I’ve learned to hold holidays and traditions lightly.
I think sometimes that it’s one of the best, and hardest things that I’ve learned as a parent and spouse. Not every celebration or yearly holiday has to have to same set of situations, the same series of events, the same special set of checklists. Now don’t get me wrong, I love those great treasures of “we always..” immensely. They can be so lovely, and valuable. But if you’re not careful they can quickly become life suffocating. The very thing meant to hold you together, or so you’re lead to believe, becomes the thing that can tie you all up in knots.
For the last two fourths of July it seemed we may have found “our thing.” A race, a parade, a visit to a lake. All the things you might love. But none have been repeated, even though we had high hopes for this year. Life just doesn’t always fit in the neat little boxes we try to shove it into, not without something breaking that is.
So we kept an open hand, there was give and take, and a lot of space to fill in the blanks and color -without lines but with lots of grace. Without further mention, and with no real planning, I’ll tell you how it went.
We made red white and blue pancakes at home, bursting with blueberries and raspberries (unless you’re the one who doesn’t like that kind, and for you it was just white.)
We cut open that watermelon we had been saving, and ate it for lunch. Even as I started to unwrap it, I wondered if it should be for dinner instead. But the juice was too sweet and the pieces too red and perfect to wait now.
We made a few pizzas, and pasta, and salad and cut up peppers and ate outside under the awning. The temperature had cooled just enough, there was a breeze and we were able to relax and smile enough to not melt.
There was a very hot run earlier, and I haven’t sweated so much in years. The kind where once you stop, your whole body doesn’t quite know it yet, and before you know it, you’re as wet as if you ran through the hose. Speaking of, I wondered if we’d do that later.
We went for a nice big bike ride through some neighborhoods, the kids side by side and matched pound for pound, trying to make sure no one got ahead of the other. We talked about stopping home to grab a bag of sunscreen and towels, put on our suits, and ride to the pool club for a swim. “That’s a great idea,” declared my son.
We got home and daddy had cooked up a different plan , but we were all in. The drive -in movies, for what would be the first time. We loaded up blankets and swuishamellows and some pillows, and we petted the doggie goodbye and set off. We planned for burgers on the way and maybe even a milkshake . It was all of those things- plus juke boxes and fifties and 60s tunes, messy hands from too many condiments (so me), and thick milkshakes. Then a longish, silly wait for the drive in to open up, front row seats, snd a rather relaxed round (and a half) of mini golf. We played catch in the grass with new friends while the sun set and the fireflies came out to warm things up.
The movie was good, and the company better. My son was so relaxed and steed in his element it seemed, with a giant bowl of popcorn. My daughter sighed, “this is SO much fun.”
As we drove home so late, we parents saw some fireworks right next to the road as we passed at the exact time. I tied to take a picture to show the kids but it happened too fast and then it was finished. We carried our kids off to bed, and I thought of how they were snuggled in so close, next to me during the movie. And someday I will long for that nearness, so easy and free. I will long for bikes rides where we dream up plans, only to come home and change them. And I’ll love how the watermelon never tasted so sweet or went to waste, not then, because there were eager hands set for helping. I’ll remember how long I spent trying to get the swimming knots out of hair, or the smell of bug spray as I sprayed multiple sets of legs and arms and necks that were not only me. I’ll remember walking behind them, as the each were holding daddy’s hands, a bounce in their step and total anticipation, even though the mini golf doesnt look so great to grown up eyes. I’ll smile anyway. I’ll remember that view, so well. The one that came from being a few steps behind, not ahead. From grabbing that bottle of bug spray that I was so glad I had, even though I hadn’t planned ahead to need. Even though I wouldn’t want to need it, it sure was nice to have. The opportunity and the spray. Because all of the best adventures come with a few stickier or trickier bits. And finding a work around for those things takes time, but it’s worth it.
And that view is everything.
Yeah, I’ve just had to learn that these plans can’t all be mine or go according to however I think they should go. There’s a million ways they might flip or flop, and I’m really just here for this view.
Walking together, with love.
I hustle to catch up with them, after taking a picture of course, and I think, not all things can or should be planned.
Not by me at least. I gave up my checklists and must-haves a long time ago. They’re right here walking around with me. With us.
That whole “Head down, planning everything” thing can be very tiring. And I much prefer this view. Front loading some efforts, but really, I’m just Along for the ride.
Not comparing what’s going on with my notes of “meant to” or what it’s “supposed to look like.”
Checking off those boxes doesn’t mean you’re actually checking out or enjoying the views. Isn’t that what’s most important anyway? You might end up seeing some you never expected, but will always treasure too.
Can we just talk about that word for a minute? I’m sure it’s been talked about ad nauseam in some places, but I actually haven’t seen a real, honest conversation about it.
Home maker is a words that’s been extremely overused and also, completely undersold. Overused in the sense that it’s become a bit of a diss, or a dishonor to a certain segment of the population. While some wear it as a badge of pride as an honor, some others consider it a downgrade from their biggest hopes and dreams.
While truthfully, it’s fundamental to society. It’s a non negotiable. But maybe not like you think?
I mean, we’re all homemakers aren’t we? Homemakers or home-wreckers really. We all build our homes, a little at a time.
Home making much less to do with keeping house, in my mind, than it does with making a house a home- and someplace worth coming home to.
I consider myself a homemaker. I did before I had kids, when I worked full time, when I had kids and continued to work and even now as I work part time from home and full time managing those wonderful kids and many household tasks.
