Many years ago, there were two kids who loved adventuring together. Early in their marriage, they stepped off an airplane and onto magical soil where they fell in love with a foreign, yet, somehow familiar, land. Their souls exhaled. They made new friends who would remain in their lives in unbelievable ways for the next seventeen years.

Two years later, they would return; desperately seeking respite from hardships life had thrown their way. This time, their parents joined them and, together, they trekked up and down the land, pausing in cathedrals along their way, lighting candles and lifting prayers. As they pilgrimaged along the ancient soil, their weariness dissipated and they returned home refreshed and full of hope.

Several years later, they returned seeking another soul-invigorating exhale. On the flight over, they received an email about making a television show back home. They prayed over the idea among the olive groves and cypress trees.

Years passed and the kids started a family and built a life on a farm. They became very busy with the television show. Their family grew again. They loved and laughed and, all the while, dreamt of returning to the land they loved over the sea.

When the world came back to life after the-big-and-terrifying-scare, the two kids knew it was time. They boarded a plane with their own kids and returned to the magical land. Once again, their old friends were there to meet them. Life was celebrated and joy was abundant.

The very next summer, they returned. They exhaled. They slowed down. They dreamt with their friends about a big renovation on a property they had just purchased. They sent the idea up the chain and fought to make it happen. Soon, they found themselves working in the magical land they loved so very much. They pinched themselves. It was too good to be true. And, yet, it was very hard too. Good and hard. Joy and sorrow. Both exist simultaneously in life. 

I sure hope you’ll join us two kids as we begin a dream project in the place we hold so very dear. Fixer to Fabulous: Italiano premieres tomorrow night at 8/7c on HGTV.

Rest in Peace, Larry-the-llama.

You fought so hard. It was my deep privilege to spend the past week caring for you around the clock. Our entire family helped dispensing meds, giving you shots and electrolytes, hand-feeding you, praying for you and cheering you on.

We loved you so very much, buddy. You have no idea how much I’m going to miss your goofy smile and your lopsided gallop toward me whenever I step into the pasture.

As Luke and I waited for the vet this morning, we sat with you and stroked your head. I played music and the song, “Find You Here” started to play on my Pandora station. In the midst of such sorrow, it was a sweet gift to listen to the poignant lyrics. The words served as a reminder that, even though we didn’t get our llama miracle, God was right there with us in the little barn. He didn’t leave us there alone; sitting on the hay, my tears steadily falling on your head. The lyrics, “you can see my pain and it breaks your heart” felt like a Divine message for my own aching heart.

Farm life can be both beautiful and brutal. Today, is certainly one of the hard days. And, while I know there is joy to come, I am going to sit in the grief for a bit.

A dear friend (who is acutely familiar with this farm life) shared this wisdom with me: “Being His means holding all of it – the miracles and the pain – and still raising our hands and saying, I don’t understand it and I wanted a different chapter, but I trust that you are still good.”

Oh, friends. I can’t thank you all enough for loving our Larry from afar. You’ve prayed and encouraged and rooted for our guy. I’ve been blown away by your kindness and compassion. I have hesitated typing these words today because while our family mourns and cries and talks through this hard loss, I know that so many of you are waiting for a Larry update and I so desperately wanted to have different news. He was a good one to love and he was loved until the end.

“Moses was eighty years old, and Aaron was eighty-three when they made their demands to Pharaoh.” (Exodus 7:7)

I believe every word of Scripture is God-breathed and written down for a purpose. Here’s the thing, the age of Moses and Aaron could have been left out of the story of Exodus, but this one seemingly insignificant sentence is on the page for a purpose.

As I read these words this morning, I thought of three distinct conversations I’ve had over the past 48 hours: a friend in her early thirties, one in her mid-forties and one in her late fifties – all stepping out in faith. The circumstances are varied but they all share a common thread: God is asking them to do a new thing and they are listening. For some reason, the only one who is confidently stepping forward without hesitation is the one in her thirties. The other two feel silly or like their time has passed.

This is not okay.

Our society tells us that we aren’t wise enough to be listened to when we are young and then we need to step quietly out of the way as we age because we have had our chance and God couldn’t possibly choose to use us now.

That is a lie.

