Sunday, December 11, 2016


Our marriage has had quite a few "if's."

Some rather insignificant, and others that take my breath away with the enormity of what could have been.

If I had left after that first horrible fight...

You know the one where we said things no one wants to hear, and we were certain we had married insensitive people.

If I had walked away after that 50th ridiculous argument...

The one where I sat in the car for several maddening minutes trying to figure out an easy way to make divorce a reality.

If I had bought into the lie that perfect marriages exist, and Prince Charming is a real person, I might have picked up and left you, my dear. Because you are real, and normal, and human.  And so am I.

And, I have given you plenty of opportunities to give up on me, haven't I?

I wish you couldn't remember the many times I've given you the silent treatment.  Probably for some ridiculous reason like we just weren't on the same page, and I wanted to make sure you knew I hadn't flipped over to your page number.

Or the times I looked at you with fiery eyes, and whispered, "Don't you even think about bringing that into this conversation." But then, I broke the rules and brought up the hurtful topic you would rather not discuss.

We should have known that it would be difficult.  I mean, we were (are) two completely different people, with decided opinions, and a dose of stubbornness on the side.

Somehow we were operating in the understanding that once my last name matched yours, and our address was the same, that those silly fights would just melt away.

They didn't, did they?

And, then add on the idea that you still wanted to be a Pastor, even though I prayed that God would change His mind and direct you to be a high earning businessman.  Why didn't He listen to me?

I'm so glad He didn't.

I have learned so much from this crazy journey of ours.

From the years you stood by your agoraphobic wife while serving as a Youth Pastor at our first church, to the time we packed up our house and two kids and moved to a church for $200 a week.  How have we made it through all the difficult changes?

I think it's because after every knock down, drag out fight (and there have been many), we looked at each other and said, " I'm not going anywhere." "I still choose you."

I know Pastors and their wives are never supposed to admit that they have moments when they don't like each other very much.

And Pastor's wives probably aren't supposed to spit out the words "And you call yourself a man of God!!" either.

Through almost fifteen years of practice, we are finally getting the hang of fighting fair.  That and we are realizing some things just aren't that big of a deal.

I've learned so much by walking faithfully by your side.  I've experienced a whole lot of grace from you and God as we've worked through the tough places.

Thanks for not giving up on me... on us... on marriage.

Thanks for making more than a small effort to repair broken places, and for understanding when that process was messy.

I think of all the "what if's" and a contented smile comes over my face.  This journey has been the hardest thing I've ever done, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

If the grass is greener where you water it, then I plan to keep the soil well drenched.  I know I won't execute the care of our marriage with perfection, but I want you to know I'm on your side.

After I've gone through all the "if's" in my mind, I'm more confident than ever that with you is exactly where I want to be.

"If you're tired of starting over, stop giving up."

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Featuring: Made Well by Jenny Simmons and a GIVEAWAY!

Made Well
"Finding Wholeness in the Everyday Sacred Moments"

Her story mirrors my own in some ways. A life defined by a tumultuous journey towards healing.

When I started reading the words she had so transparently crafted, I smiled, I cried, and I cheered for all those I knew would find healing because of Jenny's vulnerability.

I used to think that when people were healed, that they didn't ever deal with the "problem" again.  The "it," whatever it was would most certainly go away.

More often than not, we are not instantly transformed.   As I have learned in my own life, getting well sometimes happens over many bumpy years when despair creeps into the places you are trying so desperately to clean up.

Jenny Simmons writes, "...sometimes the broken things aren't fixed here and now. Sometimes the marriage ends, the babies die, the job is lost, the life savings are cleaned out, the disease grows, and the miracle you prayed for doesn't happen."

I agree.

In my case, the aggravating panic disorder was a constant reminder that I couldn't cut it. That I was broken, and clearly my inability to cope meant that I wasn't good enough to be made well.

I believed that I could be transformed in a second, so why wasn't that God's plan for me?  Did He hold a grudge against me, I wondered silently?

Over the past 10 years, I have discovered a beautiful truth. That God loves me enough to use my weaknesses to make me stronger than I ever believed I could be.

This line from "Made Well," resonates with me so deeply:  "...there is more to being made well than the curing of our bodies or fixing of our situations.  There is wholeness to be found on the roads we never prayed for."

