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.…

I did what they told me to do. I left my phone lying around forgotten, I read more, I tried to be present, I took naps. But at the end of vacation, my eyes were wet with tears as I poured out my heart to my sweet husband. I was both longing for the normalcy of home and dreading it. I didn’t feel inspired or ready to get back to work. I’m still burnt out. 

This summer, I’ve read more posts than ever about the rest people find in doing these things. They make it seem like the key to rest is getting off social media, trading in your phone for a book, and savoring what’s in front of you. These are great disciplines. But it left me wondering why it didn’t work for me? Why do I feel like my soul can’t quiet itself? Why, after a beach vacation and nearly zero screen time do I still feel restless?…

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.…

I’m not great at a lot of things, but some people say I’m pretty good at planning. I planned my own wedding, I’ve planned over twenty bridal and baby showers. I plan game nights, birthday parties, brunches, and teas. I’m also good at planning out my life. In my head I plan when and where we will move, how many children we hope to have, family vacations, dates, anniversaries—so many things to plan! The problem is, my plans don’t always align with God’s plans (Who knew?!). 

Like the time I became an ex-fiance at the age I’d planned to marry. Or the many times I’ve had to cancel plans due to a flare-up of my chronic stomach pain. Or like this week, when we discovered three (benign) tumors on my spine in the middle of multiple major life decisions. My plans are shifting. 

Honestly, I’m okay with that. I see evidence all around me of how God’s plans are abundantly better than anything I could dream up.…