God has a good plan for each of our lives. And, sometimes, He anoints us with our calling when we are a teenager, like David. Other times, He waits until we are eighty years old, like Moses.

I don’t know who needs to hear this today but please remember this: you are not unqualified because you’re “too young” and you are not counted out because “you’re too old.” Just keep on running your race well because you are here – living and breathing, right now, this very day, at this exact point in history – for a purpose. 

(I happened upon this old post from Instagram and felt like it needed a permanent place here on the blog as I think it’s a relevant reminder for all of us).

My grandparents owned a small cabin nestled in the woods of Beech Mountain, North Carolina when I was a kid and my family spent one week every February there throughout my childhood. My parents would pack every inch of the minivan with once-a-year-used jackets and gloves and my siblings and I would fight over who would get the coveted “pallet on the floor” spot for the overnight drive. That person was lucky enough to sleep through the night in the cozy nook filled with blankets and pillows while the rest of us twisted into uncomfortable positions in seats. (We didn’t have pesky things like car seats and seat belt laws to affect our sleep during the drive). When we woke up the next morning, we may as well driven to another planet. We left behind our sunny life in Central Florida and had entered a winter wonderland. We all shrieked excitedly pointing out the rocks dripping in icicles and snow-laden trees.

My childhood memories of ice and snow are inextricably tied to MAGICAL moments – joy and sledding and hot cocoa and piping hot spaghetti dinners after a full day of skiing. For one week each year, we escaped the humidity and heat and managed to squeeze an entire winter’s worth of rosy cheeks and freezing toes and wet gloves into those seven days.

Because we rarely get snow here in Arkansas, I revert to my childhood self and become giddy whenever snow is in the forecast. This year, we have had more below-freezing days than I can remember and Dave, the kids and I all have been watching the forecast this week with high hopes for the unprecedented snow they’re predicting.

Yet, this longer than normal stretch of freezing weather could be particularly tough on our animals and we’ve had to work long days in the pasture keeping water fresh and ensuring warm spaces are readily available for our four-legged crew.

We managed to get a small horse’s coat on Alfie-the-alpaca the other day and one on Daddy Donk this morning. They, along with Larry-the-llama, have been particularly stubborn about not seeking shelter in the barn. And, we have no idea what we are actually doing so my highly scientific google research told us to get them each a horse blanket. We haven’t been able to “catch” Larry for his wardrobe change but we have laughed a whole lot trying. He seems to be tolerating the weather well and I do think Alfie and Daddy Donk appreciate the extra layer of warmth from their new accessories (even if they do look slightly ridiculous and the other animals can’t figure out what they’re wearing).

On the other hand, Jack and Belle, our Great Pyrenees, are LOVING the weather and are currently living their best lives.

At the start of the week, we had to really scramble because a surprise baby lamb was born! Snowy had a baby in the pasture on Tuesday morning and shocked us all. We had thought she couldn’t have babies so this little guy was the sweetest little surprise! But the temperatures were dropping really fast and we had to quickly get a warm spot set up for her and her new baby boy, (who the kids named Frosty). Mama and baby are both doing well and are just so, so sweet. I shared a story on instagram about Snowy and how she is such a fighter and how special she is to our fam. We’ve had to work more than usual this week to keep her and Frosty warm and ensure they have food, water and are safe but it’s been so worth it – just look at this face!! THE CUTEST!!

We’re expecting a big snowstorm tonight and, now that the animals are warm and safe, we are all super excited for some snow! We’re ready for snowmen, sledding and all of the magical memories tied to snowy days. (Of course, we know warmer days are only a few days away, so that certainly helps us embrace the cold temps for a short stint).

Stay warm, friends!

It’s October!! I don’t know about where you live, but here in NW Arkansas we are finally seeing the first glorious glimpses of vibrant color seeping into the leaves outside. It has felt like we live on the surface of the sun around here lately, so when a storm rolled in and the weather dipped, I decided it was absolutely time to throw open the windows and pull the sweaters out of storage and buy ALL.THE.PUMPKINS (not really…they cost a small fortune…so, a few strategically placed pumpkins, it is!).

Since I made the official switch from light and bright to warm and moody for my fall kitchen, I thought I’d share a few images and tips with y’all as you start to incorporate autumn into your home.

