My man.  He was the best part of my twenties. I love getting older with him.

I’m turning thirty on Friday.  Three-zero.  It feels like a big milestone, leaving my twenties.  I think culture has always made me believe that all the things happen in your twenties so I had better live it up and enjoy the decade for all its worth.  I’m not sure I did that.  I’m also not sure that I didn’t. Bloggers the world over have created list after list of things you just have to do in your twenties or you have missed out on life— I’ve read a lot of these things and I would say I’m about three for twenty-five on most of them.  But I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on life.  Actually, I can tell you with all honestly that the twenty-nine year old version of myself is a hundred times happier with who she is than the twenty-three year old.  Maybe a thousand times happier.  And Lord knows it’s not because I’m skinnier or prettier or more successful.  Ha, that is laughable.  Let me compare- on paper- the two:

At twenty-three I was rocking the graduate student title in one of the best programs in the country (pride, much?).  I unashamedly spent at least a hundred dollars a month at starbucks, sixty on my acrylic nails, and got my hair done every other month on the dot.  Friends, I wore business casual every day.  With heels when I was really feeling it.  I went to happy hour with co-workers each week and to the gym almost daily.  I had my own schedule and only a handful of bills to pay.  I was single and terrible at flirting but I did try.  And I wrapped up that season with a masters degree and a resume I was really proud of.

At twenty-nine I have grown, birthed and nursed two babies and I go to the gym… well, I think went sometime this month but only because my friend Emily made me… so my body is hardly in tip-top shape.  I left a great job to stay home with my kids, and although I have loved teaching a class or two since leaving full-time work, my resume is being sustained by the grip of a fingernail, not built.  I feel guilty every time I buy any latte because four dollars buys a whole pack of wipes.  And I can’t talk about my hair, it’s just too painful. 

Twenty-three wins on paper.  But you know, no one could pay me enough to go back to twenty-three, because so much of that piece of my life was riddled with things that do not get put on paper. Twenty-three was probably the most insecure I had ever been.  I tried to control this with nails and hair and buying new clothes with my credit card but it was all a façade.  Or there’s the fact that I was so desperate to meet the right guy that I cried and cried and waited for and made excuses for the wrong guy for almost two years.  I look back now at the heart grip the wrong guy had on me and I can only shake my head; but at the time, no one could have talked me out of it, out of him.  Until circumstances and divine intervention finally did, and then I met the right guy and went “Oh my gosh, I almost missed out on THIS!”  I did feel “accomplished” at twenty-three but here’s the truth: the two little people I spend the most time with are very unimpressed with accomplishments, but they need me.  Gosh, it is such a precious gift to be needed.  I like it so much more than being accomplished.

I never backpacked through Europe or moved to a big city.  I never had a “night life” or got familiar with any bar scene in any place I lived in.  I never did a lot of things twenty-somethings “should” do.  And I would still say I’m going in to thirty really happy.  And without many regrets—I do think the regrets I have are more about what I’ve done that I’m not proud of than what didn’t do. I’m learning that growing up is more about making a life than about making a list.  And I think making a life is all about learning, growing, giving, and seeing yourself less and less as you see others more and more.

I am going in to my thirties seeing more.  I see my husband who is such a joy to love to and serve every day because he does those things for me a hundred times more.  I see my babies who make it impossible to think of myself all day long.  I see my friends who are more like family by now, and I see their babies who I love as my own.  And I see my community, the people hurting right around me.  Once you see, you can’t un-see.  But that has been the best part of getting a bit older.  It is amazingly refreshing knowing what a small part I play in the world, but knowing that God has given me roles to fill that only I can: a beautiful paradox.  I feel like I spent many years just wanting to be seen, and it is an exhausting way to live.  But then I fell in love with a real Jesus and realized I am seen, and its really only his view that matters.

I am less of an athlete and less of career woman and less of a lot things now.  But I am more of who God made me to be.  Not perfect, and I certainly haven’t arrived anywhere in life worth noting.  But I can honestly say older is better, more sure, more free.  I can’t wait for thirty.  (And I’ll write about forty when I get there, but I do know a few kick-a** forty year olds who I would be so proud to be like.)  One day at a time though, right?  Here’s to being brave and seeing ourselves less.

