I woke around 4:30am, and started my usual morning routine. Pouring the coffee. Splashing my face with cold water, washing and waking up. Then it’s on to my prayer spot, a chair where I sit to read, listen, pray, write.
This morning I decided to get a few of the morning’s tasks ready too. With the phone’s flashlight in my one hand, I got the water bottles out of the dishwasher and the cupboard and started filling them with fresh cool water from the fridge. I prefer that one because it at least has some kind of filter, which is presumably catching some impurities.
As I filled them this morning, one of the cups I hadn’t rinsed well enough and it bubbled with extra dish soap. That made me chuckle, there are worse things. But I had to rinse and try again.
The next water bottle didn’t bubble up. But as the flashlight caught it, I saw a film of impurities circling along the top. Not big soapy bubbles. Not tiny moving air bubbles. A film, that would be all but undetected in the morning or daylight.
But here in the dark, under the flashlight, I could see it.
How long had it been this way, I don’t know. It’s a newer water bottle. Perhaps it’s some chemicals leftover from production? Maybe it’s from the dishwasher, a residue from the harsh cleaning agents that are used there? I don’t know. It made me shudder, and physically that’s a whole other discussion.
But spiritually, that’s a good one too.
I thought isn’t this just what I’m doing? Here in the morning, in the dark, with only my flashlight on. I’m coming to sit and to be filled up with fresh water.
I am not looking for impurities, but they rise to the top, too, before daylight and responsibilities flood in. Before I care to try to look for them. Before I’ll be poured out as a drink for anyone else- my family, friends, anyone.
There’s a God who cares enough about me that He not only fills me to overflowing, He washes away the gunk too while He fills me. He wants my water to be fresh too.
I am not trying to look for things with my flashlight. I am not trying to fix myself. It’s not something I can really do.
It’s only His love that fixes and fills me. And as I sit, to be filled, I will be, washed. Filled with Love.
So I will not stare at the residue, I will not be overwhelmed, I will not hold on to it. I will not even need to figure out where it all came from. I might decide what to be careful of next time. But that isn’t the whole point here. Not now.
I will let Him pour His life giving Love into me, through me, and the let the water of His Holy Spirit wash me.
I will let go of the impurities. I will let Him refresh me again and again.
Until He washes -and keep washing-away all of the sediment and other “cleaning products” that clearly don’t make me clean. I will let Him fill me to overflowing. And I will keep coming back for more.
I will never not be thirsty, but I won’t let myself stay that way. Because I will let myself be filled.
In John 14, Jesus replied, “If you only knew the gift God has for you and who you are speaking to, you would ask me, and I would give you living water.”
“But sir, you don’t have a rope or a bucket,” she said, “and this well is very deep. Where would you get this living water?” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, But those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again. It becomes a fresh, bubbling spring within them, giving them eternal life.”
One thing that happened over my break/fast from social media was something glorious. It didn’t stem from those forty days, it was a lot longer of a journey than that, but its culmination happened towards the tail end of it. It’s something some of you may know about, some of you may be surprised to hear, and maybe, others might be surprised that it wasn’t actually true yet. Either way, it’s okay and good, and I’d like to share a little of the journey with you, if you’ll care to hear. This Easter weekend I was confirmed into the Catholic Church.
I’ve been going to mass for the last, almost 23 years, since I started dating my husband. I was raised Protestant, mostly, though I was Baptized Catholic, and I remember going to mass as a young kid. After my parent’s divorce and my mom’s sadness with everything that happened, she continued going to church but joined a separate Bible study. Even though it was a woman’s Bible study, she really met a man that changed her life. Jesus! She knew Him, of course, over the years but something changed when she really got to know Him there, surrounded by a group of wonderful women in the next town over. They welcomed her warmly, and all became a second family to us.
We stopped going to Catholic mass shortly after that and started attending a different non- denominational church. Away from the pain and story of her upbringing years, God continued to meet my mom in new ways. That set me up to meet Him too, from a very young age.
Somewhere in that transitions time I “met Him” deeply, at a passion play. I was overcome at the sight of Him on the cross and His unimaginable love. I “gave my life” over to the Lord, as much as that is possible at the age of four. Since then, Jesus has always been THE MOST important person in my life- even if I forgot at times or acted like this wasn’t really the case. He never forgets a promise.
He’s been my ever-faithful companion since. I went to Bible college, attended Sunday school and Christian school from sixth grade on up. I held my of my own misunderstandings about the (many!) different denominations over the years. We each tend to think that we are or have the right ones. I had acquired misperceptions about Catholics or that particular church over the years myself, which I’m sad to admit. But any “accusations” could be made about any person in any church- if one cares to do that kind of thing.