My top tips for styling your home for fall:

1. Choose a color palette.

For fall, I wanted a moody look that incorporated the natural colors of the season: varying shades of green, copper, peach, cream and natural wood tones. I removed my all-white dishes and clear glasses and replaced them with vintage green glassware and natural clay mugs. I incorporated a copper tray and plants in order to keep the palette consistent.

2. Bring the outside in.

I really love that nature provides so much beauty in this season. I don’t have any “fall decor” stored away in the attic, I prefer to utilize real things — pumpkins, pampas grass, greenery from a plant, etc. I always try to bring nature inside wherever I can and fall is the perfect season for this because everywhere I turn there is so much beauty!

3. Play with scale.

Open shelves can be tricky. I love the way they make the room feel more open and less stuffy…but they can be hard to style. I like to incorporate items of varying heights to ensure everything looks balanced and there is breathing room on the shelves. Don’t be afraid to use books to create height, stack various sized framed photos or botanicals, display cutting boards of different heights or incorporate trays for scale (to fill in a little white space while not making the shelf feel cluttered).

4. Shop your home.

My friend, The Nester, has an awesome mantra about shopping your own home before you go out and purchase anything new. I absolutely agree with this concept! I snagged the plants off my entry table and grabbed books and vases from other spots around the house and moved them into the kitchen. This helped to create an entirely different look in this room without buying a thing (and caused me to get creative with what I used in the previous spots).

Lastly, can we all agree to never dress our babies in collared shirts regardless of the fact that the outfit matches the fall color palatte??! Because he looks entirely too grown up here and I cannot handle it. Onesies + footed pj’s forever, thank you very much!

Happy Fall, friends. Set out the pumpkins, style the shelves, and then leave it for the next two months and enjoy this gorgeous weather!

Photos by: Samantha Daniels

Two years ago, we took in our first bottle-fed baby lamb. Admittedly, I was caught up in the cuteness of her soft fur and her ever-present smile, I wasn’t thinking about the long-standing Biblical history of this little animal. Yet, as the years have passed and I have watched and learned from our now small (and continually expanding) herd, I’m consistently amazed by what God can reveal to us through His creation.

This past Sunday {Easter morning}, after being awoken bright and early by the kids to hunt for eggs and check out Easter baskets, Dave and I went out front to drink coffee on the porch while watching our favorite entertainment as of late – the newest baby lambs jump and play in the pasture. As soon as the older sheep heard our voice, they came running. Now, I know better, I stay quiet in the mornings unless I’m fully prepared to bring them treats. Dave, on the other hand, thinks the stampede is hilarious and shouts “GOOOOODDDD MOOOORRRNNNIINNNGGG!” in a ridiculously high octave. As they ran toward us, fully expecting maple-y goodness, I was struck by a thought.

“My sheep recognize my voice; I know them, and they follow me.” {John 10: 27}

In biblical times, shepherds would lead their flock out of the city to graze each day. They would guide their herd to the patches of grass amidst the rocky terrain throughout the region. They would also protect their sheep from dangerous animals or treacherous holes in the ground. The sheep literally trusted the shepherds with their lives.

These days, in our small Northwest Arkansas town, our own little flock graze merrily in an abundantly grass-filled pasture. They are protected by fences and barbed wire and dogs. They don’t really need Dave or I except for treats and additional feed in the winter.

Even still, they know our voice. And they follow us whole-heartedly. They RUN toward us when we call, trusting completely that we will provide them with good things.

“He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. After he has gathered his own flock, he walks ahead of them, and they follow him because they recognize his voice. They won’t follow a stranger; they will run from him because they don’t recognize his voice.” {John 10: 3-5}

I’m studying Nehemiah and found it interesting that, when the exiles returned to Jerusalem to start the daunting task of rebuilding the destroyed city walls, the priests were the first to begin the work. Led by Eliashib, the high priest whose name “coincidentally” means “God will restore,” they started to rebuild at the Sheep Gate.

Why the Sheep Gate? Why not fortify the supporting walls first?

The Sheep Gate was used to bring sheep into the city to the Temple for sacrifices and, by rebuilding it, the spiritual leaders focused on the priority of worship first and foremost.

