Grace makes all the difference

Pride can be an ugly thing. It hardens your heart.

I’ve been too proud to admit I’m wrong more times than I can count. I’ve been too sure-footed in my own thoughts to accept that there is another way that can still be “right”.

I’ve been on the wrong side of the table more times than I like to reveal. I’ve put my way of thinking on a pedestal and failed to see another’s perspective.

I’m not proud of the stance I’ve taken in certain scenes in my life. I’m not proud of my unwillingness to learn, listen, and be receptive.

But I’m the only person that can change that. I have to be willing to try. I have to be willing to ask for help.

I’ve learned that grace is the only thing that can soften hard hearts. Grace can bridge the gap that my foolish pride creates.

Grace is what I need to humble myself. Grace is the guidance I need directing me to people that can provide another perspective.

I think all of the world could use a little bit of grace right now. Grace from the Good Lord. Grace from other people.

Grace makes all the difference.

This post was originally published on Facebook.

A Church building on Sunday isn't the only place I find God

A church building on Sunday isn’t the only place I find God.

Honestly, sometimes it’s the last place I feel His presence.

But I find Him in the sweet, soft smells of my daughter’s hair when she’s snuggled up on my chest.

I find Him in the laughter of my toddler who knows no bounds and lives to get a giggle out of a crowd.

I find Him in the silence when my husband isn’t home and the kids are asleep. That’s when I finally have a moment to reflect.

I find Him in the constant companionship of the dog and her unwavering need to be by my side.

I find Him in the chaos of day to day life because I know He is the organizer of it all.

I find Him when I lose my patience. I find Him in the grace I try to extend to my children.

I find Him in the ordinary moments. You know, the ones that make you smile and feel like all is right in the world even if it’s just for a little while.

I find Him in the comfort of my couch after a long day; the reassurance that He is there to carry my load when I simply can’t anymore.

I find Him in the listening ears of a friend that lends a kind word and helps me realize I’m not alone.

Church is a circus with young kids and I often get aggravated that I’m not finding what I used to in the pew on Sunday morning.

But I’ve come to realize that Church isn’t the only place I can find God.

He’s everywhere. I just have to be willing to look.

This post was originally published on Facebook.

If you haven’t heard from your friend with small kids lately, don’t take it personally

If you haven’t heard from your friend with small kids lately, don’t take it personally.

It’s not that we don’t want to be friends anymore, it’s that we are so utterly exhausted by the end of the day we have nothing left to give to anyone.

Personally, I thought this whole stay-at-home-mom-thing was going to be a lot different than it is. That it would be more fun, less restrictive, and not as lonely were just a few of my misconceptions. But toss in a global pandemic and the isolation of being a mom with young kids triples.

We miss socialization. And the real world. And finding connections outside of our children. We miss dinner parties, dates with our husbands, and conversations with people other than a pediatrician. We miss effortless friendship.

This phase of life is different. It brings out the best and worst of us. It’s slow moving, yet fleeting. It’s suffocating at times and yet somehow refreshing. It’s weird and I don’t have the right words to describe the range of emotions I deal with each day. (Does anyone, though?)

This is just a bump in the road of life, albeit glorified by a pandemic, and one day we won’t have houses littered with diapers, hot wheels, and baby rattles. I hope we can connect then, when the nights aren’t as long and the days aren’t as loud and poop-filled.

Please accept this as a peace offering and an apology and know I’m still cheering for you even though we haven’t seen each other in months.

I guess the best part of all of this is that the next time I do get to see you, I’ll have some extra little friends for you in tow.

This post was originally published on Facebook.

There's a basketball goal in my living room

There’s a basketball goal in my living room.

A year or two ago this would’ve bothered me. Honestly, it probably never would’ve happened. Who puts a colorful, giant, plastic thing right by their front door so everyone can see it as soon as they come in? Not me. I had better style than that.

Well. Here we are.

I’ve been home with my kids a solid year now between covid-19, having a baby, and just winter in general. There’s not much home related that bothers me at this point, simply because if I let it then I would internally combust. Deciding to pick your battles apparently looks a lot like a basketball goal in your living room.

I’ve spent more time with my kids in the past year than I thought was ever possible, but each day they wake up a day older. And me too. I feel it now. It’s not something that registers each day, but it compounds as the weeks turn into months. One day your kid needs you for everything under the sun and then the next day they turn pretty self sufficient. It happens in little bursts that slide right by you, and then all of a sudden, BAM, they’re basically 25. And you want to cry about it, but at the same time they still need you to wipe their butt. So instead you just squish the wave of sadness down inside you and decide to deal with it when they’re actually really 25.

So today there’s a basketball goal in my living room.

And I’ve decided it can stay there as long as they want it to.

This post was originally published on Facebook.

Our love looks different now that we’ve had kids.

Our love looks different now that we’ve had kids.

It looks like my husband putting my favorite song on after the kids wake up, just because he knows I love it. It came on in the car and we couldn’t turn the radio up for me to sing at the top of my lungs, because, you know, nap time can’t be interrupted for any reason these days.

It looks like a tired husband washing a sink full of dishes at the end of the day because I never got around to doing it.

It looks like takeout on the couch and calling it date night, while folding laundry to something we want to watch on tv.

It looks like days filled with spit up, giggles, tears, snuggles, chicken nuggets, and love.

We don’t have enough time to for each other anymore. That’s just the stage of life we are in right now. Our love isn’t any less these days, it just looks different.

This different is the stuff teenage us dreamed about.

So I think different is okay for a little while.

This post was originally published on Facebook.