Where our feet go doesn’t matter as much as where our heart does, every day. Whatever seat we take on a Sunday doesn’t matter any more than the one we take to sit or stand in judgement, or to kneel in grace before.
God doesn’t check the sign on a church door before He comes to meet us, or to woo you. He isn’t bothered by our own hang ups or pre-conceived notions. He breaks down, breaks through ALL the barriers in our minds -and hearts- if we let Him. He shows up at Catholic Church and Protestant church and temples and synagogues. He even shows up at bars and bowling alleys and anywhere people are, because He cares that much. Nothing can stop His pursuit of us. It’s only when we allow Him in that He expands to fill US, whatever and wherever we are.
It took me a long time to really realize this. To break down some of my own pre-conceived notions or built up ideals. It really didn’t matter if I checked all the right boxes, the ones that people pointed out, or proposed to be the most important. That would only PERHAPS, set me up to know Him more. I could only KNOW HIM more- if I let myself.
So when I met a wonderful man, who loved his parents, loved God, and loved me, plus he lived a whole-healthy lifestyle, it felt like a grand trifecta. And it was. But questions came. “Isn’t He Catholic? Aren’t you Protestant?”
Even though it looked like a stumbling block at first glance, and maybe even second and third, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this may be right, good, and exactly where God was leading us. To build life together, even if we didn’t totally “match up” in all the details. Did we really have to?
I remember the exact moment where he asked me what my family thought. I knew they thought a lot of things or at least had questions. ‘What would this look like later when you have kids? And how would this work?”
In that moment I decided that I wasn’t going to let other people’s questions or hangups, or worries even become my own. I knew that this thing, this relationship, this person right in front of me, had more potential than any labels we each came into it with. We shared the same Jesus and somehow He would make our paths- our path, potentially- beautiful and right. I didn’t have to figure it all out. I let go of some things, mostly a need to control, I followed my heart. I was right, and it was good.
We got married in the church. The same one his parents were married in. We have always attended catholic mass. I have found it comforting, and sacred- a quiet, holy practice of my faith. I felt the Lord deeply most times. I’d be the one quietly crying and keeping it together, letting my silent Protestant ways sneak out. I didn’t miss some of the activity and circumstance of the more charismatic service that I went to. I found that the quieter masses suited me, a recovering student and participant of much more dramatic spiritual exercises. Not saying that either were right or wrong, good or bad, it was just me. I found God in the more solitary walk through the church experience the next 20 years or so. Or really, He found me. As He is apt to do. God remained so real, most important, always my life line. Sometimes even my first stop (notice the tongue in my truthful, humbled, bitten cheek.)
Through varying degrees and twists and turns of life and my own experiences, God always remained my confidant and The True North of my soul. I always loved Him- even if sometimes more passionately than others. It is Him who remained constant. He met me in mass, He met me as I was driving or running or walking or working. He loved me always, and He truly listened. He always always always cared for me, and most of the time, I saw it.
There’s a lot of healing that has to happen for us in life I think, a byproduct of being human and misunderstandings and misalignments. We are constantly bombarded with less-than stories and soliloquies that try to omit God from our thoughts and minds. Our hearts are ever wandering, looking for the One who loves us, and seeks us still. We get a little off track sometimes, or a lot. I’m so grateful that we don’t have to wait for Him to love us. Because He already- and always- does. What unimaginable grace. What an unfathomable way.
So over the years, as God has always pursued me, I went through my own highs and lows of distraction and blessings and heartache, I felt comfortable there in those pews, and only vaguely wondered if I’d ever “join the church”. They have rules about communion, you see, and good or bad from anybody perspective, you’ve gotta respect that they have a process. (Heck, you have to jump through more hoops to get a license than you do to take communion in so many places. Good or bad, most people don’t understand what it’s all about or even means. I respect that the Catholic church wants to maintain that it to mean something, and wants you to enter into communion that goes beyond just “taking communion.” It is a sacred thing, and body of Christ that we’re talking about, after all.)
So there is a process – of affirmation and conversion in a sense, (though I don’t feel like I’ve “converted”, but I’m becoming, more of what Christ wants for me to be.) There is a real discipleship that happens, and if you choose to go through the process, you are welcomed with open arms (and I can see that as true, no matter where you are when you start).