Of course we don't pray to have days where we feel like we can't get out of bed!  But, the determination we tap into, and the reliance on God inspires us to rise up, wash our face, and trudge through the day, laying a foundation for the work of healing to begin construction.

I never would have dreamed of all the things I've learned through my struggle with anxiety.  It has been a great teacher.  I may not have wanted to be taught this way, but God knew that it's what I needed to become the version of myself that He could use most effectively.

Like Jenny, I too have had those days where I was mad.  Just plain mad that I had to go through this process.  She writes, "...afraid, lonely and angry that I even had to work for health when no one else around me seemed to be tasked with that..."

I remember days when I looked at all the people around me and felt alone.  I lived a life plagued by fear, and yet I was determined to be a world changer. I didn't know how to start, but I didn't know how to quit. I had to get well.

And, I am being made well, it just may not be in the way I wanted.  Or like Jenny said, "It wasn't the miracle I prayed for, but it was a miracle all the same. Emmanuel showing up in the hardest moments, holding my hand."

God brought this book into my life for some rough moments when He and I were upending the deepest roots of my fear.  That in itself is proof that my Creator loves me, He delights in me, and He is giving me grace to walk this path to wholeness.

Thank you Jenny Simmons for sharing so bravely about finding wholeness in moments that we might otherwise pass by without a pause. These unexpected parts of our journey are what give us hope to keep pressing into the One who restores...the One who makes us well.

--- I'm giving away a copy of Jenny's book to one of my readers!---

----- Like my post on Facebook and leave a comment on the link or on the blog to be entered. -----

------- For more information about Made Well, by Jenny Simmons, go to -------

Thursday, September 22, 2016

The truth remains.

Do you ever wonder when truth will become important again?

We live in a world where lies are excused, and those who embrace moral codes are mocked.

Perhaps you, like me, are concerned for what this aversion to the truth looks like as we continue on in this century.

We see things through political eyes these days, partly because we are nearing the “changing of the guard” so to speak in Washington D.C.

But, truthfully, we should be viewing this recent turn of events with glasses that reveal to us the source of true vision, rather than the cloudy spectacles of popular viewpoints that further political agendas.

Veracity (truth) is imperative.

Living a life free from deceit is beneficial.

Operating from a position of integrity brings freedom, rather than bondage.

Consider this.

We recently watched two different occasions in which a Presidential Candidate was caught lying (caught almost in the act).

Instead of walking it back, apologizing for their departure from the truth, they doubled down on their fact adding to the already preposterous detail of events.


And, more importantly, why did it seem that a majority of the population didn’t care?

I don’t know when I’ve seen so much apathy, and it is concerning!

Now to be sure, deception exists in every political party.  In fact, it exists everywhere we look.  But the part I can’t wrap my mind around is that we don’t seem to be phased by it.

Have we become lovers of evil, rather than pursuers of good?

Put everything you assume to be “your truth” aside for a moment.  Forget how you were raised, or how you conduct yourself currently.

When a person habitually tells other people things that are proven to be categorically false, are they a liar?

When a person habitually tells other people things that are proven to be categorically false, are found out, and pretend it didn’t happen, what would you label them as?  A pathological liar?

Would you want your life to be governed and protected by a habitual liar?

This is important.

There are people’s lives at stake.

This isn’t a little boy or girl lying about whether or not they stole a piece of gum (although that has serious implications as well).

Perhaps this is a case where this person started out with small deceptions, was allowed to get away with them, and has weaved a web of deceit unlike anything we could have imagined.

For the sake of future generations, and for that of our souls, perhaps we should have a very important conversation with those we love, particularly our children.

Lies and deception are evil.

We cannot allow our consciences to be numbed to an alternative belief.

Truth is not relative.

Are there grey matters that come up every once in awhile? Of course.  I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t recognize that.

I’m not calling for a return to absolute black and white in places where I have no experience.  I realize that world leaders face things I couldn’t possibly imagine.

However, I believe that integrity and faithfulness to the truth should still be placed in a position of first importance… no matter if your name is Mr. Jones, or Mr. President.

Galatians 6:7 says this: “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatever a man sows, that shall he also reap.” (Holy Bible AKJV)

I believe that.

That truth doesn’t change.

People who habitually lie, and revel in an existence of deception will be found out...and will reap what they sow.

And even when half the population doesn’t seem to care that a prominent figure is lying and continuing on with some level of popularity, so be it.

