Summer started as it usually does around here now, at somewhat breakneck speeds. It comes swiftly as a camp bus cruising around the corner, rolling in off of a busy May and a pretty stellar June. Exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time, this summer comes in like theme park ride kind of way.
The first few days were pre-set with some activities we didn’t choose, necessarily, but also don’t say no to. We love them, indeed, with all of their sticky sweet summerness. Do you feel this pull sometimes? Like a dripping popsicle, you try to keep up and somehow have more than a little of its juice running down your arm.
But then it’s suddenly a full week since school let out before you can even unpack the kids’ backpacks, or sit and breathe, to make any other solid plans, when in fact, you know it’s been A TIME. You know you’ve had A TIME.
Then you have to plan the rest of yours.
I almost said “get to.” But there’s really no privilege here, no presupposed leisure feel to any of this. There’s lots of “should” and a few “could”s and a rather large smattering of “desperately need to”s.
There’s no telling at first either, how much you can really get done-how many projects of your own you can tackle, how many neglected corners of the home you can set right, and how many adventures you can possibly have together, now that you’re all “home”.
Don’t forget those dreams of lazily reading a book under a tree, and swimming lessons, and those friends you thought you might see during this endless stretch of time and imagination.
But it’s not endless. It’s roughly eight weeks, and give or take a few, it also means approximately a million dishes, seven thousand meals and fifteen hundred thousand loads of laundry. Ha! Not really, but it can feel like it.
Look, I’m not trying to complain, I’m really not. It’s just that sometimes when you have “all the time” you begin to think that you should do “all the things” and that’s just not really true.
That’s all this thing is really, a race against time, and you want so much for it to slow down so you can savor it. For even and when the seasons change, there’s no telling if things will in fact be any different for you than they were in the past, unless you do something different
All I knew as this season changed into a new one, was this one phrase that came to me. “Before screens, make something, play something, read something, pray something.”
Not unsurprisingly, I had felt the pull to set down my own habit of social media, which had indeed grown into a nasty HABIT of less-than-worthy or admirable proportions.
Neither time nor resources are infinite. So we must decide differently, or it’ll all be the same. That’s a hard thing to do, but so necessary. We must choose how to wisely spend these precious commodities-our time and attention- or whittle them all away, we most certainly will.
So we (or I rather) started summer with only this thought. Of all we would set down, those habits and defaults that would only lead us to more of the same frustrations. Now instead, we began to open up to more good ones, to more space, and hopefully, to more ability to feel alive, and with more awareness to be grateful.
Thing is, I feel called to write, to share, all the things. But just because it’s “meant for me” doesn’t mean that right now it’s “for me”. I felt the tug for a while but didn’t want to. It usually feels life-giving to me to be able to share what God has put on my heart. But it had begun to feel like there were diminishing returns, and even though I plugged away (I feel that I’m here to serve, not be served!), I finally knew in my heart that God was pulling me away for a season. This was a season to be together with family, more focused and less on any screens. This was not just some vague idea for me, it was a gentle invitation from God, to set it down for a while. Knowing that at some point He’d probably have me pick it back up, with greater grace and to greater impact too. All because I was, willing to lay it down.
The other day as we were walking out to the car. I watched my son struggle with some packages that I had asked him to help me carry. It was just a few small, unbreakable packages, just his size. My hands were absolutely full (momlife!) and I realized that his were blessedly free. So I gave him some of the load to share. Teamwork is the dreamwork, isn’t it?
(As a side note, but not really a side note, we are now at that age where we can ask our kids to help in small and meaningful ways, as we should. They can, indeed, help us. It’s really not a right or a privilege of parenthood, it’s our responsibility- to help teach them, well, responsibility.)
But as I watched him struggle, he was becoming exceedingly frustrated. He was wondering how he could in fact open the car door whilst holding both these two packages and the small precious item he had already been holding before I gave them to him. He was, however, missing something.
The very simple knowledge and understanding yet maybe, that he could set them down for a minute, while still being in obedience, in order to open the door. And not only that, I said to him, repeatedly, “just put them down for a minute so you can open the door. You can do it! It’s okay!”
And I saw in that moment, that this is me.
Sometimes and, sometimes, repeatedly, I have refused to see the simple act of setting it down for a minute is not actually disobedience. It’s taking a break just to go forward. I think I must actually carry it- the thing that God has given to me to carry or accomplish- at every moment, or else I’m not really carrying it at all.
