My view from the couch was perfect. Ahead of me were one set of big arms and one set of little arms, clapping and shaking high above the heads that belonged to each body. Legs jumped and shuffled to the music and an unbreakable smile spread across my face. Joy. 

The arms and legs in question belonged to my dear husband and our sweet baby boy. Only, he’s not so much a baby now. He’s two, and those once chubby legs and arms have lengthened and grown skinnier, reminding me that time flies and everything changes.

Me? Well, my extremities are the same, but my belly is rounding out again, telling to the world around me a story of creation and life and love. In just five short months (Lord willing), another baby will emerge from my cramped and dark womb and enter a bright and big world. Obviously, this is exciting news.…

I haven’t watered my plants in weeks. As I type, yellow leaves dangle in the wind moving back and forth, hanging by a thread until finally giving up. Next to the leaves, bright red peppers rot right on the vine. Somehow, despite the lack of water, fresh green leaves with tiny buds adorn the top. My half-dead plants remind me of my writing life lately. I’ve got ideas and words and phrases hanging out in my head but no energy to bring them earthbound. Most of the lessons are still being learned and I simply find myself being unable to share much. 

What does a writer write about when she can’t say much?

I could write about grief, hurt, confusion, and discouragement.
I could write about how it feels like my body is failing in my 30s.
I could write about mom guilt and worry over missed milestones and social struggles.…

Recently, I shared on Instagram that my husband and I left the church we never thought we’d leave and are searching for a new one. A gal who follows me requested I share about our church search in my newsletter. As I thought about it, I realized I don’t have much to say as of yet. The only words I can seem to find are, it’s hard. Like seriously, it’s really stinkin’ hard.

It’s hard to feel peace over leaving but not know where you’re going yet. It’s hard knowing people don’t understand and not being at liberty to provide explanations (We did not leave because of Covid disagreements, I’ll at least lay that potential rumor to rest here.). It’s hard and yet inevitable that assumptions will be made and even gossip could be spread as you make your exit. The hardest part? Leaving a family of believers you love and never ever thought you’d leave.…

What’s on your dining table right now? Is it hidden under all kinds of random stuff like mine is? Our dining table often becomes a catch-all table. At dinner, my poor husband tries to eat without knocking over the boxes with his elbow. My son launches his food, hitting the papers in the middle. Bills go missing under the jacket and where on earth did my pen go? This table is made for feasting, but often it’s too cluttered for its intended use.

Temples Cluttered with Sin

Our hearts are often like my table—made to feast on the Lord, yet cluttered with sin. God created us to worship him, but we pile on the tables of our hearts things like envy, bitterness, unforgiveness, lust, greed. We ignore them, trying to pretend they aren’t there because dealing with them seems too overwhelming. Within our bodies resides the Holy Spirit, and yet we forget our bodies are his temple (1 Corinthians 6:19-20). …

In the ripple effects of the increasingly popular trend of “deconstruction,” we find a deconstruction within a deconstruction. Are you confused yet? Me too. What I’m referring to is those who are deconstructing from reformed theology. They’re sick of the arrogance and the biting comments and the aggressive twitter fights (Who isn’t?). So they decide it’s just not for them. In fact, it’s better to have no labels, no boxes, no theological camps in which we place ourselves. 

The problem is not that people are shifting their views on reformed theology. We don’t have to agree with the doctrines of grace or covenant theology to be Bible-believing Christians who love Jesus. The problem is that often in our fight against something that’s wrong, we tend to do the very thing we’re pushing against.

A New Enlightenment

I recently skimmed the comments on a post about leaving reformed theology and was taken aback.…

I recently found an old journal from High School while packing up some things. Lime green with the words “It’s all about me” on the front—it was pretty telling of the state of my heart as a teenager. You should have seen the inside though. Actually, I’d rather you not. It’s bad. I’m not just talking about the (obviously really good) songs I wrote. Sadly, there are worse things written in there than lyrics like, “my tears you’ll taste.”

Anyway, the journal told the story of a girl who was overflowing with idols. One who craved to be understood and known. Her happiness rose and fell based on her relationship status. She’d experienced more trauma in her childhood than most people experience in a lifetime but tragically sought refuge in everything except God. 

She was me. And I was her. And yet, praise be to God for the “was”—for transformation and death to life (Ephesians 2).…