This particular gate was critical to the spiritual health of the people. Later, in John, Jesus used the illustration of the Sheep Gate to present the idea of salvation through Him. He could have stopped there. He could have explained that the Temple sacrifices would soon no longer be necessary, for He would be the perfect lamb to be slain as atonement for sin.

Yet, He didn’t. He told the people (and us) that He is not only the gate for the sheep, but He is the Shepherd who will lead us with mercy. He tells us that wherever we go, we will find green pastures. We won’t need to settle for measly pockets of grass sprouting up between rocks. We will have abundance because, He tells us, His purpose is to give life in all its fullness. (John 10: 6-10)

As I sat on the porch last Sunday morning, watching the sheep run toward Dave’s joy-filled greeting, it occurred to me. We should be running toward Jesus with even more abandon than these animals are running toward the possibility of a treat and a back rub. We can trust Him for so much more – He promises abundance and life in all its fullness. And, He doesn’t say we have to wait until we reach Heaven to experience the richness He offers. We can live in the fullness here and now. Your Kingdom come, on earth as it is in Heaven.

May we embrace the call to run through the Gate toward His voice with courage fueled by simple, honest trust. Trust formed day after day, walking behind and beside Him. Trust rooted in the knowledge of His ridiculously lavish love toward us.

“And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love really is.” {Ephesians 4:18}

We are made to be in relationship with one another. We are meant to share meals and celebrate joys together. We are meant for actual, in-person, face-to-face interactions. Too often, we (myself included!) find ourselves connected only through screens. We fill our calendars with meetings and conference calls and busyness. We take on burdens we weren’t meant to pick up in the first place. We overextend ourselves and become physically and emotionally exhausted. We have little margin in our days left for lingering over coffee or stepping in to help when we know a friend is weary.

When the people who love gather together to celebrate who we are, something shifts on a soul level. We remember Who we are. We remember how God wired us. We remember all of the moments and reminisce on the path behind us. We are seen. We are known. Community is a powerful force for good in our lives.

Simply because I’m married to a really, really good man who deserves to be celebrated BIG on his birthday, we gathered on a blistery cold evening and ate and drank and laughed with the sound of good music as our backdrop. I know he felt loved and appreciated and every ounce of energy expelled on making this night happen was worth it.

What a reminder – celebrate those you love. Gather together. Share a meal. Laugh together even in the midst of the rough edges of life. Laughter among friends is a soothing balm, after all.

Throw parties on cold nights and hire musicians to sing. Eat on paper plates and have someone else cook the food. Don’t worry about the dust bunnies in the corner or the lack of linen napkins. Just, gather together. Wherever you are- in a home, in a barn- the place doesn’t matter. Light the candles and watch the flicker of the flames dance around the room. Don’t rush. Be present and make the time even when it feels daunting. Time together with your people is never, ever wasted.

I’m sitting here, on the hard floor of our mudroom, wrapping her in warm damp cloths and carefully administering enough warm water to prevent the egg’s membrane from drying out with a medicine dropper. I’m watching the baby chick struggle to hatch from the protective shell that has kept her safe and warm. Her beak is free and she is chirping. Yet, her movement has slowed and I’m worried she won’t break free from that outer shell.

Earlier this week, momma hen had another baby and left the roost where this egg remained to care for and protect the new chick. As Dave gathered the eggs from the coop last night, he heard the soft sound of chirping coming from inside this egg. {We may or may not have panicked a little bit. We were not expecting to find any other fertilized eggs in the coop}! The egg had been left alone and didn’t stand a chance on it’s own. We quickly brought it inside to the mudroom and set up a pseudo incubator with a rubbermaid tote, pine shavings and a heat lamp.

Still, we felt helpless. We didn’t know if the chick could survive without it’s momma. We went to bed not knowing what we would find in the morning.

To our surprise, we woke to chirping! The chick had broken free of the shell with it’s itty bitty beak and was breathing on it’s own. I have never seen anything like it! This little chick was so teeny and so fragile. We all stood around waiting for it to push through the entire shell and emerge into the world.

We waited.

And waited.

And, waited.