Motherhood. Logistics. Business. Career. Family obligations. They aren’t all meant to be carried by you alone at all times. It’s okay to set something down for a minute, just to manage, to open the door, to continue the mission.
Is this you too? You think that you need to hold all the things for all the moments and then you wonder why you can’t get anything done. Maybe you, like me, need to step back for a minute, see how ridiculous this is, how impossible.
We are, sons or daughters, trying to hold all of the things by ourselves, instead of letting ourselves have the courage to let go of something for a minute.
I think that’s why the situation with my son struck me so hard. Because not only am I that child sometimes too, but I also know from watching and observing that frustration and complaining are never the answers.
By refusing to set down the struggles, refusing to let go of overwhelm, we are refusing to choose being grateful instead of frustrated. It’s an actual choice, and the lie that we can tell ourselves when we’re in the situation is that feels too heavy.
We become frustrated that we can’t do it exactly as we’ve been trying because we fail to see that we’ve already been invited to do it differently.
Doing something different requires you to actually *do something different*, not just transfer the same you and your (very) tired ways into, and through, the next open door.
Maybe God just wants us to lay it down for a minute, to have a breather, have a new season, walk through that open the door, and then pick it back up to cross though. But if we refuse to listen and set some things down, we will always have these same frustrations, the exact same spirit, and thereby, the exact same outcomes.
I have, felt more grateful. I have been writing less and living more. We have had some grand adventure days and some wise, carefree or organizing days. We have chased sunsets and summer fun, everything in between. But not like I tend to do, and not in an overwhelmed , harried way, fearing all that choosing and how one thing leads to another. (Like how adventure leads to more laundry, and more laundry leads to less adventure, etc etc, on and on in continuum.) I know that some of the changes have happened by taking some of the stress that’s caused by screens away, even if not fully, and even if it was not excessive to begin with (at least for the kids.). It was a subtle but important shift for us.
If you feel overwhelmed or burnt out right now, ask yourself, what can you really set down? It doesn’t have to be big, and it’s a lie that might come up to say you can’t set anything down. There’s always some life-giving and honoring way that you could set some things aside in order to care more about what matters most.
Try it. See how it feels.
Maybe it’s worry, or complaining, or overwhelm.
Maybe it’s social media, or half of your to-do list.
Maybe it’s some supposed plans that you made or an unrealistic expectation or that other round of golf or lessons or painting class.
Maybe it’s taking a step back for a season, just to reset, and try again when you’re ready to. Maybe it is, “summer break” after all?
It also doesn’t mean that what you set down right now means you don’t have to carry it at all. It just means that you don’t have to carry it *right now*.
Like my son was struggling at the door, so was I a bit standing at the door of summer. But now, I have heard His voice, inviting me to what’s better.
I feel more space, and it’s not because I hired a laundress or a cleaning lady or anything like that. I still have the same, potentially overwhelming amount of “things” to do without feeling so overwhelmed. Because of one simple shift, one small thing to let go of, I have not drowned in the regular way with the usual thing. I have stayed more afloat. Which has opened us up, strangely, to so much more goodness, too. (I have even gotten ahead in a few small corners!)
I have chosen to pause and see the opportunity instead of the obligation. To see the beauty of all that God has handed to me, instead of feeling the burden of trying to hold it all together. Because I don’t. He does. He has handed me a few precious packages, but I don’t need to carry everything simultaneously, all the time, not the full load.
I mean, summer has always been kinda amazing, and this one is no exception. But, while shutting the door to struggle, we have opened it up to even more efficiency and calm. I realized (again) that complaining about something is not fixing it, it’s only adding to it. Yet, there’s always *something* that can be done better, just by starting with one, or in one small way. I’ve opened myself up to doing better just by, well, choosing better.
Not perfection, but lack thereof and contentment in what really is good already.
I can and only must do my best on any given day, and nothing more.
I can leave the rest for later, for another day.
And I can set aside the bad stuff, like guilt and shame, which are not meant for me, more permanently.
He gives only GOOD gifts, and so, I will carry them well. I will rest when I need to, I will walk through every open door, and with gratitude and not with overwhelm.
It’s His heart for me, after all, and for you too.