This process, called RCIA, it is purely voluntary, it requires self reflection and study, as well as prayer and seeking God. Whatever the outcome one may think that they seek in life necessarily, that process is a very good one!! He will often take us places we don’t expect.
Well, in the years of attending mass, I would talk with the Lord during communion. We communicated about it. I occasionally even took it, though I knew I wasn’t exactly “supposed to.” Most of all, I always understood and knew, that IF it was ever time to commit to the process or think about going through it, I would *know*.
That time never came until the morning of our daughter’s first communion. As I stood there, fully supportive, and deeply involved in her faith journey and discovery, I crossed my hands over my arms. I knew the process she had just gone through, and I knew it would be a disservice to take it myself with going through it too. Properly, personally, myself.
I can’t describe it except to say that in that moment I felt like the men walking to Emmaus. My heart was burning within me. I said those words later, even to describe it. What I forgot was, the men walking with the resurrected Jesus were some of His believers, His disciples (even though not one of the twelve.) They didn’t recognize Jesus even as they talked about Him and what had happened. In the next scene they were all back in the upper room together and when Jesus broke the bread and gave them the wine, THAT WAS WHEN THEY SAW and RECOGNIZED HIM.
It is not lost on me that this all was happening as I was, walking close with the Lord, closer than ever maybe. I was sharing about Him, writing, teaching, and talking about Him. I was, meeting with Him every day myself, in a real and profound way. As I walked, I met Him more and more.
So I guess in a way this Emmaus story feels a bit like my story, too. I keep meeting Christ along the way. He keeps revealing Himself to me in new ways, and I am forever grateful. It’s been a long journey, and I’m a slow learner, but I am grateful for His timing, and for the ability to come into full communion in a church and a community that has grown so dear to me.
I’ll be finishing the journey of almost a year- from burning heart, to deciding, to following through. To meeting, to joining others along the way, discussion, prayer and study. Now, we’ll all be ready for full communion, from Easter, onward. There are people of all stages and types of background in my group this past year. Some were raised without religion, or baptized in another denominational, or raised in the church but not confirmed- any number of scenarios, different for each person. For a variety of reasons and circumstances, each one of us wanted to fully participate now in the Catholic Church and in the sacraments. One of my favorites stories is one of the gentleman among us who is so smart and studied. In all of his study of philosophy, he found that there really was something about this God and the Jesus found in the Bible. He googled churches near him and found his way to a pew that I share often. God in His great love, is actively at work!
I’ve leaned a lot, shed even some more misperceptions, and realized that we are the Church, we all are a part of body of Christ.
No matter what kind of pew we sit in.
No matter what the sign on the door of the church.
No matter our talents or giftings.
No matter our disagreements or struggles.
We work well when we work together. When we recognize Jesus, standing and walking right beside us, holding and drawing us all together- closer to Himself. There are “cradle Catholics” and there are wandering Protestants and there are wandering Methodists.
I don’t care what you call yourself or what church you go to necessarily. Just that you meet and follow that guy. The main on, Who is Jesus. When we can see and recognize Him, that is the One, the main thing, the Truth that heals us and binds us all together, if we’ll allow. That is what really matters, more than any of the details we get so easily caught up arguing over. He binds us together in His more perfect Love.
So here I am now with my family, able to more fully participate in an expression of faith, our expression. I’m tucked in here between the years our two kids will or did take their first communion, and that feels really special. The parents don’t always have to be the ones that lead. This is where God has me, where He has us, and I’m so grateful for it all. Grateful for the community, for the journey, that I didn’t resist it or pump the brakes, even if it took me a while to get “here.”
I didn’t have to figure it all out, God already did. I just had to stumble, trip my way back to follow His heart – which is always beating. That wants us all be together, in Him.
This doesn’t mean that I think you or anyone else needs to follow me “to the Catholic Church”. I think that you should follow Jesus- wherever HE leads you. That’s the Divine alignment that matters MOST OF ALL. He knows where you’re destined for and to be- most of all WITH HIM. The details-the what, where, when and how? They’ll figure themselves out. Just keep finding and discovering, the true and loving God who sees you and who has a plan for your life.
His plans are so good. Wherever He leads you, I know truly, that the body of Christ, we will cheer one another on. We will recognize one another more- not for what the name we give ourselves or what it says on our church door. But for the Christ that draws us, to Himself and one another. The Christ that lives inside of us, that wants us to be one, in Him. A part of the Church, His body, and hopefully a part of a community that He has for you, wherever we are.
Don’t be afraid, don’t get caught up in the less important details. Just keep following Him, for He knows the way. He knows how to sort us all out.
