“I know I should have quiet time with the Lord every day, but, ugh, LIFE.”
This is something I hear often from both my peers and younger women I walk with in faith.
I get where they’re coming from. As a wife and mother who works outside the home as well as inside it, I absolutely get it.
For the woman who gets up early as it is and goes to bed later than everyone else in the house, the thought of getting up even earlier feels daunting. Those who are already struggling to balance all their responsibilities feel guilty about not making quiet time a regular occurrence but have no idea how to make it happen.
It’s not that they don’t want to honor God by giving Him their time; it’s more so that they don’t know how to make it part of their day. No one in a similar life circumstance has shown them how.
As I have listened to these women tell their stories, what I realized quickly is that they would benefit from a new way to approach quiet time. Continue reading “How to get quiet time with God when life isn’t quiet”
About a month ago, my family helped me convert the playroom into a writing office.
My first-ever writing office. My first-ever claim to a physical territory representing the creative one I had long been staking out.
For so many years, I was afraid to make this claim, to bravely plant a flag in the physical sphere and say, “This is my space.”
Self-doubt, fear of failure, fear of selfish ambition held me back from making this claim.
(Read: Is My Dream Selfish Ambition?)
I felt I didn’t deserve to have a writing office. Continue reading “What I want my daughters to remember about me pursuing my dream”
Dear Mom Guilt-
You can no longer have me.
You and your tentacles of shame, doubt, fear, negativity, judgment and loathing have been wrapped around me for the last time.
I am stepping out of your grasp.
I have been ridiculous to have stayed this long.
What do you add to my life? Nothing.
What do you subtract from my life? Everything good. Continue reading “Dear Mom Guilt”
She wrapped her arms around my waist. Tears pooled in her eyes.
“Mommy, why do you work?”
This was not the first time she has asked me that question. Not the first time she clung to me as I headed out the door to my part-time job.
My summer schedule of mostly afternoon and evening hours has been hard for her. For the first time, she does not have school to distract her from the fact I am not home. She sees that I’m not there.
She FEELS my absence. Continue reading “‘Mommy, why do you work?””