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.…

Sitting behind the clothes in the back of a pitch black closet, I could still hear him banging on the door. He screamed my name out in a warning. I wondered if maybe I could climb out the window onto the roof before he broke through, but I was paralyzed by fear. I prayed to a God I didn’t know yet, begging him to protect me, pleading with him for a way out of this. 

Moments before, a fight in the living room had escalated quickly as they often did. I laid on the cold hardwood as his fist hit the floor next to me. A fist that was meant for me. In a moment of adrenaline, I kicked him, freeing myself. Running, I turned the corner toward the stairs and saw my boyfriend’s 2-year-old son screaming out in terror. It broke me. Just as quickly as my heart broke, I felt hands grasping at my ankles trying to pull me down the wooden steps until I made it to our bedroom and slammed the door, locking it as quickly as I could.…

It seems the theme of my life as of late is “wait.” Wait for answers, for healing, for change, for restoration, for desires and dreams. Wait. Slow down. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Waiting comes in many sizes, shapes, and circumstances. Two people may be waiting for the exact same thing and yet the circumstances and complexities of their lives make for two remarkably different stories of longing. Sometimes God withholds, placing you in a season of waiting as you wrestle to understand why. Other times, we place ourselves there in order to walk in wisdom.

Regardless, waiting can be hard. It makes the heart yearn and long more with each passing day, month, year. Parents might long for their wayward child to turn to the Lord. A wife might yearn for an end to her husband’s suffering. There are women who deeply hope to carry life in their wombs. Others thought they’d have their second baby by now.…

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). …