The verse comes to mind, that’s tucked in at the very end of the book of John, where some of the disciples were asking about the “beloved” John. Jesus says “if I wanted to remain alive until I return, what does it to you? As for you, follow me.” There were misinterpretations about that two sentence phrase. It says in the next verse that rumors spread and they wondered if John might not ever die. “But that isn’t what Jesus said” the scripture confirms. In all of the arguing about the details, they forgot the most important part. “As for you, follow Me.”
I care about your soul, but I’m not concerned with denominations so much. I just know that He is so faithful and so kind and so very good. I hope that you can find and follow Him, more deeply, too. Wherever He’s leading you, or will. He doesn’t have any of the prejudices or worries or doubts that we pick up along the way.
Let’s meet Him again at the foot of the cross, and lay it all before Him there. Where He defeated death and hell, and anything less than Love. That’s what matters most of all.
We sat at a big farmhouse style table, each of us taking up exactly the space that we needed- no more, no less. We had picked out treats that we each would want (mine was a power bowl from my rarely missed, but missed today lunch, a chocolatey cake of some kind for my son, and a duo of macarons for my daughter.) There were no papers on the table, no homework pulled out to do. All that we had the one new chapter book we’re reading together, just in case we felt like reading it. There were no dishes just an arm’s length away that vied for my attention or a dog that paced back and forth to go out the door. The only “distraction” was a call from Daddy -also known as my husband – who called just to check in. Though truthfully, was no distraction in any way.
This was his idea after all, as we were planning out our day. We weren’t exactly sure what to do in that awkward time between school being out and afternoon activities commencing. Sometimes we go to the library, or home, or the playground. This day was too cool and didn’t seem any of the above mentions. He said, “why don’t you go get a treat and sit down together at a coffee shop?” This was something we had done recently, to celebrate my birthday and I had thoroughly enjoyed it. But I also tend to be more practical these days with our time and our resources, so I usually opt not for that extra expense of either.
However, hearing the suggestion come from him, my husband and the breadwinner in the family right now, it hit different, but in a good way. I aim to be careful and thoughtful with how I choose to run my end of the business of family things. So his suggestion was a warm welcome from my relative frugality. It didn’t seem frivolous anymore, it seemed right and good. There’s a whole lot to that series of statements, I know, but for now, we’ll just stick to the main of the story I’m telling you here. Bottom line, we decided to go out to a coffee shop and spend that time together, and he called to see how it was going.
“Well, really,” I sighed, “it’s great! I’m not running around and doing any work. I’m just sitting here with our kids and we’re talking.” It was a really, really good sigh! Lighter, brighter than the usual way of things. “And you know what? It feels wonderful.”
Good!” he cheered from across town. “You should do that more often!”
He’s right, and now, I know it. (See honey, now you have it in print!) Maybe not necessarily going to get a treat at the coffeeshop, but going somewhere just to “BE” together.
See, the thing is, sometimes I don’t do things like that. Go out to get a “treat” “just because”. I spend a great deal of my time “at home”, or working from home, or returning home. Juggling the house, the kids, my coaching, volunteering at school and helping with faith classes, doing all the normal things of my life, and often running back and forth from home multiple times a day. I love it, but sometimes, being home (one of my favorite places to be!) can feel like work. Which, truthfully, mostly I love, but not always. I don’t really mind the hard work, I’m good for that.
It’s just that “the work” of it all, the work of “home” never seems to clearly end. There’s always more, or something else, “to do”.
Then what I really don’t love about being home sometimes is that while I’m home, I can know, see, or sense the projects that I “should’ be doing, need to be doing, or maybe want to do.
That makes it hard, because it’s really hard to turn those things off sometimes when they’re staring you in the face, screaming from the next room, or just an arm’s length -and a big tug of guilt- away. (Like that missing sink and dishes from the scene above!) There’s always more work to be do, and being at home reminds me of that. Not to mention, it also creates more sometimes! Not that any of its a bad thing. It’s just the stuff of life.
So that can mean that sometimes I have trouble settling down while those things persist. Though I’m not a perfectionist of any kinds, I can just as easily be pulled into the trap of more work as the next one. That can take me away from doing the one thing I find most valuable and important in life. Spending time with my kids.
Do you ever feel that way too? Well friend, you’re not alone. I think we all should remember, just like I did that day in the cafe, that the distractions will always be here. Those things that are the stuff and the tasks of life. But our kids won’t always be there, not in the same way. One day we might look back on our life and wonder. Wonder why we didn’t go and sit down with our kids more often. Not just sit but sit and talk. Listen. Look them in the eyes, hear their stories without them having to shout it over our shoulders while we did something else, kind of a thing. I’m just as guilt as the next guy.