The truth remains.

No one, not even the President of the United States - the Leader of the free world, can escape the consequences of deception.

May we teach this generation that integrity and faithfulness matter.

Let’s examine our own hearts, and put aside any tendency to lie when it’s convenient.

While certain people may seem to be above the law, let me assure you, there is a law that no one is above.

And, the truth will set us free.

Don't be afraid to seek knowledge, wisdom, and truth.

We need a generation who will defend faithfulness to their dying breath.

I for one, am not done standing up for what I know to be true.  And, I will call out deception and refuse to accept that it's okay because "everyone is doing it."

It's not okay.

It's deplorable.

And we better start calling what it is.

We can not expect to enjoy a functioning and thriving community when it's members are willing to not only excuse the behavior of liars, but follow them blindly to their own demise.

Stand up and fight.

Fight with the truth.

Saturday, July 30, 2016

All we can do is rest

There is nothing I can do to earn my salvation.  I can not appease God.  I can not make Him like/love me more by acting a certain way. . . by behaving in a fashion that resembles godliness.

I can, however, rest in His unfailing love, and praise Him because of His goodness, not to earn His goodness.

When He delights in me, it's because of His goodness, not my own.  When He forgives me, it's because of His mercy, not my perfection.

He is gracious because He is grace.

He is loving because He is love.

He is faithful because it is impossible for Him to change.  His word says, "if we are faithless, He remains faithful, for He cannot deny Himself." (II. Timothy 2:13)

So what else can we do, but praise this grace-filled, loving, faithful Father?  We praise Him not for what He can do for us, but rather for what He can and is doing within us.

He takes those undeserving of grace, and kindly brings them to a place of wholeness.

He guides those with imperfect love to a beautiful dwelling where His love is felt and in turn, expressed.

And He shows a faithless generation what His never-ending faith, hope, and love can to do rescue their souls from sinking into despair.

We are not good to show Him how lucky He is to have us.  We are good because He has us.

When He is LORD of our lives, we are launched into a lifetime of transformation.  Not to be good enough, but to be made aware that we are not God.  We can not be better at what He is the best at.




All we can do is rest.

Rest in what He is doing for us, in us, and through us.

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Perseverance, and what it means for anxiety

(image via Unsplash)

I've been told that I'm a born leader, although I’ve always tended to disagree with anyone who would label me as such.  I have always known that God gifted me with the ability to coordinate people effectively in order to get a job done with excellence. However, in the past it has been my tendency to cringe at the added responsibility required to manage a group of people. Because of that pesky feeling that I'm out of control when working with other humans.

Imagine my surprise several years ago when I found myself saying yes to the question of whether or not I would take over the position of Nursery Leader.  It couldn’t be that hard to coordinate childcare for one service a Sunday, I told myself.

I found myself pouring over schedules, making calls to nursery workers, and organizing the rooms in new ways in order to make the Sunday morning experience better.

Part of my role required that I work alongside two other children’s ministry leaders.  I remember one meeting with them, in which we had to have a difficult conversation.  As we were discussing and brainstorming, my heart was racing.  I felt as if I had to stuff it back down my throat.  I was completely undone on the inside, but was doing everything within my power to keep the appearance of having it together.

I found myself having this reaction to meetings in general.  When decisions had to be made, and when discussions had to be held, I buckled under the pressure of it.  I cowered in the presence of conflict, even when it was of the healthy variety. I preferred to work in isolation, carefully planning all details on my own.

That was not an acceptable way to operate kids’ ministry, so I had to become capable of discussing ideas, plans, and assignments without worrying that I would end up with a giant panic attack.

Kids require confidence under pressure.  They want to know that the people in charge of them are somewhat stable and capable of meeting their needs.  Because this prerequisite for running children’s ministry existed, I learned to fake it till I made it.

Sunday mornings were often a blur. Arriving early, I would make sure everything was in it’s proper place. You could find me, at the crack of dawn, unloading a dishwasher, and carrying a large bowl of sippy cups to the nursery.  I would wave and smile at people as I walked by, armed with a certain level of confidence in my ministry position.

Some mornings I would arrive at the church, begin my preparations, and suddenly find myself with two or three text messages of people who were canceling just that morning!  I can remember telling myself to calm down.  I could handle this, I would recite to myself over and over.  And, I would.  Through God’s grace, and some fantastic deep breathing skills, I would typically avoid the panic stage of anxiety.

