were a wife and a mom, a best friend and a sister, a daughter and a cousin. You mean more to people than most things in their lives. I’m not sure how to put into words what you have been to me. Because it’s everything. We have laughed, we have cried, we have celebrated and felt deep sorrow.

You used to let me eat straight butter sitting next to you on the counter baking together, I used to be your sidekick and you always let me ask a million questions and sing all day long. You never seemed annoyed. You showed up and led half the stuff I was involved in, in school and in church - to be near me, thank you. You supported my dreams and you still do.

You keep a bottle of lemon cello in your freezer for me so we can enjoy a drink when I visit. You show up with a car full of rugs and throw pillows and hand me down clothes every time you come to our house. And your shoes absolutely always fit me, no matter the size. As do your clothes! Thank you for the wide hips, It’s paid off… And the slender shoulders and the thick hair, the wide smile, and bright eyes. 

You have been a really good gift in this lifetime, for me and all of us who know you. You have been active and fun, you have had full days and long baths, you have truly made all of us better for knowing you. You have shown me what friendship is, deep, committed, loving real relationships…

Thank you for all of this, and everything else.

I love you. ❤️ 

It might be the last time you fit into your “bad guy shirt.” 

It might be the last time I crawl into the bunk bed bunk to snuggle and rest beside your warm body.

It might be the last time I fill a bottle.

It might be the last time I change a diaper.

It might be the last time I nap with you. 

It might be the last time I hear the word “nack” instead of “snack”.

It might be the last time I hear you call it Mick N Donald’s.

It might be the last time you ask for hot wheels for your birthday.

It might be the last time you use a baby size spoon.

It might be the last time I see you wear the pants I love, now high waters. 

It might be the last time you ask me for help with the thing you can’t do.

It might be the last time you want to watch Curious George.

It might be the last time you are home with me and not at school.

It might be the last time you grab my hand as you walk up the stairs.

It might be the last time you ride in the stroller.

It might be the last time.

Or maybe not. But either way I want to see it, feel it, embrace it, I want to notice it… I want to notice you, changing everyday. 

And with each last time, I want to notice the “first times” too…