It’s May.  Already.  I can’t believe it, but I also love it. In this family the month of May means Mexican food, birthdays, mamas, and warmer weather. So basically, some of my very favorite things.  You can expect me to talk entirely too much about the sun until September, because after that the Northwest weather is rarely worth talking about.  But Washingtonians… we summer, y’all. Verb. Come visit!

The last few weeks have been a big hiatus on the home front.  My written words have been few, and I feel that deep in my heart.  I’ve unintentionally traded quiet time for more time in bed, writing time for television, and books for instagram browsing.  But I’m not stuck there in guilt; just thankful, excuse the cliché, for a new day.  Yet in spite of the slow pace of my own world the last month, we have had great days and blessings to celebrate.  My amazing husband got a new job and then because he’s a total stud ran the 7.4 mile Bloomsday race in 49 minutes; we celebrated Mother’s Day with my mom and mother-in-law at Dockside in Coeur D’Alene, and then Cannon Lee, my sweet little boy, turned ONE!  For me, the second child’s first year has gone by much faster than the first’s.  Like, way faster.  How is my little man already walking and eating everything and getting mad when he doesn’t get what he wants?  He’s becoming a little boy right in front of my eyes.  I love it, but I want him to stay cuddleable and little at the same time.  Yet the calling of motherhood always, always wins over what we want, doesn’t it?  They grow and grow and our job every day is to do the best for them.  It’s hard, holy work.  The best kind of work.

Later this week I’m going on a we’re turning thirty this year girls weekend with some of my favorites.  I can hardly think about anything else this week because I’m beyond excited. Already started packing excited. Four of us are leaving seven kids with grandmas and dads and headed to the sunshine. Three nights will be the longest I’ve been away from my babies, but they will be in good hands and I will be with my besties, and by Sunday I’ll be ready to get home and hug them tight.  Isn’t that part of the good a weekend away does— makes you long for the hugs at home again?

At the end of the month I’m saying goodbye to my twenties. (!!!) Ummmmm… we can talk more about that later.  For now, I’m anxious to get in to a new rhythm again and live in to all that God has in store for a new decade.  He’s so good, even in our mess.  Happy May, friends!

"The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end, they are new every morning..." Lamentations 3:22-23

Easter Sunday has come and gone.  This season of lent, a forty-day stretch that I have “observed” in one way, shape, or form for the last twenty-nine years has officially ended, so we can all go back to our coffee and chocolate and television now.  I did not give anything up this year, mainly because I’ve only once been able to do that—it was ice cream in 2003, and basically it was a six-week diet of sorts with no spiritual implications for my eighteen-year-old self—but I did commit to an awesome lent devotion and to praying every day. 

Wait.  You don’t already pray every day?  The answer is no, not like I should be praying.  When I’m tired or weary or stressed I easily revert back to a six year old and start every Jesus encounter with “Dear God, please give/please bless/please be with…” basically a short running bullet point list of the things I need him to do for me.  I wanted this Lenten season to start something new in me: a new way to pray, a new desperate need for prayer, a new belief in its power.

And what happened was sort of that.  I still pray for the things I need think I need, but the last few weeks for me have been about one thing: repentance.  And that word, with all its weightiness, is changing the way I pray.  And I hope, the way I live, too.  When you sit with the scriptures and read about Jesus’ message, about his trial, about the way he was mocked and tortured and killed and how he never once opened his mouth with words indicating any sort of defensive posture, the only possible response is to repent. 

So I did, often, in my words and prayers.  I’m good with words, comfortable with them.  I can craft them and string them together in ways that sure make it seem like God has done a new thing in my life and heart.  And, oh, how I wish that could be enough.  But then like any good teacher, God gave me plenty of opportunities to practice repentance in real life, if only to remind myself how much I still need him and the grace he reached down from the cross and handed to me.   

I had a misunderstanding with a friend, and because, unlike Jesus I always take a defensive posture when questioned, it took me about twenty-four hours to even consider seeing her point of view.  I had hurt her feelings, yet wasted a day on my own case.  Repentance.

My daughter has dug her heels in and declared war on potty training.  She is twenty-seven months old, and more than once I’ve been so mad at her for another accident that I have treated her like a terrorist who purposely sabotaged my day.  Repentance.

My husband has needed encouragement for the leadership roles he taken on, and at times I’ve picked his methods apart and put them back together the way I would do it.  Repentance. 

A judgment about someone or something I know only the very surface about.  Repentance.

Gossip, comparison, jealousy, withholding my words because I don’t want to celebrate someone else at the moment.  Repentance.

All of life, every day, I’m starting to see how much I need repentance.  I often think that when one is a Christian for a long time, repentance can be the first thing that falls off the cart and sits on the side of the road.  Sometimes we travel days, weeks, months without realizing we left it behind some time ago.  What I’m learning is that I need to hold tight to repentance, not because it should be a somber reminder of my junk, or because I want to turn into a melancholic who always feels guilty for something.  No, the opposite actually.  I want to hold on to repentance because it keeps my heart near the cross, that place where grace poured down from heaven in the man from Nazareth, Jesus.

I truly want with all of my heart to be a “good” follower of Jesus.  But that has turned in to striving on so many levels, and I can’t keep up with my own efforts sometimes.  What repentance is teaching me is that striving does not get me closer to Jesus or win me more points with him than the next gal.  More points?  That’s not even a thing in God’s eyes.  When I start with repentance, I’m already at the cross, which is as close to the heart of Jesus that I could possibly be.  Everything else I do with my life is from there, not to get me there.  And that is a whole different thing.

Today, my prayers begin with repentance.  And sometimes that is as far as they get, because as I think of all the things I could start to list for God, I realize I have little need for anything more than the grace that comes with a humble heart.

I think it might be safe to say that winter is in the books. The little wanna-be cherry tree in our front yard has tiny purple flowers budding, I hear lawnmowers going throughout our neighborhood, and every evening the streets are full of dog-walkers and little legs working hard on their bikes.  You know what I’m going to say next, but when you live with a real winter, April is a beautiful sight.

As always, our month has been full and good, and did I say full already?  I backed up against my limits in many ways this month, making it very clear that I still need to learn when to say “no” and when to ask God for a bigger plate.  I think I missed one or two healthy “no’s” in the past several weeks, but this is all part of the journey, isn’t it.  Because then husbands and moms and friends come in to save the day and we are reminded that even when we feel the anxiety of overextended isolation, we are far from alone. 

I’ve also made a few discoveries this month.  I mean, of course I knew about the amber teething necklaces but I was a total hater.  I smelled a fashion trend/money-making industry for people preying on a mother’s desperate attempt to ease her child’s mouth pain, and I never bought one.  But then my little guy fussed all the way through a bible study and one of my sweet friends in the group gave me her son’s old necklace.  You guys.  Two more teeth have come in since Cannon starting wearing this necklace, and he has not made a peep.  So I’m sorry, I guess that’s all I can say.

And there are three books I have to tell you about; all of them the kind you fly through because you just want to read the next page and the next and the next. First, Mom Enough, a collaborative devotional for mamas.  I cherished this book, and will read it again often.  Half of it is underlined and dozens of sentences were texted to friends.  It’s a new go-to gift from me, because the heart of its message puts a value on motherhood that made me feel understood in the most beautiful way.  The second book is by my friend and fellow contributor over at Coffee + Crumbs, Women are Scary by Melanie Dale.  Hilarious, but also right on.  I only wished I lived in Atlanta near Melanie because she is the real deal. And to all of my fourth base friends, I freaking love you.  And last, Scary Close by Donald Miller.  (I know, a lot of ‘scary’ in my book choices this month).  But I’ve always loved Miller’s writing for his authenticity, and I think he takes that to another level in this book.  I’m not quite done with it, but what I’ve taken away so far are such perfect truths encouraging me to take off my mask and trusting that people will love the real (often weird, mostly selfish, kinda nerdy) Katie.

A few other notables: Harper is a fantastic shopper, we ate my Nona's famous pasta sauce twice this month (which is a big deal, because it takes all day to make and is my very favorite thing in the world), and I think Cadbury dark chocolate eggs are the only candy you need for Easter.

The clearest thing about this month: I just need my people.  A lot.  And I’m so thankful that some of the best friends on the planet stick in there with me.  I’m a better wife and mom and friend because of my community.  God’s grace abounds in the people he has put around me. 

P.S. The Giving Shop is back up!  Cards are available only in sets of five now (remember how I'm learning what my limits are), and all profits are supporting a charity near and dear to my heart and in my hometown of Spokane, Christ Kitchen.  