I’m still waiting. The boys are in school and Dave is at work. Meanwhile, I’m scouring the internet (thank you, Facebook friends for all of the helpful tips) trying to discern when to help and how to do so. For now, I’m keeping a wet, warm cloth around the egg’s membrane (I couldn’t help it, I had to intervene, and carefully picked away the outer shell… I’m a chicken surgeon now) to help keep moisture in and make it soft enough for the chick to push through.

As I fight against my urge to help it out somehow and wait for the baby chick to push through, I also wait for the end of the school day. I wait to hear how the day went for one of my boys. This is only the third week of school and already I have watched as a dark cloud has shadowed over his exuberant spirit. This has been a very tough year so far for my boy. Without going into details, I will say that he is not in a place right now where he can thrive. The goodness in him is not being called forth and he is drowning under that pressure.

Oh, my momma heart hurts so deeply for my boy. I ache to step in and take away this pain. I don’t want to watch him struggle. Just as I innately want to step in and help this baby chick out of her shell so she no longer has to go through the process of struggling to break free, I want so desperately to shield my boy from this hardship. I am praying constantly for him and for his teacher and for the administrators at his school. I’m praying for discernment and wisdom on how to be an advocate for my boy while also speaking truth and life into him. I’m praying for wisdom on how to use this experience as an opportunity for good. I’m also praying for very specific direction on how to proceed {he is in first grade and the thought of an entire year of tears and tummy aches and spirit-crushing criticism is not okay with me}. I so wish I could find an article for my boy similar to the one that gave me step-by-step instructions on how to help this baby chick hatch. Unfortunately, the manual for this one doesn’t exist.

This job of shepherding little hearts in a broken world is intense. I’m ever grateful for the One who walks with us through the hard seasons and promises to carry us through. I know I can trust Him with the hearts of my children, for He loves them even more than I can comprehend. I will continue to pray and fight for what is best for my boy. I will also step back and allow him this opportunity to push through something hard. I’ll trust that God is working in and through this situation and His plans for my boy are always, always for good.

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” Matthew 6:25-26 (NIV) 

This girl.

She walked right in to her very first real classroom with her head held high and smiled for the camera (over and over and over again…I can’t help myself) like a champ.

Because I’m her mom and I know how to read her nonverbal cues, I couldn’t miss the faintest hint of anxiety in her eyes. I picked up on the way she sat motionless in her chair surveying the room with her eyes, keeping her head perfectly still. While the other mommas were hugging their new pre-schoolers and wiping crocodile tears away from cheeks, I was rubbing Sylvie’s back and watching her fingers twirl around the fabric of her shirt – a clear signal of her fear.

Despite the subtlety of these outward signs of her anxiety, my palms sweated as I left the classroom. I wanted desperately to shout the absolute most inappropriate things to everyone within earshot.

YOU GUYS!

LOOK AT HER SITTING THERE AT THE TABLE IN FRONT OF HER LITTLE NAME TAG! DID YOU SEE HER HANG HER BACKPACK? OH MY WORD!

SERIOUSLY! SHE LIVED ON THE DIRT FLOOR OF AN ORPHANAGE! SHE OFTEN DIDN’T EAT FOR DAYS!! EVERYONE LEFT HER. EVERYONE! WHY SHOULD SHE TRUST THAT THIS PLACE IS SAFE OR THAT I’LL BE BACK THIS AFTERNOON LIKE I SAID??!! Your kid is cute and all, BUT LOOK AT HER!!!!!! SHE IS THE MOST BRAVE FOUR YEAR OLD EVER, EVER. I’M SO DARN PROUD OF HER I CAN’T EVEN STAND IT!

I’m the most embarrassing, I know. But y’all, I wanted to explain the research regarding brain development and the effects of trauma. {Dave and I met privately with her teacher – she is very well aware of trauma and attachment and the effects on brain development. I am beyond thankful for her}.  I wanted to pass out photos of my girl as an infant. I wanted everyone to see how far she has come. Yes, she is physically taller and stronger but oh my word, she is so much stronger than any visible muscle. This girl is an overcomer and a fighter and she is so full of joy and hope, I can hardly believe it. Despite the crappy things that have happened in her life, she chooses joy instead of bitterness or resentment.