I’ll tell you right now why it happens. Because we forgot. It’s human nature, to forget, sometimes, the things that mean the most or that will make the biggest difference in this world. That’s just the way things go. There are more distractions than we can shake a stick at, and many of them want to keep us from the very most important stuff. Like the times when we just sit and listen and talk with and connect to other people. That’s all-to-easily pushed aside and bullied away by “more important things” (see how I put that in quotes there?) – like laundry and dishes and to do lists. Listen I know that we all need those things too. We need them to work well and effectively and together.
But we don’t need them at the expense of other people.
We all forget sometimes. Sadly, at the expense of other people. We’re all in this thing together. This human, stumbling, tripping way of running our race.
Remember, forget, remember, forget. And as many times as I need to remind myself and remember and be reminded, I will try. Because yesterday’s, and last week’s and last year’s time being together, it was great, but it only got us so far. We’re here now, and we want it to go further. So we’re going to have to do more of that connecting. We’re going to have to do it again, on repeat. Making the most of our time, for the days are like fleeting specks of gold.
Maybe I’ll take them out for a coffee or tea or hot chocolate again today. Or maybe I’ll just pretend we are out and ignore all the other “pressing” things for a while. Because these people right here are what’s most important. Someday I might be begging them to come back. If I play my cards right now, and invest the love and the time that I have right here with them, maybe we both will, or maybe we’ll just keep right on doing it. For it will only grow, if we let it, and we’ll both want to make more use of its goodness. Of our time and our resources, for isn’t it, and especially our time, the most precious thing?
Yes, it is. Using it wisely, that’s courting extraordinary. I want to do lots more of that…
“I’m not ready yet,” he said, looking at me with tears in his eyes still, a sad expression on his face. The tears had subsided and his eyes were getting less sad with each passing hour. I knew he was still sad and unsure, but he was getting there. Unsure at the thought of it all. That I was leaving. That he’d have to stay.
Earlier when the tears were hot and the pleading was high, I encouraged him. “You can do this, love!”
He was much less sure.
I wavered, but I didn’t want him to believe it was something he couldn’t do. I wanted him to know, yes indeed he totally could.
I ruffled his hair, kissed the top of his head, cupped his wet cheeks. “It’s just a muscle you haven’t used in a while! But you can do this,” I said.
“What do you mean, ‘muscle’?” he questioned. I could see the wheels turning in his brain. Muscles, and mommy leaving. What did they have to do with each other?
“You’re just not used to it,” I said. “You used to do it when you were little. You went with nana most afternoons while I went to work for a bit. You loved it, and nana loved it. You are so special to her! Now you’re just not used to it. You haven’t used that muscle in a while. But you can do it darling!”
He thought about it. Still unsure.
“It’s going to be alright, I promise. You are safe and you have everything you need. I’ll just be gone for a little while and then I’ll be home! You’ll see. You’ll even have a nice time.”
Later as we got closer to the time for me to go, his smile had a bit easier, but he was still hesitant. He was still unsure. I mentioned out loud how I had to go to the class and help teach, and had to act something out something in front of the class. I was a bit nervous. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” I said to him.
“Oh you’re ready mama.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
“Well good,” I said with a slow smile and deliberate wink, “because you’re ready too!!”
🙌🏻🫶🏻
He couldn’t help but smile back at me. I had used his same tender excuse right back at him. Flipping the script, back to truth. Urging him, gently nudging him from discomfort to ability. Even if it felt uncomfortable at first.
When I got home later and he happily greeted me at the door, relaying some lovely “old wives tale” his nana had taught him while I was gone, just as a nana should, I could see that all was well. Better than well.
I asked how his muscles were and he flashed his big, dimpled smile. He had exercised his muscles. They were bigger now, and so was his smile. Mine too.
We all were made to be uncomfortable. Else we would have stayed little tiny babies, needing only warm milk and soft snuggles. Parenthood is hard. Growing up is hard. Entrepreneurship is hard. Life is hard. But we were built to grow in the hard, because of it, right alongside it, and through it.
And now here we both were, together, like nothing had changed, and yet. It always is. Changing, and for the better, as much as we’ll allow. Always, for the better.