I learned some valuable lessons during this time that have served me well as I have graduated into other forms of ministry.

First, I learned how to organize my time effectively.  I couldn’t completely wing it, because I needed to focus in order to facilitate the systems the church and I had put in place.

Secondly, I acquired the important skill of managing a team.  I was in charge of at least six people every Sunday, which meant that I was dealing with approximately thirty individuals throughout the span of a month. Different personalities, ministry ideas, and philosophies collided into one team. I also dealt with the different obstacles that would present themselves within the ages of children, newborn to five.

Lastly, I learned to give God my problems.  I’ve always been a fixer.  I can typically make things happen, even if when I’m not relying on Someone outside of myself.  This time, I found myself in situations that I couldn’t figure out, and in problems I couldn’t solve on my own. And while these "difficulties" might seem laughable to some of you out there who have gone through unspeakable hardship, at that time they were huge to me. They were like mountains that were rising up in front of me, and I was the inexperienced climber.

God used this period of my life to teach me about blind faith.  He taught me to trust that He was good enough to handle my matter how insignificant they might seem.

There were many times when I would wonder where I would find people to help.  I would worry about how I would fill certain spots.  And, God was there, inviting me to let Him in on my problem and allow Him to provide the solution.

And He provided solutions time and time again, often just when I was about to reach freak out mode.  He was there, steadily, and faithfully teaching me to lean into Him.  To call on Him when life got tough.  To trust Him.

Those moments were what launched me into believing that I could be stretched beyond what I had previously thought. His hand of protection, provision, and promise was there, lifting me up when I walked a seemingly impossible path.

Walking on those “impossible paths” taught me life-changing lessons in perseverance.

Let me tell you a little about what perseverance can mean in a life filled with anxiety.  Perhaps you find yourself in a season of anxiety right now.  You feel like you can't keep moving. You fear that you are failing. And, you certainly aren’t growing.

Can I let you in a little secret?  The road to success is paved one step at a time. You have to dig in and keep moving.  Even on the days you don’t feel like it.  Dig in.  Don’t let fear control you.  Don’t let it have the upper hand.  Look it square in the face and declare with your entire being, “You won’t win.”

Even when it seems like things aren’t going right.  Even on days that you can hardly get out of bed.  Just do the next thing.  Wake up. Rise up. Move forward.  Imagine the day when you will kick fear out completely. But, until that day comes, reach for the courage inside of you that comes during your moments of intense fear.  When you think you can’t keep moving...move anyway.  When you don’t know which step to take...take one anyway.  When everything is caving in on you, push away the debris with your weakened arms, and cry, “You won’t win… I’m not going to let you win.”

(image via Unsplash)

The secret to living a life of courage in the midst of anxiety is relatively simple.  Just do it.  You may have wished for a better formula, or a step by step process.  But, let me assure you, from my experience, the most important thing you can do is to just move.  Remember that it’s not brave if you’re not scared.

If you can get up each morning, get dressed, brush your teeth and eat’ve won a little.

If you can make your bed, do the dishes, and do something for your self-development…you’ve won a little more.

If you can walk outside, get in the car, and drive down the are on your way to a life of uncommon courage.

As one who lives every single day with the cloud of anxiety over my head, let me tell you, there is hope. There is always hope.


Don’t give up.

Get out of bed, brush those teeth, and start the day.

You can do this.

Thursday, July 14, 2016

Angry. Perplexed. Frustrated.

I'm angry. I'm perplexed. I'm frustrated.

I have anxiety and depression, and I want it to go away.

I thought that if I was a good Christian girl...if I did everything right...If I controlled all of my surroundings, that I wouldn't be dealing with problems like this.

I sat in my Counselor's office this week and got mad.  It occurred to me that I had no choice in this matter. I'm here because something didn't work right in my brain.

If it was something external, then I could change it by changing those external circumstances.

But, I didn't choose this.

One day I woke up like all the days before, got dressed, ate breakfast, buckled my baby in her car seat, and headed toward a panic attack I didn't see coming.

It came with no warning. It hit me with a force unlike anything I had every felt.  It didn't ask my permission.

As my life spiraled out of control, I found myself grasping to hold onto anything that would make it okay.  I came up with excuses for my problems.  I bargained with myself.  I bargained with God.  Surely this would pass, much like indigestion after too much pizza.