I took the morning off one day this week. By “off” I mean to say, I took a break from my coaching work, my mom work, my house work, my home work, my wife work, my life work.
All of the busy, busy, good work.
I sat in my car and prayed. And cried. And listened for what God has to say. For a couple of hours, tucked in between drop off and clean up, I did nothing but wrestle and rest and worship.
I sat in my car for a long while and read the Bible and prayed. I didn’t peruse the isles of Target. I didn’t buy myself a new pair of shoes. None of that would have really helped. None of that would have eased the ache in my soul. There was nothing I could find there that would erase or ease the tired ache.
I prayed and fought and pleaded with God. For His help. For His healing touch.
For my family and for what each of our inheritance is in the Lord.
I spent almost 2 hours alone with the Lord in prayer. I set aside the distractions. The striving and instead I just surrendered.
Into the weariness I was feeling. But not to stay there. To be met there. To be healed there. To be loved there.
Right where I had been hurting right where I was making the mistakes. The placed I couldn’t even see for what they truly are. But I sure could feel. From that place. I prayed. I wrestled. I gave up, trying. And I just said “help”.
He did for me what no one else can or ever could.
When it was all done, I turned in the backseat and I saw my daughters water bottle there. It had dropped out of her backpack. She hadn’t known it then, nor had I. I was too busy trying yo let her know how she could help me and improve. But when I saw it, I realized her need, too and that I could help. So I went back over to school, not too far away, and I dropped it off .
I took the chance to borrow a sticky note and I scribbled a note on it for her. All it said way basically, “hey, I love you.”
The lady at the front desk said with ad much sincerity as I could hear, “You’re such a good mom.”
And at one point in my life, that would’ve been everything I needed to hear. It would have meant the world to me. But the more time goes on, the more truth I see, the more un-truth I see in me, and the more I really learn. This is not about me. I can’t do it ever well enough on my own. So, instead of being filled up by that statement, the immediate thought came to my mind, and flowed out of my heart, and overflowed into tears that came to my eyes is “No, I have such a good father.”
Because isn’t that what He just did for me? He knew I was thirsty. He knew I needed a drink. He saw my need and he filled it.
He was right there all along.
I delighted to help my daughter.
Even when she had a rebuttals or a response for everything that I told her this morning.
Even if it didn’t seem she could really hear or understand everything I was telling her. Even if a level of maturity was lacking and she couldn’t seem to follow my directions. Even with so much that is mature.
I was delighted to help her. I was delighted to love her. Of course I’d give her a drink. She needed one, and I was right there, after all
Just like He did and does for me. Not because I earn it with perfect behavior, but I get what I need because of His perfect love.
Depending on where you are in life or shat your style is, your time off might look different. It might be at night after the kids go to bed or a few hours on the weekend for yourself. For me it looks like a week day morning, a slice of time for what matters most. For what my soul needs most
It doesn’t always take hours sometimes it might be 10 minutes.
But it’s what my soul longs for. Let’s normalize running to the Father for peace and contentment that our souls need. Not target. Not even to our friends or social circles. Just to Him.
And friend, whatever you style is, I guarantee it’s what your soul longs for too. To be understood deeply. To be seen. To be forgiven. When no one else will do it for you, Jesus can and will. And He does it best. So next time you’re feeling depleted and you have a little slice of time, why don’t you let yourself carve out some time for what your soul truly craves.
What makes a woman is not how she wears her hair or what kind of skirt she wears or doesn’t. It’s not if she has a husband or even wants one, not if she likes makeup or her feminine name. It’s not if she plays sports or does not, not if submits to others or not, not if she runs a house or a company or barely just her own heart.
What makes a woman is not how she behaves or doesn’t.
It’s not how she feels or does not.
What makes a woman is what she carries.
What makes a woman is her womb.
No even how she carries it, what she carries inside of it or not, or for how long.
But that she in fact, does.
What makes a woman is a sacred part of who she is. A woman is a womb.
She has one, she is one. Whatever she ever carries, what she carries brings something to life.
In her womb, both physical and in the seat of her soul, she can carry things and ideas and people.
She can nurture them from within and bring them into being. Perhaps the most interesting thing about that is, sometime, or maybe most times, she has no idea what it is that she really carries.
Until well after it’s lost or years after it’s birth and continuous unfolding.
There are people we birth and get to know for a lifetime- theirs or ours.
