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All My Not-Enoughness

All My Not-Enoughness

I see a post on Instagram from another Christian writer and it’s so beautiful and wise and creative. Wish I’d thought of it. I’m not creative enough, I conclude.

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I’m writing a book and sometimes my brain hurts and the words won’t come. I feel overwhelmed by the phrases in my mind and how I can’t seem to make sense of them myself, let alone for my reader. I’m not smart enough, I send in Vox to a friend.

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My son acts out. I know it’s a cry for attention because his baby brother demands so much of me. I snuggle him, play with him, and involve him in activities, but he still requires more. I’m not available enough, I lament.

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My mind is so full of information that I forget appointments, plans, deadlines, medications, or just simply to drink water. Guilt floods my heart in bed because I forgot to put ointment on baby’s rash again.…

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Seasons of Spiritual Drought

Seasons of Spiritual Drought

If you walked the path alongside our house from the driveway, you’d find a patch of dried up wildflowers. Continuing around the corner and past the blue chair on the patio, you’d notice more dead plants in pots as well as a much bigger patch of dried up, shriveled stalks that used to be zinnias. Ah, winter.

I thrive in the summer. Winter just isn’t where it’s at for me. But as I go on my morning walk, I do appreciate what the brown grass and leafless trees preach to me. It’s easy to feel discouraged at the sight of their dormancy. It’s what is unseen that brings me delight and hope. Underneath all that dryness is a life, ready to bloom—to be revived. And it will be revived, soon.

This ushers in hope because it’s a picture of the spiritual drought many Christians walk through. We fear the winter will never let up.…

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The Control We Don’t Have (a poem)

The Control We Don’t Have (a poem)

I hear myself say it.
“Oh, how I wish he’d let go
of the control he doesn’t have.”
And my heart is pricked.
Because I know,
that’s a word for me too.

An anxious mama
mothering an anxious little boy.
I think,
what could be a bigger
train wreck?
But I know God is trustworthy.
And he’s given us each other.
A mama who can empathize
and a little boy who acts as
mama’s little mirror.

He will be faithful my sweet boy
to grow us both.
And to be with us through
the tears we both shed.
And the years it takes
for us to feel
safe,
secure,
at peace.

May I be a safe place for you
here on earth.
But more than that,
may I point you to Jesus,
Our refuge.
Our security.
The place where peace is found.

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Heavy with the Weight of You (a poem)

Heavy with the Weight of You (a poem)

I’ve always been intimidated by poetry. Reading it sometimes makes me feel dumb and writing it? Goodness, I’m not sure I have any skill to offer up to a reader. But as I spent many weeks filled with many hours unable to walk postpartum, I started reading poetry. And this is why I now have a Google doc titled “Poems that are Probably Terrible”. I’m doing something brave here. I’m starting to share them—even the ones that feel a bit raw and untidy. I hope that they will resonate with a few of you.

I’ll be saving them all to a section here on the blog called “Poetry”. I’ve really enjoyed dipping my toe into this type of creative writing. I hope you enjoy reading them.


I sit,
cradled arms
heavy with the weight of something so
beautiful
breathtaking
unbearably precious.

My wrists ache under your body
and the joy your tiny frame 
has brought me.…

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Postpartum Bodies and Unordered Thoughts

Postpartum Bodies and Unordered Thoughts

Unordered thinking can creep in oh so quickly. If we’re not careful to take thoughts captive and discern if they have any truth to them, we will fall prey to the serpent’s lies. And it seems like women who are walking through the postpartum season are vulnerable targets for the enemy.

I’ve always been naturally thin. Girls in high school spread gossip that I had an eating disorder, though that has never been true. I love food. A little too much at times (which I guess can be a different type of a disordered eating). So when I found thoughts like “I’m so hungry, but I shouldn’t eat more spaghetti.” or “These cookies are why I’m still fat.” running through my head, it startled me. This isn’t who I am. I’ve never once in my entire life thought of myself as “fat.”

I’ve been scared to share this since being thin seems to disqualify you from being “allowed” to struggle with your postpartum body.…

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Blessings and Birth Injuries

Blessings and Birth Injuries

Every morning I wake up hoping that today will be the day I can walk again. I slowly try to lift myself only to feel paralyzed by pain. The once simple task of rolling over to get out of bed has become one that I dread every single sunrise. Once I finally make it out of bed and steady myself with a walker borrowed from a friend, I make the long, excruciating trip to the bathroom. My days are spent missing out on life from the couch or bed and not knowing when it will get better.

If you didn’t know, when our sweet William was born I suffered a birth injury. They tell me it could be weeks or months before my pain is gone. These days are real and raw and wearisome. I’ve heard the bootstrap theology—those who plead self-sufficiency and stoicism over their suffering.

JUST GET UP ALREADY.…

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