Some say, “Go out for adventure, come home for love.” Poppycock, I say. I think it’s Home for adventure AND for love. Then, out into the world for both. 🫶🏻✨
So, if you, like my son or like myself, wonder if you’re ready yet, you can remember this. Trust and know, that if you’re given the chance to try, chances are, you probably are ready. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Take a leap and let yourself fly.
We went to church on a Sunday. We drove all day to get there and part of the one before. It was afternoon when we got their evening when we left. But the lights turned on while we sat there. The warm glow of Christmas that had already begun, started burning brighter.
It wasn’t really a church, or truly, it was. An old church with a new name and the same mission. The Hope that strings back through generations and hold us all together. Hope that invites us and the heartbreak of being human.
And music.
Amy Grant and Vince Gill took the stage together at the Ryman- a couple, with a couple of powerhouse careers- and they shared their time, talents, and a Christmas concert with so many of us. A packed house, plus a few more shows.
I’ve loved her for decades stretching back to the 80’s and love her Christmas stuff best. I even walked down the aisle to a song from one of her albums- an instrumental, but still. The love and tradition run deep. Turns out my husband loved Vince from about that long ago too, as he drove around the south during his football coaching career.
Vince and Amy got married the year before we met each other and here we all were together, 23 years later.
Tennessee Christmas has always been one of my very favorites and here we were all together as our little family of four. We sang it on the road, and our son declared it his favorite (only later to be dethroned by Jingle Bells, but still.) Now we sat on church pews and heard it live and sang along softly, a memory, a wish in the making.
We tried two other times to get here, and it didn’t happen. Yet how here we all were, old enough to enjoy it, young enough to care and still a Family. I don’t know if it was the timing or the wait or forgetting it was even possible. Maybe it was all of those things. But even so. It was magical.
I cried a few rivers of tears at some of the songs, especially Amy’s. Vince waxed long and meaningful about his dad, who had passed on. His life and parenting style was a bit harsh but his memory played several strings on Vince’s heart, you could see. He honored him on his birthday, that very day we sat there together. Amy shared what seemed like a real gratitude for us all coming together, and you could feel the force of the stories we each carried.
The thing I loved most of all I think, besides remembering my times spent listening to the songs and past Christmases, was watching my kids here in the present – on the edge of their seats, elbows propped up on the pew in front of them. Faces reflecting the glow of lights on the stage. Eyes filled with wonder. Lips whispering along to the songs they knew. One’s love waxes super long for music, the other loves it too, though he fell asleep on my lap. I can only hope they carry these memories forward with them too. The warm music, shared experiences. The feelings, of being here, together with our family.
I hope that the thoughts keep them warm some night when the wind blows cold and the usual feelings fade. I hope these memories come to warm them, like all the best memories do.
I know that these memories will keep me warm long after they’re grown, maybe possibly snuggling their own children who are sleeping on their laps. Someday, somehow.
I hope it’s somewhere really good. In a church. In a house. In a warm theater. Wherever they are, in their hearts, hopefully, home. So sacred there, it almost feels like a church. And surely, somehow, it is.
In so many wonders wonderful ways it is. Where God is there with us too. That’s the real “magic” of living, of loving.
There’s something about live music and this one happened to hit so many high notes for us, as a family, shared and separate, old and now new, and Christmas too. By the end we were all standing and singing, silent night. And “holy night” voices raised, and a few arms. Holy night it was, indeed.
We stepped out into the cool night air in the middle of downtown Nashville. The lights had indeed, all come on. As we walked away from the beautiful stained glass windows of the church, I did, know, that the night was special. That I’ll be holding it closely too.
What memories are you holding, close, or making this year too? I’d really love to hear yours too🫶🏻❤️🙏🏻🎄
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love.
Hey, I'm Courtney, a pretty ordinary girl who thinks we've all been called to an extraordinary life and love story with God. I'm passionate about family, faith, motherhood, and the adventure of every day. I write lots of words, mostly because I can’t help it- and I think it's one of the things I was born to do. I hope that something I write encourages you, to walk in your own unique purpose and calling, set free to love and give it away, starting wherever you are today. That's what Courting the Extraordinary is all about. Finding the good all around you, and giving it away. Finding, too, the God of all goodness who wants to walk with you.
I love quiet mornings, coffee, prayer and “work” before sunrise. Quality time with my family is my jam. I can be found grinning ear to ear when we're out on an adventure. Whether that's in our own backyard or exploring someplace new all-together, I’ll for sure note something beautiful about nature aloud-and maybe repeatedly, ha!. Life is a beautiful, precious gift, and an adventurous path to travel! We might as well learn how to love. 