There are ideas we may carry for years and birth only to what appears to be a cacophony of silence. There are restless dreams that we wrestle with, hopes we dash upon, seeds we grasp. In our strength, or theirs, sometimes we come to bear a thing. Unexpected or not. A promise, maybe, a threat.
And we don’t know the shape of its face, the thrill of its laugh, the echo of its days. No, not yet.
Not the tears that we’ll cry or others may too. Not the push or the pull of destiny, not theirs or ours.
We don’t know fully what we bear. Never while we bear the weight of it, not the fullness of it, no matter how heavy. Never while we bear the weight of its beginning and growing and birth. Its awkward way it has of expanding us.
But oh what a privilege it is to in fact carry it, to hold it. (Even if we are honest, here is where we bow but don’t break, under the weight of its coming.)
Long before we’ll ever know the breadth of its growth or the grace of its frame or the fire in it bones. The sheer joy and beauty of being able to hear, its song in voice.
No, we cannot imagine any of that. But when we see it or feel it or hear it, even in just a part, it takes our breath away.
More than all of the ways its weight took our breath and slowed us down, when we couldn’t even imagine what it would ever become. This one takes our breath away in a way that brings us life., and hope. Others too.
That is why women and wombs are amazing.
When she is open and intimate- with God especially- she will be, she will become, and she will give birth to, more than she could ever imagine or dream. She will give birth to what is, already, HIS.
Standing with feet at the edge of the ocean, I turn to my children and say, “I wonder what gift the ocean has for us today?”
Fully believing myself, that each next wave might bring a treasure- a shell, a promise, a hope- tumbling out upon the shores where we stand. In that special moment, with the breeze on our face, our toes in the deliciously warm water, our feet sinking into the soft sand, that something very good was possible.
(You know, like in Moana. When the ocean chooses to give her a gift, which also becomes a calling. But that’s a whole other layer of the story. Or is it?)
In hopeful, barefoot expectation, I breathed it in and waited.
But then, as more persistent and consistent waves come bubbling up and over my toes, some fears that I wasn’t expecting come inconveniently bubbling up, too.
Where they came from, I don’t know. Whoever planted them, I can’t be exactly sure, but somehow, they took root and they grew. Now here, they reared their ugly heads. As I stand here on the edge of possibility, they tell me of all that possibly could go wrong. What might come swimming up to hurt me. How we might stub our toes or get stung. How my kids might be swept into the waves and tumbled around in the salt. What I might lose, how I might hurt.
How “it” will never work, this whole brave, more daring thing. So much could go wrong. It is, so messy after all. My hair is blowing around in the wind, every which way. We just got sand in our eyes. It’s kind of unsettling.
I’m sure I don’t need any of this after all, not really. The shore is fine. Further back, that is. Part of me wants to retreat to my comfy, cozy spot, away from all of this. Who needs gifts that just make you need to be more brave, anyway?
Wait.
No.
I am, different, now.
I have dealt with so many of those fears. Frankly I am surprised and disappointed by the ones that find me here. I didn’t choose them to come bubbling up today.
But they came here, now, to go. Because I don’t choose them anymore. I’m still here. I still my breathing. I tell my mind to be calm. I remind myself of who I am. (Now, at least.)
Or always who I was somehow, before all these ideas of scary things came rushing in.
I can’t be just the same.
I don’t want to be. I am so different now that I ever was. Though a part of me that I don’t like unexpectedly rises up, I get to choose. I am not my fears. I am not the fears that were whispered in the dark or shouted at full daylight. I am someone different. Not because I am so strong.
But because I remember different.
Because I think I’m finally unbecoming whoever I was, and becoming who I was supposed to be. Who I was, before all the fears came rushing in, bombarding me with the “what if”s, commanding my full, or partial attention. Now I remember who I am. And who I am really never is alone. She is never overwhelmed, she ever underprepared or unequipped for whatever lies ahead.
Because He who made me is perfect, and He never gave me any of those fears.
So, I’m giving them back to whoever or whenever they were given to me. I reject them-instead of forever rejecting myself, and who I’m meant to be.
I’ll take a deep breath and reject instead, the worries, the lies, the regret and the fears. I can remember. To choose faith, not because I am so strong, but because He who lives inside me and who beside me sure is.
