I know we are supposed to teach our children, but do you ever stop and think that God gives us our children to actually teach us?  Through this experience of becoming a mother, I have gained a deeper understanding, a richer knowing about myself and a fuller knowledge of God and his love for me. And therein lies the blessing.

Ever have one of those moments where you hear the critical, self-loathing, insert your adjective, words come out of your child’s mouth, and right before you lean in to correct them, you realize they sound a lot like you?

More days than I want to admit, my husband and I lose the art of being spouses and lovers and allow a subtle rhythm of separateness to creep in and turn us into teammates…There’s a time for teammates, but if we don’t ever hang up the jerseys our marriage can go stale.

In a celebratory time like this you would think I would lead with the richer and better and tell them of all the adventures, love, and laughter they would share… However, I couldn’t help but think that I would tell them it was going to be a hard, rocky road. I would tell them that there would be a lot of worse and poorer days when they would have to love with more than feelings.

Like the disciples, we all have our seasons of sitting in Saturday. Those seasons where the goodness and faithfulness of God don’t seem to line up with the circumstances of life around us. It’s a hard day.

In my short time on team mom I am realizing you have to be ready for anything. There is a “both and” feel to this season. He is both my baby AND growing into a little man. I know this season feels just as weird to him as it does me. It’s the middle. It’s transition. From the ending of what was to the beginning of what will be.

Yes, the storms come for reasons I will not like nor understand. They come in many forms; a hard marriage, troubled children, illness, and even death. In this broken world, Jesus told us we would face storms. The waters will get dark, scary and hard. Yet Psalm 23 reminds us that the God who silences the waves is our shepherd. He is present with me in the storm and his presence leads me to still water.

Lately, I have walked into many conversations with friends who have been thrust into the role of caregiver for their aging parents. Much like Hobby Lobby in October, you wander the aisles surrounded by Christmas, Christmas tinsel and Christmas trees. It’s not what you’re looking for; it’s not what you want, and you even find yourself frustrated at the corporate powers that be for pushing this season on you before you are ready.

So whether I am tailgating or walking into a season marked with pain and things that seem unfair, I am learning that Jesus is my way through both. He is the only way I can hold all as a gift because the real gift, the true blessing is Jesus himself and that is SO good.

As a recovering performance junkie and avid people pleaser, I always believed that love and delight were earned or achieved. But nothing has taught me more about the depths of that lie than being a mother.

In their book, “The Good Fight,” Les and Leslie Parrott say, “Fighting is as intrinsic to marriage as sex. And the goal for both activities is to do them well.”

In a time usually filled with new resolutions and words for the year, is it just me, or has the 2020 PTSD caused you to take pause about penning those new years goals? I currently wade between hopeful expectancy of a fresh start, and pessimistic apathy because the world has gone crazy so who has time for goals right now?

“Motherhood: a story about coffee getting cold.” I’m not sure what wise woman came up with this but I know first hand that the narrative of a mother’s day can be determined by the number of times she has to warm up her coffee.

We can’t measure the work and ways of God by worldly standards. The things of God often seem foolish to this world. On the streets of Nashville God gave me eyes to see that I needed to stop trying to measure up. I needed to stop reaching for a lie that a rhythm and routine would make everything ok. Instead, I need to reach for him.

I am a fixer by nature. On some level, I think every parent is.

Parenting is hard on so many levels. What I have found is that the most difficulty is found when my hurried, self-centered, “get things accomplished” self wages war against a parent’s call to patience, slowness, and self-sacrifice.

Since every marriage has its tensions, it isn’t a question of avoiding them but how you deal with them.

What is it about stillness that fills up our soul like a deep breath? Is it because stillness is an invitation to the place where the whisper of God meets the worry of my life?