This girl, she is somewhat of a study in contradictions.  Harper loves pink and she loves accessories- I've lost a number of good necklaces at the hands of this girl.  But she thrives when she is getting dirty, making messes, and doing things all by herself, asking for help only when she's frustrated and exhausted all of her tiny efforts on one thing.  She dresses herself most days, because let me tell you, she has opinions; but at least once a day she still asks me to snuggle with her.  And bandaids.  All the time, all over the place, she loves her some bandaids.  I've taken no less than a dozen out her baby brother's mouth because two year olds do lack a certain amount of discretion.  There is also one stuck on our stove.  I see it every day, but haven't taken it off yet.  I don't really know why, but I don't hate the obvious presence of little ones in this home, either.  

Like most two year olds, Harper is already so many things.  Loveable, funny, talkative.  Strong-willed and challenging, too.  But the thing that I adore so much about my daughter is this: she embraces everything, whether they go together, make sense, or look right to outside world or not.  Swimsuit top and jeans?  Why not!  Sun hat, sweatshirt, and bubbles?  Of course.  Warm socks and water sandals?  If the shoe fits... (oh I love a good cliche!)  This girl goes through life without much prejudice, and it's beautiful.  I know this ability will mostly get shaped right out of her as she grows and starts caring what other people think, but her sweet little spirit has already taught me so much about my own, and how I model, or fail to model, confidence to her.

Because sometimes I think I also am one big contradiction, and this has always made me insecure.  I want more babies, but I am dying to go back to school and work in some capacity.  I love yoga pants and no-bra days, but I'm also a makeup girl and my MAC collection could rival most.  I love a good, hard, sweaty workout and following it up with dairy queen later that night.  I find good friends and good conversations to be the most life-giving thing, but what I really want these days is a few uninterrupted hours at a coffee shop so I can read C.S. Lewis classics.  I write and speak of a God who loves us unconditionally, but I do and think things so selfish that I can't imagine the holy spirit wanting anything to do with my heart.  And I want to be brave and able to live the "fear not" words we see so often in scripture, but I crave a safe home on a safe street with a safe amount of money in our bank account.  

So many things that don't seem to fit together.  And yet they are authentic.  They are me.

I think the problem is that I've created all of these nice and tidy little boxes in my head, and the older I get the less I fit in them.  I've made this system of "If I'm going to be this, then can't be that."  If I'm a stay-at-home mom, then I can't be a student.  If I'm an extrovert, then I always have to be one.  If I'm a good Christian girl, then I can't... (I have about thirty-seven answers for that one so let's just leave it there.)  I think we all start out a lot like Harper, simply and purely embracing who we are.  Then somewhere along the line, I let what I want others to think of me do more shaping than what God says about me and my purpose in this world.

I'm turning thirty in a few months.  It feels kind of big to leave my twenties, like maybe I'm finally an adult.  But almost everyone I've talked to about the difference between our twenties and thirties says that the thirties are better: more secure, more confident, less time for crap (that's my word, not others').  As I get closer myself, I feel that.  I'm watching my baby girl and starting to think that contradictions aren't bad at all- who made up the rules on contradictions, anyway?  I'm paying more attention than ever before to how God wired me, to what brings me life, and to how those things affect those around me, mostly the people I share a home with.  I'm learning that faith in Jesus is always right but it is not always clear, and sometimes we just have to take one step and trust him to open or shut the right doors.  And I think I am finally beginning to understand the whole phrase "don't major on the minors."  Because a million things could take our time and energy, but they certainly don't have to.

A little of this and a little of that.  Around here, that's a perfectly acceptable thing to be.   

I took a quick trip across the state this weekend to surprise my best friend for her 30th birthday. Four hours there, four hours back, a whole car to my little ‘ole self.  And It was pretty much the best.  I honestly cannot remember the last time that I was awake and uninterrupted for eight hours, and I feel quite confident that I made the most of it.

I rocked out, like personal karaoke show style, to some of my favorite jams, things I probably wouldn’t have on in the car with my kids because I’m not sure that Harper needs to think about phrases like ‘making the bad guys good for the weekend.’  I pretended I could play the piano with Sam Smith and my imaginary audience clapped along with me to ‘you sayyyyy I’m crazy…’ And, y’all, I pretty much sound exactly like Carrie Underwood when the music is just loud enough

And I also had moments of pure worship.  It’s hard not to let the words of some of Bethel Music’s lyrics sink in to your soul when it is just you and them.  Many of you know how I feel about “Ever Be” and it only gets better on repeat.  Same with “No Longer Slaves,” I kept skipping back to that crescendo at four minutes when it builds up build up to the words ‘you split the seas so I could walk right through it!’ Gah, so good.  Getting goosebumps all over again. 

