Operation: Save Mommy.

Slowly rising back to the surface and breathing in the air of life. Slowly rising; very slowly... Been such a hard season on so many levels and in so many ways, even though so much good it is intertwined. But now, what I call Operation Save Mommy is well underway. ☺️ Lots of discerning, praying, grinding, waiting. Lots of changing, lots of reading, lots of releasing, lots of grace. Lots and lots of grace. Grace upon grace! 

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Sometimes grace looks like finding and admitting and knowing you’re too far under. Sometimes grace looks like praying, then finding twin babysitters and putting them on your calendar weekly. Sometimes grace looks like joining the YMCA. Sometimes grace looks like being a caring, loving, nurturing, fun mommy 70% of the time but letting other people (and Daniel Tiger) love and care for my children the other 30. Sometimes grace looks like allowing God to have the end of me. And sometimes grace is being thankful for so many conversations with Mark about whatever this all means. And dating and praying and living this journey together, whatever it leads to. 

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Patching together some lines from a chapter by Holley Gerth in FierceHearted — “I want to say, ‘Bless your heart, stop trying so hard. You’re going to make yourself crazy.... Jesus, will you be good for me, will you be good in my place, will you be perfect on my behalf?” (Edit in here: Jesus, will you free me of their expectations? will you re-write my perspective of rest? will you make anew my script of motherhood?) “He says yes. Because the scandalous miracle of the gospel is he always says yes to prayers like that one.” ❤️. Amen! 

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So thankful he does answer prayers, and for the people in my life who he’s put to help me get the courage, boundaries, and grace to rise back to the surface 😊

Soul in Winter.

There is spring all around me, and summer beckons the soil.  But spring in my heart is still crusted with frost.  My yard burst with pink roses, stunning green grasses, and thick leafy trees.  But my soul is still barren with winter, empty and grey.  My pictures boast life with joy and active children, but my mind is worn and fighting, like the falling of dried leafs.  I pray for the spring of coming, the budding hope of beauty after toil, but my heart is still in the dead fo winter, smoke, waiting for the new life and revival to come with spring before summer.