I didn’t embarrass her or myself by yelling these things or showing old photos or videos but man, I wanted to. The thing is, everyone just sees this adorable, confident little girl smiling and hanging her new Paw Patrol backpack on the hook under her name. They have no idea how freaking brave she is. They don’t know the tension she wrestles through every single day. They don’t know how much that backpack and lunchbox represent. They represent a beloved daughter who has fought fiery arrows straight from the pit of hell and come out victorious. The enemy prowled at the door of her heart, ready to pounce at any moment. SO many of you reading these words prayed and fought this fight with us in the heavenlies. We went to battle for this girl. Absolutely bloody and bruised and broken at times. But we fought. And, she fought. It has been the messiest, most fractured and broken fight. But we have the most powerful and good God on our side. He never left us alone in the battle. This girl is tangible, real-life proof of a Abba Father who loves and restores and redeems everything for good. Everything. 

The enemy messed with the wrong girl. She is a daughter of the King of Kings and she is clothed in dignity and strength. The light of His endearing love shines so brightly through this one.

Go conquer PreK, my girl. The rest will come later. For now, you have a year of growing and learning more about this good, good Father of yours. Soak it up and thrive, my love.  

A thunderstorm and a bad dream landed Ben in our bed around five this morning – arms laden with two blankets and one giant stuffed bear. In order to make space for him, I had to reposition Charlotte, who had fallen asleep in our bed last night after Dave and I were already dozing and too tired to move her to her own room. Just after getting everyone settled in, lightening struck outside our window producing a loud clap and booming thunder. This caused one dog to jump up in our bed and the other to pee on the floor. After cleaning the mess, I crawled back into my little corner with Ben on my left and Chiquita at my feet.

My mind refused to go back to sleep. So, here I am. Typing away at the kitchen table listening to the storm outside and relishing the rare moment of quiet inside. There’s something about being up before the sun that feels almost holy. Like God can more easily meet me here, in the stillness.

Let me be clear, rising before the sun does not happen often. Which is the one of the reasons I have been so quiet on this little corner of the internet. Our summer days have been so full. Full in lovely ways – memory making, spontaneous adventure ways – but full, nonetheless. I have kept my computer tucked away and focused my energy on my people.

This is the first summer in two years where we can all get out and have fun. Two summers ago, when Sylvie first came home and Charlotte was a newborn, we weren’t having a whole lot of fun. We were in full blown survival mode. Last summer, we started to breathe. And, now, here we are. Heads above water, actually enjoying one another’s company. It’s breathtakingly beautiful when I stop to think about it. In the day to day craziness, I very often miss the beauty. It gets lost somewhere between the sibling squabbles, the piles of laundry, the wet towels and swimsuits and the endless snacks (the snacks! I can’t keep up with these little appetites this summer).

But, it is there. Just a bit below the surface. A relentless beauty. A well-earned, fought-for beauty.

We entered in to a HARD place when Sylvie came home two summers ago. We were thrown into this family thing in an instant. We stepped into the grief and pain our girl carried like a heavy, heavy cloak. We haven’t done things perfectly, some days we don’t even do them well, but we step forward one moment at a time. The sharp edges haven’t disappeared but they have started to become smooth. The bewildered feelings – not knowing how to parent this broken little person – have started to dissipate. We’ve gotten to know one another. We’ve learned that love isn’t something you feel and talk about – it’s something you do. Even when it’s the last thing you want to do, when you feel rejected and are on the receiving end of piercing looks, you do it. You love. Even when it all feels like it’s falling apart and you will never feel normal again – you love. And, eventually, after days and days and days of loving, you have a moment of connection. It may be over in an instant, yet, it is enough to sustain you for more days of pouring out an imperfect love.

It’s far from easy. I’ll be honest – it’s so hard. So hard. My selfishness and bitterness and frustrations too easily creep in. But it’s absolutely 1,000% worth it. These two years have shaped and refined my heart. This little girl – this daughter of my heart – has rocked my world and shown me what bravery and grit and strength look like. Adoption is messy and broken and born from a place of great loss. Yet, it can all be transformed for good. I have a picture of the gospel right here under my roof.