I prayed a lot.  My husband had a hard few days at work right before I left, and I prayed for his integrity, diligence, and love for the work God has given him.  My sweet friend and her family are going through a lot, job stuff and cancer diagnoses and the things that fog up life in a way that makes our faith have to shine brighter to get through them, so I prayed for healing, patience, and joy.  I prayed for my babies and their hearts, I asked for wisdom in parenting them and confidence in God’s word as I do so.  And I prayed for forgiveness, because truthfully, I walk through so much of life very unaware of how unbelievably blessed I am.  My lent study has been going through repentance in the book of Lamentations, and it has shown me again and again that there is a big gap between what I intellectually know about grace and what I actually believe and live about grace.  It’s so much sweeter than I can even grasp. 

So this was all on the way there.  Then I enjoyed a sweet 24 hours with my two amazing friends, Emily and Aubree, and their kiddos, a short day when I could just be auntie Katie and not have to chase my own little loves around.  As much as my babies are my greatest joys, time to spend loving these little faces without distraction was the sweetest.  We went to a basketball game in Seattle (I should insert here that Em and Aub are Arizona State basketball legends; I felt like a high roller walking in with them and sitting in the front row), out to breakfast the next morning, and then I headed home, accompanied by Andy Stanley’s Brand New series.  Oh my, so good.  I called Alex after three sermons and talked his ear off about what I was learning, which I will sum up by saying I have never heard Galatians 5:14 preached so thoroughly and applicably: “For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’”  Yes. 

I’m so thankful for this weekend, for the quiet space that I could be as loud as I wanted in.  For the friendships that have grown deep enough to cover miles of distance.  For the memories and the laughs and the lessons.

The moral of this story: take more roadtrips.  Alone, if possible.         

Two months in to 2015 already, and up here in the Northwest the sunshine and warm-ish temperatures have been teasing us in the best ways the last few weeks, making Spring feel so close we can almost touch it.  (If you don't live in a part of the country that experiences winter, you may never understand this feeling, so trust me when I say we are crawling out of out skin ready to be outside on a regular basis again.  And if you do, solidarity, my friends.)  This month has always been an unremarkable one to me: it's mostly gray, I'm indifferent about Valentine's Day, and the best times of the year (this means summer) feel farther away than is worth getting excited for.  Not so this year.  February 2015 will be remembered in my heart as a defining month in my life for the lessons I am holding on to and the encouragement that will truly hold my soul steady for a long time.  I have loved this month for so many reasons, for the words, the people, the memories, and the new discoveries.

The IF:Gathering is likely something you are tired of hearing me talk about, so I won't say much more about it here, but you can read many of my thoughts here, here, here, here, and here.  I am still rolling the words and meanings over in my head, still leaning in to the huge idea of faith and bringing that to life in my life.  But the weekend we cozied up in a little house on the lake with two of my favorite people on the planet will be one I will always remember.  (Also, you can buy all of the IF:Gathering sessions here.  You will not regret it). 

Motherhood.  This month has been marked by some of my very hardest days raising my two babies.  And I'm not over-stating that: some of my very hardest.  Days we did not even leave the house and cancelled all plans because the temper tantrums were out of control, the time-outs were abundant, the only answer I could get to any question was "NO! NO! NO!" and I felt like I needed to stay in the fight for the long haul.  I walked in to a group that my sweet friend, Meghan, hosts one Friday a month and one sentence in to my "hi, friend!" opening to her, I started crying.  Because I just don't know what to do sometimes.  Meghan hugged me and encouraged me and reminded me of the things I had forgotten in the fog of battling with a two-year-old.  Two hours later, I was a new mama.  Really since the weekend of IF and this Friday with the mom's group, my language and my heart have changed.  We are working so hard around here to point our babies' hearts to Jesus, and in the process it is pointing our hearts to him as well.  I never knew how much I needed Jesus until I became a mama.  This is one of the areas God is refining and humbling me on a daily basis, because I just cannot do it apart from Him.  And in the midst of a month that held days I wanted to retreat to a closet, God gave us days I never wanted to end.  (A few notes, Meghan is one of the most wise and humble people on earth, and she is starting a website very soon with her heart for Jesus and for families at the center of it.  I cannot wait to point you all to her words.  Also, she has given me some of the best resources for motherhood, things that changed my thinking and the language I use entirely.  You can check those out here and here).

