Following breadcrumbs.

Since we decided to homeschool our kids, a new world has opened up to us.  I have researched ideas, curriculum, and groups.  I have reached out to other homeschooling families for support and fellowship, and I have prayed for mentoring and guidance.  Every time I’ve asked God for direction, a friend, or a mentor–He has delivered.

A season in the wilderness.

I’m not outdoorsy, by any stretch of the imagination. I don’t like insects, spiders, or anything that won’t fly away when I swat at it. I don’t like worms, snakes, and other creepy, crawly, slimy things. I actively avoid the heat of day and anything that causes me to sweat. To my husband’s chagrin, my idea of camping definitely includes four solid walls, a roof, electricity, and running water. In his eyes, glamping doesn’t count.

You’re not hardcore unless you live hardcore.

35.

Yesterday, I celebrated thirty five years of life on the earth.  One day afterward, I am still celebrating.  If I’m going to be completely honest, I will most likely party through the whole weekend–maybe even until Thanksgiving.   Cake for breakfast, anyone?

I kid.  Or do I??

35.

I am finally old enough to run for president of the United States.  Not that I will, but I could if I wanted to.

Want to know how I celebrated thirty five?

Soul Thirst

In the stillness of the wee hours one late-September morning, a random thought cropped up in my head.

No alcohol for 30 days.

My mind is constantly moving, so I’m not often surprised by the things that pop up in my head, seemingly out of left field.

On this particular morning, I recall feeling… different.

When you don’t recognize your own face.

Last night,  I flipped through the photos on my phone, clearing out hundreds of blurry snapshots of elbows, feet, and other appendages captured by my two youngest children. K & N love to take my phone and experiment with the camera. Honestly, half the time I love the results. It’s refreshing to see the world through the eyes of a young child.

One night last month, I took my 3 year old to urgent care for a respiratory problem. He took these pictures, which made me wonder what the experience was like for him. I imagine he must have felt a little scared and uncertain of what was going to happen. Or maybe he was calm, and trusted that he was in good hands.  I don’t have his perspective, so I don’t know what he was feeling.  I can only guess from looking at the pictures he took that night.

What do faith and hair have in common?

Cultivate is a word I hear and see all over the internet. As much as I tried to avoid using “buzz” words, it is the perfect word for the current season of my life. Several things are being cultivated in my life right now–my faith and my hair are the most prominent. But what could faith and hair possibly have in common?

God of the every day things.

Nearly three years ago, I quit my job to stay at home full time. It’s not something I ever thought I would want to do, but it has been an amazing blessing and growth opportunity. Living as a one-income family of six near DC takes prayer, planning, discipline, and often requires sacrifice. I thank God for His provision.

Last weekend, my husband mentioned our seasonal budget meeting. Nothing knots up my insides like money talk. As I felt the anxiety peak, I confessed my fears to God and let it go.

I went to my regular MOPS meeting on Tuesday. What was the speaker’s topic?

Dear Me. Love… Future Me.

Encouraging others normally comes pretty easily to me.  It makes my heart glad to help others feel good about themselves and the work that God is doing in their lives.  Why is it so hard to save some compassion for myself?  I am a child of God, just like any of the people I’ve lent my ears and open arms to.  Loved.  Cherished.  Redeemed.  Just the same.

It’s scary how quickly I forget that.

I read a devotional this morning that challenged me to offer words of comfort to my past self–the girl I don’t like to remember.

I’ve always been on the quiet side, but as a girl I was painfully shy and terrified of rejection.  I didn’t look like the other girls in my classes.  My skin, my hair, and my body type were very different from those of my friends.  I stood out when all I wanted to do was fit in and be like everyone else.  Some people stand taller, proud of being so unique.  I wanted to shrink and hide away.

I didn’t have the confidence I wished for then.

There is still healing to be done from my past.  Nonetheless, if I could write a letter to the old me, this is what I would say: