These years are the whittling of motherhood. No pride. No perfection. No getting it right. No healthy comparison. Motherhood has whittled, humbled, stripped, and scoured my soul of anything I had to boast about.
But prayer.
Prayer. Discipline. Discipleship. Leadership training. Centrality of kindness. Communal confession. And continual scraping sacrifice. Giving. Ministering. Loving. Caring. Sharing.
These are the carvings created of the sharpest whittling in my life and soul, of motherhood.
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