This month the Giving Shop is donating $600 dollars to Wellspring Living.  You guys.  Six hundred dollars is a lot of money!  I'm without words to express my gratitude for you buying necklaces and cards and using what you have to spur one another on toward bravery.  As we enter in to a new season we will support a new charity, one local to my hometown of Spokane, but doing amazing work for brave, brave people.  I can't wait to tell you more about this in the coming weeks.  (For now, the Giving Shop is getting a few touch ups so will be offline for a short time.  Please check back soon.)          

And just for funsies, I need to tell you that this month I discovered Sea Salt and Carmel KIND bars and my life will never, ever be the same.  These things are like $100 bucks a bar so savor them!  And I have a new favorite book: the Family Bedtime Treasury.  "No Sleep for the Sheep" is the best thing I've ever read out loud.  I think I love this a teensy bit more than Harper.  No shame. 

That's all for this month.  I hope it has been rich and full and beautiful and not too gray for you.  March, please bring enough rain to make things grow but more than enough sunshine to enjoy them!

Today is Ash Wednesday, marking the beginning of the Lenten season.  While lent has is roots in Catholicism, it is a season of fasting, penance, and reflection leading up to resurrection Sunday—Easter— observed by many Christians.  This Wednesday is 46 days before Easter; 40 fasting days according to the Catholic tradition that Sundays, which are not days of fast, are excluded.  The heart behind this season of lent is to mirror the 40 days of fasting Jesus did as preparation for the beginning of his ministry.  And while there are no specific passages in the Bible that denote a special meaning to the number 40, it is a number that appears often in scripture.

Noah spent 40 days and 40 nights on the ark as God poured rain down on the earth.

Moses was on Mount Sinai for 40 days and 40 nights.

Moses interceded in prayer on Israel’s behalf for 40 days and nights.

The Israelites spent 40 days spying in Canaan, the Promised Land.  Then they wandered in the desert for 40 years before God brought them in to it.

And there were 40 days between Jesus’ resurrection and his ascension in to Heaven. 

Forty, it seems to me, represents a kind of fullness is scripture; the amount of time God takes to complete something big. As I think about these things, about the faith and diligence to pray or fast for 40 days or to believe that a promise would truly be fulfilled after 40 years, it is not lost on me that I rarely persevere in anything that long.  I’m not yet 40 years old, so I don’t have a barometer for that kind of big picture faith.  And I’ve tried giving up (fasting) chocolate or ice cream or even television for lent in the past, but then there is March Madness or a friend brings me fresh cookies and I make all sorts of exceptions, and I’m all, “well, I’ll try again next year.” 

I love the idea of fasting, of going without something, so that we can tangibly make room for Jesus to enter in to that space.  And maybe that is exactly what God is asking from you during the next 40 days.  But I also love the idea of being diligent toward something, of being faithful to intercede in prayer on someone’s behalf, of giving of myself in a new way.  This year, this Lenten season for me is about quiet space, about faith, and about prayer.

I write as a lifeline, as a way to process, as a discipline, and as a means to really understand what I think.  But what I don’t do well is pray. I write prayers, but far too often I don’t stop and speak them, whether out loud or in my heart.  From this Wednesday until the day we celebrate Jesus’ victory over death, my heart wants, LONGS, to pray for my marriage, for my children, for my family, for my friends, for my city, and for this world.  The headlines have become numbing to me: Christians beheaded, hundreds of girls kidnapped, another war on the horizon… and here, this season of preparation for the darkest day in history followed three days later by the greatest.  And I want to pray like I believe in the greatest day.  A disciplined season of making room for quiet before the Lord, just him and me, begging for the faith I know I need for this life.  I’m just so scared without it.  But I think I’m supposed to be.  When the Spirit of God is not there, fear is.  But where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.  I want more than anything for him to complete a big, freeing faith in me.   

Let it be so.    