I have to admit that summer fun hasn’t been the only cause of my stepping away from this space for a couple of weeks. The truth is: my words feel hollow in light of what’s happening in our world. I know my words aren’t needed right now. Instead, I’m listening. I’m reading. I’m learning. I’m leaning in and trying my hardest to come to the conversation without any filters – to really hear.

I’ve intentionally been quiet in the midst of loud voices and booming opinions. I’ve felt hope only when I stepped away from the news and the articles and the Facebook updates and stepped into real life with real people. Sharing hard conversations and tears.

Our little community had a sweet time of prayer last weekend and I left that space feeling so hopeful. There were no lines – all genders, races, ages, denominations – gathered together to pray for our hurting sisters and brothers. I hugged another momma as we left and we cried together as she shared her fears for her infant son. As we hugged, he slept soundly – safely – in his momma’s arms. The fear she has for her innocent baby is real, y’all. Until we can acknowledge that, we can’t move forward.

If you would like resources to listen and learn, one of favorite resources is the Be The Bridge ministry founded by Tasha Morrison: “Our heart and passion is to display God’s Glory by Inspiring the Church to have a distinctive and transformative response to racial division. Our mission includes equipping bridge builders with resources, vision and skills for Racial Unity.” Also, my friend Lindsy does a really great job sharing excellent resources. I also love this comprehensive list from Sarah Mae.

Wishing you all a beautiful weekend. Get outside with your people. Love big, breathe deeply, pray whole heartedly. <3

God shut a door.

It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

We had a trip planned to visit Congo next month. A trip full of influential people willing and ready to invest time and energy and resources into the work we have committed to there. The first HOPE center would launch. I anticipated God’s provision pouring out and felt the palpable excitement over what was unfolding. It felt like the culmination of three years of hard work, and the realization of a dream of implementing sustainable, community-empowering long-term change.

Then, the door shut. Political tensions are currently high, our team on the ground worried for our safety and theirs.

The trip was cancelled.

It felt like a punch in the gut. All of the work halted. The team will now visit Uganda and see the amazing work being done there by our Help One Now partners. Good will come out of the trip, absolutely. Yet, for me personally, I’m left feeling untethered. I could still join the team and travel. Yet, Dave and I both felt unsettled about me traveling without the Congo portion of the trip taking place. We couldn’t justify the expense of both money and time. Although, I wanted to go. I wanted the adventure. I wanted to step foot on African soil again. I wanted to love on little ones afar. Even still, I could see my place wasn’t on this trip. It was clear yet so very disappointing.

The work will continue. The daily feeding program, the raising of funds, the Hope Centers still on the horizon. Yet, the disappointment around this particular trip is strong since it would have kick started the work in a way we haven’t been able to thus far.

In this same season, I’m feeling such a strong pull to rest. I have journal pages full of this call to be still. To find Him in the quiet moments, rather than the mountain moving ones. To find my footing again.

Maybe this door closing was, for me, in this season, a gentle leading back to quiet and stillness. A putting aside of the doing and striving and going and a picking up of the loving and slowing and embracing.

Healing has come slowly for our wounded little one. In turn, my own heart has been battered and bruised. My own soul desperate for healing and renewed strength.

Maybe this is the summer for our own healing. Her and I. Maybe I can’t go and pour myself out across the globe because I need to be poured into first. Certainly, when you’re empty, you can’t give of an overflow that doesn’t exist.

Through my disappointment and frustration, I will seek Him with fresh eyes. I read these words this morning in my First 5 study and felt goosebumps run up my neck, “Let’s consider the wilderness might be exactly where God needs us to be. What if our wilderness experience is where God will reveal Himself and prepare us for a bigger purpose?”

I’m praying for this particular wilderness experience to be exactly where God wants me and a time for Him to reveal Himself in a new way. I’m looking forward to what He will do this summer in my heart and in my family. I’m setting aside expectations and trusting Him for His best. Because, I know His plans are only for our good. Even when we can’t see the good in the moment and the tidy bow hasn’t yet been tied into place, He is still there, still working.

Trusting and believing in His plans not only for me and my family but also for the families we serve across the globe.

Although they had a “graduation ceremony” last week, today was the boy’s last day of school. I knew they would grow and change a ton this year, yet, now that we are crossing the finish line and placing kindergarten in our rearview, it is sort of hard to wrap my mind around how much they have grown and all they learned this past year.