And yet, it stayed.  It came in and made itself comfortable in my home, my head, and most distressingly, my heart.

I asked it to leave so many times.  I begged God to remove it from my life.  I tried to use every ounce of strength I had to remove it on my own.

And the panic just wouldn't leave.

It told me I wasn't good enough.  That I needed to worry about everything.

It lied to me and said I couldn't handle things on my own... that I needed my husband to make everything work correctly.

It left me speechless, breathless, and hopeless.


Truthfully...I want to be her again.

I want to be the twenty-one year old, un-medicated, change-the-world girl who had all the optimism in the universe at her disposal.

And yet, I also want to be her.

The thirty-three year old woman who has a softer, more understanding side.  The one who lives her life for others more than herself because she knows how empty the latter is.  The one who has been brave and strong in the moments when it counted.  The one who didn't give up, even when every neuron in her brain was screaming at her to run away and hide.

And, I'm angry...a little at myself, and a lot at God.  I'm angry that I can't seem to be both.  I'm frustrated that I live in a medicated state, and yet still have issues that seemingly preclude me from changing the world.

I want freedom.

I want to look at the sky and know that it holds no limit.

I want to breathe in life-giving air, while simultaneously exhaling grace to those around me.

And I want to live with purpose and intention...with no thought to what might happen if I wander too far out of my comfort zone.

Surrender can't come as long as I am clinching my fists in anger and frustration.

This problem angers me because I can't "make" this go away.  I can't yell at it long enough and make it walk out of the room.  My stomach churns at the realization that I am utterly and completely out of control.


Jesus, be near to me.
Walk with me, as you already have shown yourself able to do.
Lead me into the path that YOU have for me, not the path I'm trying to forge on my own.
Give me peace that passes even my understanding.  Rescue me from my worry. Deliver me from my fear. Protect me from my pursuit of perfectionism.
You've got me.
I know that in my head.
Please whisper this truth to my heart.

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

When the day gets you down

Sometimes it’s hard to get dressed up for motherhood.

I remember the seasons when I awoke each day, took the time to arrange my hair and clothes in a professional manner, and walked out the door prepared to meet whatever life brought.  If the day didn’t go well, at least I had accomplished one thing...I was dressed.

Then I had a couple children, then a couple more.  Suddenly my propensity towards morning cheerfulness drifted somewhere towards the neighborhood of grouchy and overtired.

It isn’t that I don’t have good intentions.  On the contrary, I have good intentions every day.  It’s just that sometimes those lofty goals don’t materialize as tangible results. Consider the following scenario.

It’s 7:30 am. You’ve been laying there for a few minutes, willing everyone to give you a few moments of quiet. You know that as soon as you rise from the warm embrace of your covers, that you will be greeted by the cold reality of life itself. The reality that means packing lunches, finding matching socks, and picking the baby out of the crib, only to discover that the diaper has failed yet again, and two loads of laundry have been added to your seemingly insurmountable pile of dirty clothing.

It is now 7:45 am. You have given the baby their bottle, stripped the sheets from their crib, walked them into the laundry room, where you discover you forgot to change the clothes from the washer to the dryer yesterday. So, you restart the load in the washer so your family doesn’t smell like a damp basement, and leave the sheets in a heap on the floor.

Someone is yelling your name because they can’t find the butter that is necessary for toast. So, you come down to save the day, and in the meantime trip over baby’s trash can you forgot to put away after you emptied it this morning.

Suddenly it’s time for face washing, teeth brushing, and hair combing. You supervise as well as possible while the three year old is holding on to your pajama pants, begging you to hold her. Your oldest yells, “The BABY is playing in the toilet again,” just as you finish inspecting the last molar on child number three.

You walk into the other bathroom to discover they have not only messed in the toilet, but have unrolled the entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet, and you have the unmatched privilege of scooping it out. You clean the baby’s hands, and their mouth...just in case. You spray and wipe down the entire toilet, because...well, you might as well.  Then, you say, “Where was I?”

Your husband is yelling for a towel, and your toddler is asking for a drink. “Just a minute,” you say...willing yourself to take a breath.

It’s 8:15, and everyone is ready to walk out the door. You give yourself an imaginary pat on the back for a job well done.