The women of the IF:Gathering have left me with words that are game changers; too much to process in one sitting or one day.  This is part five of a week long look back at the ways that I don’t want to stay the same. 
______________________________

It’s 4:40am on Friday morning after a very full week.  We’ve had everything from small group, bible study, workouts, and class to croup, timeouts for a two year old, bad days on the job, and taxes.  In six days, all these things and a hundred more. My jobs are to be a wife and a mom, and then I get paid by teaching and I get filled by writing.  And some days I feel like I have a better handle on it all than others, but really, that’s just life, isn’t it? 

On Sunday after the IF:Gathering last weekend, I committed to spending time each morning diving a little bit deeper in to the moments and words that were most impactful to me.  With a little help from the kids who slept past 6:00am some days and from Daniel Tiger on in the background on the other days, I’ve been able to do it.  But honestly, Monday was easy.  Today is not.  The words are coming slowly and incoherently at times.  I’m feeling tired and out of creativity, and we ran out of TJ’s cold brew—a small tragedy in itself.

But maybe, just maybe I’m supposed to be a little spent.  Because the last phrase I had picked out to write about last weekend is much more important today than it would have been on Monday.  From Bianca Olthoff’s closing lesson, a reminder for all of us: show up everyday.

Not just when I am full and rested.

Not just when I see results.

And not just when it’s easy.  Or because people will like me. 

I want to show up everyday because God can use me everyday.  He can use all of us. Giving my best is enough.  Giving my brave is enough.  God does the hard part when I show up.  Our lives have the amazing gift of knowing where this story ends, so I’m going to start at that place— with a kingdom that cannot be shaken*— and live from there.  Everyday.  Many days I will stumble or even crawl through, unsure of everything except this: God is not done, and he is writing our stories into a beautiful ending.  But we have to show up.    

P.S. Thanks to everyone for sticking with me this week.
#letsdothis

The women of the IF:Gathering have left me with words that are game changers; too much to process in one sitting or one day.  This is part four of a week long look back at the ways that I don’t want to stay the same. 
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As I sit down this morning to write about what was probably the most impactful sentence of the whole IF:Gathering for me, I feel incredibly inadequate to say anything more than what these words already say: “We live out God’s kingdom to the same fullness that we believe in it.”  Another Jen Hatmaker gem.  It stands alone in both is simplicity and it’s profound truth. 

And still, these words resound.  They demand something. They beg the question for me: What do I believe in the most?  Myself, or my God?

Jesus was quite fond of speaking about the kingdom of heaven.  He often taught about it in the form of parables, like in Matthew 13 where he compares it to a merchant selling everything he has to buy this “pearl of great value.”  But taken as a whole, the entirety of scripture tells of a God who cares a great deal about his kingdom and has made two things regarding this kingdom very clear: it is of great value—so great it is worth losing everything else in our life for; and there will be a great opposition to both believe in it and actually live for it. It is worth fighting for, but there will be a fight, we can count on it.

Thinking about eternity, about God’s kingdom, takes a lot out of me.  Because it is both overwhelmingly beautiful and overwhelmingly intimidating; my mind cannot fully get there, cannot wrap my mental comprehension around the concept of forever.  We are beginning and end kind of people, because everything else in our life has a beginning and an end.  Life itself does.  Good seasons come to an end, hard seasons come to an end.  Everything we put our hands to eventually comes to an end.

So the questions flood in: how much do I believe in this kingdom that will last forever?  Do I believe in it in the morning, when I think about my day ahead and the to-do lists and babies I will take care of and the people I will interact with?  Do I believe in it when my husband has a terrible day, and we are a bit at odds and each one of us wants something the other person cannot give in the moment?  Do I believe in it when motherhood feels exhausting and on days when I just cannot get a parenting victory?  Do I believe in it when something really sweet happens?  Do I believe in it when the bad news comes?  When I’m scared?  Because if I really believe in God’s kingdom and all it’s grandness, the answer to these questions are underlined with echoes of God’s glory and seen through the lens of eternity.  That is what all of these things are about.  And, wow, that changes so, so much.  Life feels so big and important right now, and it is.  But it’s not big and important because I am—with all of my dreams of success and a nice career and well-rounded children; it’s only big and important because God left his followers with a work so big and important to do: love Jesus and love people.  And we will live that only as much as we believe it is true.

I wrote this sentence on a stick note and put it on my mirror, because these are every day words.  They are big picture words for a big picture life.  The more space in my mind and life I make for God’s kingdom, the less space there is for me.  And that’s kind of perfect, I think.