Now that I can see the lies that tell me that is not enough, now that I can feel their collision here, where my feet stand but heart shrink? This is where I get to choose. To cling to these thoughts of what might lurk, or maybe, to let of them go and be free. Amidst the expectation of generations past. The whispers of worry. The proclamations of doubt. The stories of misfortune. I may have collected them, unknowing or not. But it’s a terrible collection and I don’t want it anymore.
All the things that could go wrong, right here at my feet. Sure, it’s ocean tide of terror in many practical ways. But it’s meant to be an ocean of more. Full of Hope, and Love and an expectation for good.
So that’s what I want to look for.
Remembering then that no matter what comes up, with You we can get through. The ocean tide that seems too strong, the jellyfish that might sting, the sharks that might bite.
It’s hard. I know. It’s really hard, to hope, for better.
But Jesus, take my fears. No, that’s not quite right. You deserve better. You’re not just the clean-up crew, you’re the Victor. So take me. All of me, and with that, replace my worries that I’ve carried now, for years.
I don’t want to expect what you won’t give to me. I want to expect You. You will be with me wherever I go. You will provide for me, whatever I need. You will always be enough. Take every thought I may ever have that says otherwise. Because they simply aren’t true.
With you, I want to be. So, THERE, with my feet at the edge of the water, this time…
I went for a run yesterday. I ran through a new, paved neighborhood. I knew there was still an unpaved part that would connect to another neighborhood that I know in the area. I could head that way, cross over into the next one and connect the two. It would make it a nice, new, fun little run.
The connecting unpaved part was super muddy and super fun. And if I’m being honest, I love a good trail but rarely go alone. This one was adventurous, though only much too brief. After it was over, a funny thing happened. When I made it through to the next paved neighborhood, it was not the one I thought it was at all. I looked around and realized I was in a completely different neighborhood than I had imagined. I had imagined the one north of where I ended up, and found myself in one I had forgotten about. It was a lovely spot. It was a lovely run too. It was just a bit disorienting for a while. Like how did I get here and how was this all connected. I felt mixed up for a minute. Then it was completely lovely.
Have you ever felt that way? Things eventually connected but not like you imagined, not how you thought at all. And Sometimes you have to cross through some unpaved muddy paths to find the next spot, to fit the pieces of your path all together.
Looking back on this year it’s hard to imagine. Hard to imagine if last year I had any idea of where I was going or what was to come. Things happened I couldn’t have imagined. Life is messy and wonderful and humbling and kind and this year was all the things that a normal year is. Including, a Training ground for the next year. This past year specifically I feel like I stepped into some plans that were in the works for a while. My whole life, maybe. Beyond the main ideas and pursuits of wife and mom, daughter, sister, and friend, a lot happened this year. Gently, though. Slowly and suddenly all at once. Nothing that I went for head-first and full bore. But yet, plans and dreams I couldn’t even have put into words were realized. Things were birthed that I’d been carrying as seeds (and there’s more to come.) But the best part is, I don’t feel as though I chased a single one of them. I chased Him. And He took me on adventure. Adventures (!!) I never saw coming, not really. But yet I felt it all along, too. When I got “there”, it felt normal and natural and like home in a lot of ways. Because He’d been preparing me all along. That’s what He does.
Whether you like that mud or you prefer more solid trails, they’re all there for a reason. They’re all there for you discover something, to go somewhere you need to, and then to keep going. Following God’s path is always like that. As much as you allow, He will take you from one muddy, smooth, unpaved or cleared road to the next. He will connect all the dots. He will bring it all together. You just have to keep going. And if you do, He will use it all for His glory.
The mud, the tears, the imperfect, and most profoundly, the SURRENDER. But don’t just surrender to the path or the process. To the humility or to the strength that will be needed for whatever is ahead. Surrender -to HIM.
He knows how to get you where you’re supposed to go. Even when you don’t know where that is exactly. He will and can get you were where you’re meant to be. To the good places He has planned for you.
Looking back over this year, none of the great “things” that happened were a part of my plans. I didn’t set them as goals. (How could I for things that I had yet to see?) But I think I set the year off deciding and wanting to follow hard after Him. Because He wooed me. Because He loves me. Because in Him I found the One my soul desires. Because I’ve learned that I can trust Him.