If you work part time from home, as I do, you might plop your remaining children in front of some socialist propaganda piece cleverly disguised as a cartoon, and attempt to get a few minutes of work done (I would never [ahem] do that...but it could be done).

The rational person might be asking you, “Why didn’t you just wake up an hour earlier, and prepare everything accordingly so that everything would just flow in perfect harmony?” Oh, but those of us who are comrades in the trench with you, know exactly why you didn’t wake up earlier.

You tried to go to bed at a decent hour, in order to get the recommended hours of sleep, but then you and your husband needed to chat about the budget, and that was impossible to do 3 hours before because the kids needed help with homework, and you were trying to clean up dinner.  Oh, and you were afraid it might turn into a disagreement, so you wisely decided to “wait until later.” Well, that later had come, and you were deciding on priorities late into the night (either that, or you might have watched your favorite show to you know...chill).

Then, around 1:00 am the next morning, one of your more worrisome children walks into your room, scares you right out of a sound sleep and swears she heard something creaking outside. You assure her that everything is alright, roll over, shove your husband and ask him to check on the noise.  He grunts something unintelligible, and stumbles out of bed.  You aren’t sure if he’s awake or sleep walking, but somehow he persuades her that it’s safe to resume her REM cycles, and you both fall back into blissful sleep.

Blissful, that is, until another child is forcing you out of your restorative “eyes-closed activity,” with the news that they have accidentally wet the bed.  Upstairs you go, stumbling around in the dark to find a new pair of pajamas, and to figure out a sleeping arrangement for your soaked offspring.

After a night with interruptions like that, you can barely drag yourself out of bed, let alone face a twelve hour day of inquiring minds that operate on a “need right now” basis.

Of course not every morning (or night) transpires like the one described above.  However, most mothers and fathers know that their best laid plans require more than careful planning. It is impossible to predict what will hit you in the face as you begin each twenty-four hour time frame, known as a day.

There are days I’m tempted to lose it. Nights that I’m on the verge of surrendering every ounce of sanity I had mustered up from the last catastrophe.  And, some of us do lose it… As a member of the “I’ve lost my mind” club, I can tell you that life lived in a facade of perfectionism isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

I could tell you all the ways you need to organize your schedule so that you don’t have unexpected emergencies like I do.  I could reveal a buttoned-up plan of chore charts and activity agendas that would make your head spin.  But, sometimes in the space between the list making and the life living, things spin out of control.

Did you sign up for a certain type of life, and find out there is a “no-return” policy?  You didn’t ask for the child with the serious bed-wetting problem, the spouse who left you, or the member of your family who has received an unwanted diagnosis that leaves you worn each day. And, yet, here you are… Giving every last drop of effort to make the life you’re living worth getting up for.

I don’t have to tell you that sometimes it’s going to be hard to get up and face the day, but let me tell you any way... There are going to be some hard days!  In all our efforts to be the men and women we were created to be, there is a common thread. - It’s called discomfort.  Moments of adversity that lead to a level of fatigue we hadn’t thought possible.

Have you ever been speaking to someone about your problems, and in their encouragement to you, they happened to mention that what you are going through is nothing compared to what they are dealing with?  Yes, we’ve all been there.  And, as we stammer around to come up with a response, all we really want to say is, “You may be more experienced in the art of suffering than I am, but can we focus on my sob story for a minute?”

The truth is, no one has your experiences...your life...your grief.  And, yet, on some level we all know the familiar pang of heartbreak. We know the disappointment that even a relatively normal day can bring.  And, while we don’t want to focus on the negative parts of our existence, the tendency to live there is strong.

I could tell you to “count it all joy,” and you should.  I could tell myself to “get a grip,” and I should.
But, before we give ourselves or others that advice, we would do well to take a deep breath, and make a conscious choice to neglect the sweating of small stuff.

In the off chance you end up doing 10 loads of laundry every day for the rest of your life, and live a majority of the day in sweatpants, know that there’s another woman out there who will cry with you over your cup of tea.  Then, after we are done, we’ll get up, throw another load in the washer, read about people starving in Africa, and ponder our privilege.  We will resolve to live a purposeful life, and give ourselves a break when our best laid plans unravel before our eyes.

And whatever happens...we’ll for sure stop pretending like we’re perfect.

Because we just aren’t.

And that’s okay.

(p.s. Sweatpants help sometimes)

And we know that for those who love God all things work 
together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.
Romans 8:28