Welcome to the place of overflowing grace in the midst of messy motherhood.
There are a lot of kids up in here, a lot of noise, and a lot of life. It's raw and real, and often sticky.
But I wouldn't trade it. (Except maybe the sticky part.)
Join me for the journey.  

The Young and the Reckless

It’s been an odd two months. I’ve hardly watered a houseplant. I’ve shared laundry duties. I’m not the one who locks the door at night, or turns off every light, or starts the dishwasher before bed. I haven’t written down when a single library book is due in 2 months. I’m not always the choice for bedtime-story-reader. I haven’t done nearly as many dishes.  (You could even say my sink doesn’t runneth over.  Dare I even write this blog anymore?!?) Maybe I should call it a vacation.  It’s been a month of Sundays since I ran a household.  We aren’t home after all.  A man I’ve never met lives in our old home.  I haven’t been back since the day we left. But mostly I’ve felt unraveled.  I’ve wonde

See What I Did There?

I hate to read bad news. No matter how far removed from me, it stings to hear that someone was hurt. I would rather glide through life glibly on clouds of innocence and comfort than hear about tragedy and horror.  But I can’t. I read about hate.  I read about sin.  Blame gets thrown.  Mud gets slung.  Mamas weep.  Children cry.  The world seems dark indeed. Every morning in the brief interlude between staggering to the Keruig and hearing the patter of little feet, I pick up my Bible.  It’s usually only a few minutes, but it’s good.  I don’t follow a fancy reading plan or a devotional.  Maybe I’m too rebellious to follow someone else’s daily path through the Word of God.  Maybe I’m just lazy

So Much No

We drove slowly up the tree-lined driveway.  The old farmhouse greeted us solemnly as we parked under old maples and stately pine.  a few stout tulips bloomed despite several years of neglect.  Ben spun wheelies with his chair on the cobblestones by the front door as the older boys scattered to explore the yard.  They came back with reports of tadpoles in the backyard pond.  The two year old handed me a fistful of giant dandelions – thriving in the abandoned garden bed. I was bewitched. It was then our friend the realtor drove up and gave us the bad news.  Someone had already signed a contract.  The house wasn’t for sale – as of that exact moment. It had felt like a dream too good to be true

 

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