I can’t wait to see what He’s preparing for me again this year. Am I setting goals? Yes and no and not really at all at the same time, too. I have some ideas, some general aims, but I hold them all loosely. They are not my master. Christ is, and I am first, most, His servant. So, my main goal? It is to follow hard after Him, in a non- striving, actually anti-striving way. In a natural, super- natural way, to meet with Him. Every day. To let Him guide me, let Him shape my character and my desires and to see where He takes me with it all. I’m “in it to win it”. I’m in this life, to WIN- whatever He has planned. Most of all to “win” Him, who won it all. This year, May He win, again and again, my heart. I hope He can win yours too. He’s worth it. All.
You can trust Him too, friend. 🙌🏻🫶🏻✨❤️🥰. And I can’t wait to see where He takes you.
I slipped out the door while the moon was still bright, full and glowing. Then I sat there in silence, while my family slept and my phone was tucked away. Sat like that for an hour, a blanket wrapped around me, a cup of coffee slowly growing cold in my hand. I watched while the moon changed from full to partially shaded, to more fully shaded, as the darkness slowly crept over its perfect shape. Then, almost completely covered, the shadow of it began to glow red as a tiny sliver in the corner still glowed silver. (That was my favorite.)
I sat in wonder as it grew more beautiful. Then it was fully covered, fully glowing, a new and different shade of amber. I (mostly) knew what was happening. It why I was up, and watching, but I thought, as I often do during celestial happenings, what did our ancestors think when this happened to them?
Surely some saw it-out on a hunt, restless and tired in bed, too cold in one season or blazing hot in another, up to soothe a baby or quiet an aching body or soul. What did they think? Were they afraid? Did it silence their soul in wonder, or terrify them in the same?
They probably had no container for the occurrence, at least not like we do. In the modern world, we know these things are coming. We hear about it in news for months prior. We prepare, set alarms, or wake up naturally. We read the articles. Thanks to some very smart people and smart devices and discoveries, we know about this now. We know what causes it, the exact precise lining up of planets and suns and moons. We know when it will start and how long it will last. We know mostly what to expect, and that helps make it wonderful, and amazing. Awe-inspiring, and not really scary at all.
You know, I can’t help but note the cross-over, of questions and wonder and probably deep fear and unsettling, that can occur in the less-than-celestial occurrences in our life. There are things that we people go through, that can feel a lot like this eclipse. The way we felt before we “knew” better, or more. Before we knew the cause, the duration, the meanings, the significance and the why. Before we knew it would only be temporary, and all right.
The loss of a loved one, the sudden change of plans, the lack of finances, the struggle in home or business, the unexpected visitors, the temporary setbacks or sickness or pain.
Yet, the same God who hung the stars and set everything in place, He was there. Before the eclipses came to pass. As it blocked the light for a while. While we waited. Before we understood. Before we know what to look for, how to understand in our human experience, and what container we should put this experience in- good or bad.
He was there. He is there. In the middle of the night, when things unexpectedly, or slowly, change. He is still there, and He knows it all. Including how our hearts beat more wildly in our chests.
He is there when we’re afraid, when we want to understand. He was there when it happened, when we tried to understand. Just as He’s here now when we think that we might. He doesn’t want us to be afraid. Not of what we don’t see, or what we don’t. Of what we don’t know or don’t understand yet.
Because He’s still there. God of the universe and keeper of the stars. He’ll keep our hearts, in perfect peace too, if we let Him.
The actual eclipse- the darkening, the changing of shape, the glow that feels so surreal, whether of the moon or something else- is not really that scary. It’s only our lack of understanding that can make it so.
It’s beautiful. IF we know that it’s okay, that we’re okay. Or going to be.
Friend, you might know by now that I’m not just talking about any lunar or solar eclipse. But maybe one that’s in your heart. A shifting, a changing that’s going on, and even a lining up of things, good or bad. I may not understand what eclipse you’re going through, but I do know that it’s going to be okay.
Because God is there with you. You’ve never been left alone. Even if you slipped outside in the dark, wondering what on earth and in the heavens was going on, God sees you, He reads your every heartbeat, and He still whispers, “Don’t be afraid, I see you, and I can be your friend. I can help you see.”
Change and shadows are scary when we don’t understand. Someday we will. Until then, hold on to hope. Let it hold you. Even if it feels only like that cold cup of coffee in your hand. I promise, it’s more.
Hope is there to hold you too, like a blanket, with love. It’s okay, and going to be again, sometime, 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. 