I also can look at other women around me and see that, even if they do it very differently than me, they are too. Full time working moms are homemakers. Part time working moms. Non moms. People, we are making a home where we are. Or are we?
(I’m considering as I write this whether to look up the definition of homemaker. But I fear it may be outdated or incorrect anyway. So I’m going to look around me first and see what being a homemaker looks like.)
My mom was a homemaker, even though she found herself a single mom and had to go work outside of the home. My mother-in-law was too, as she raised five boys, made the finest pies and kept the cleanest house. None of the details and tasks take away from the real truth of what each of them did. They both created a home out of love and time and the resources they had. They both made a home. (My mom also is an excellent pie baker, might I add. Even if I found out as an adult, making my first pie crust, that she didn’t make hers homemade like I thought. She does now though. Still, we all love.)
While I’m a pretty good pie maker myself, I’m definitely not perfect, and I don’t keep things quite as spit spot as someone else maybe can. Maybe I’m better at certain things, or a bit cleaner than another, but that none of that defines me as a home maker of not. It doesn’t really define any of us or our home making powers as much as we think it does.
The aptitude with which we approach some the finer details or tangibles of our home making don’t take away from the over- arching ones we do, and their deep importance. We are all making a house a home, and a family out of the people who live there. Chances are we are doing the very best we can manage today. Even on the less stellar days, we’re making a house a home. We’re building a life.
While it may include many menial and more laborious tasks, those aren’t the whole of it. What we do as humans living together and parents in a home goes beyond the housework, and it extends to heart of the work. To the people we “manage”, to the life skills we help build, to being the counselors, and pastors and true care takes. Perhaps one of the most important parts of our job as home makers is being a tone-setter. By deciding what’s most important, what’s worth arguing about or not, what we talk about, focus on and work for or towards together. We don’t always chose the direction especially as people get older and kids have things to decide for themselves, but we always do set the tone, choose what’s most important. Homemakers build a life based off our core values- realized or unrealized.
While I don’t want to make it a genderless word, or take it from any mother who loves to use it, I do want us to reconsider what it is, what it means, and what each of our parts is.
We all build things. Or wreck them, as noted already.
We are building a home with every thought, action, inaction, interaction and exchange. Every task, from taking out the garbage to scrubbing stains out of clothes has a purpose behind it. This happens in the middle of the day, or late at night. You build up your home, you make it one. Whether you work in the home, outside the home, or you don’t work for a money anywhere. It’s what you are as a person, adding to the places where you exist. Let alone as parent in your home, as a mom with your husband and kids, or a husband with his family.
Together we make it a home. We build. Brick by brick, day by day, thought by thought, act upon act.
Every interaction we have brings meaning with it. So we do. Every conversation, every day at work. Every buttered piece of bread, every towel that’s folded, every school drop off, every prayer and every hug.
It’s also in the neglected baseboards because you were too busy doing other things (usually with or for your people.) It’s in the hiring of help to clean those baseboards because of the same reasons. It’s in the stickers on your back seat window (that you swore you’d never allow.) It’s in the cracker crumbs at the bottom of your purse or on the seats or in your bed. It’s in the flowers picked, just for you, that you display so proudly. It’s in the practices and the games and the late night snacks and soccer uniforms and the plays on stage. The claps, the tears, the cries.
It’s in everything. We are home makers when we build a life with the people we love. When we make something that can’t always been seen, but can so very much be felt.
Mothers, fathers, parents. We make a house a home, together.
We work. We build. We care.
It might as well be with love.
For if we don’t, we unravel the work of others, on different days, little by little, day by day, piece by piece. We don’t want to, but we’ll have to do that work a bit or all over again. But don’t worry, you just keep going, you keep building with love. Love alway makes things work, even if you don’t see the results right away. It always makes it work- that is, if you do the work, too.
So just keep right on doing that.
Yes, we build, we care. We make it a home, with Love.
If we go through seasons where keeping up like we think or we need to is hard, don’t worry too much. The messes wait- seen or unseen. We’ll get to them when we’re able.
But those people don’t always wait, so neither should you. They’re what makes a house a home anyway. “Those people”, that includes you. So make sure you treat them each with care. For making a house a home takes an awful lot of that.
We’re built for it. So build it, make it, all with Love.
In January it can feel so slow In June, we wonder- where did it all go? September is when we keep track of time In July it felt like you were all mine. Oh baby girl, don’t you dare grow up.
Oh sweet son of ours, Don’t you know my heart skips a beat when you climb all those trees And you scrape both your knees. When you climb on my back, It helps get my mind back on track That this time, it keeps slipping away. Oh dear son, don’t you dare grown up.
You’ll be a strong man you’ll be kind and true Just like you showed us, Or did we teach you? Sweet girl you’re a lady, you’ll be even more grown. But we hope that forever Our love, Our hugs, will feel like home.
Go ahead and grown up but don’t grow out Don’t grow out of this love
Because you both feel home. Yes you two are home to us.
Each year seems to pick up the pace. While it’s easy to get lost in this space. You two are home to us. Yes you both are home to us.
Sometimes we have to pick up the pace Sometimes it feels like we’re running in place Sometimes you want it to be less like a race, Just a casual stroll, me and you. Just a casual stroll, us and you two.
As each year rolls by, I see how it flies. Oh time, why don’t you slow down?
Go ahead and grow up. But don’t you dare grow out, Don’t you dare grow out of this love.
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.
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. 