Side note: Based on the two photos above, you can clearly see how I’ve given up on caring what they wear to school.

I’m all kinds of sappy and nostalgic this week. Can we talk about these sweet boys who wave out the window all the way down the drive when daddy takes them to school? I can hardly handle it. I love this age so much. They still love their mama unabashedly and aren’t the least bit embarrassed by me. 🙂

I have a giant pile in need of sorting full of folders and worksheets and art projects that have come home all week. As they came home, I added to the ever-expanding pile. Avoidance is a form of denial, I’m sure of it.

Yet, we are all ready for a break. Ready to sleep in, swim until toes are wrinkly, run barefoot and skip bedtimes. Summer is here and we are all ready for it.

Happy, happy summer, dear friends!

My boys.

Last night you were recognized on stage for completing your very first year of {“big kid”} school.

What a year it’s been.

You have grown and changed and have learned so much.

You read books to daddy and I at bedtime instead of the other way around. You now shower and wash your hair and get dressed on your own. You pour your own cereal and dig through the pantry to find your own snacks. You hold opinions about what you wear, how your hair is styled, what we watch on TV, what we eat for dinner. You help put away the laundry and the dishes. You solve math problems and spell words. You write your own thank you notes.

Mornings find you waving as you run into school. I smile as I watch your backpack bobbing up and down as you confidently enter the building with your friends.

I sometimes feel like bursting with pride and love for you both.

They played the song “Let Them Be Little” last night during the slideshow and I cried.

So let them be little, cause they’re only that way for a while.
Give them hope, give them praise, give them love, every day.
Let em cry, let em giggle, let them sleep in the middle.
Oh, just let them be little.

This season is so brief. You are the brink of more and more independence, you’ll continue to step out into the world and find your place in it.

I want you to be so full of confidence and assurance of your worth that you never doubt how deeply loved and treasured you are. I want you to be a light in this world – a light shining others toward the tender, gentle and mighty God who created you so intricately.

I want you to trust that you are here at this time, in this place, a part of this generation for a very important purpose.

I want you to walk in a faith that is fully your own, not passed down from daddy or I. I want you to have a deep friendship with Jesus, one where He guides you and you lean in to listen to His voice.

Oh, my loves. You are truly the very best of me. You inspire me and remind me to see the world as a bright place full of opportunity. You love unabashedly. You see the good in others and genuinely care for your friends. You are silly and wild and loud – all things a six year-old boy should be.

Before I know it, you will be on another stage for yet another graduation. Next time, you will be graduating from high school and venturing further out into the world. My prayer for the next twelve years is for this to be a time where you can learn and stretch and grow and feel safe enough to make mistakes. I want you to know you have a safety net behind you; encouraging you, loving you, helping you back up when you get knocked down.

Ben and Nate, you are going to shake up this great big world and I can’t wait to watch the stories of your lives unfold. Along the way, I want to soak up each moment. I want to treasure these big milestone moments as much as the everyday ones.

Shine bright, sweet boys. Happy Kindergarten graduation. Daddy and I are so very proud of you both!

I try to be intentional with our schedules and am incredibly protective of unscheduled family time at home. Even still, all of the things that make a life – laundry, doctor appointments, field trips, birthday parties, conference calls, backpacks to empty and papers to sort, a full calendar with too few days lacking commitments- have been abundant here lately.

I have been craving slow and simple. I’ve found myself yearning for unhurried days at home without piling in and out of the car, constantly running.

May is always a bit of a whirlwind around here. We have had a sweet season of celebrating little loves. First, Charlotte turned two and then my boys turned six. SIX. I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around the pace at which my babies are growing. I think this has only fueled my desire to slow down our daily pace.

This morning, we had a slow start with nowhere to be. The rain softly falling forced us to pause from the endless tasks demanding attention around the farm. It was exactly what we needed without our even realizing it. After the rain cleared, we took a long walk through the blueberry fields. We fed the chickens and collected eggs. We splashed in puddles and threw rocks into the pond. We scooped up and devoured barely-ripe, tart blackberries.

I realized as I walked alongside my favorite people in the whole wide world that sometimes we really, really need to be unproductive and unhurried. The earth will continue to spin if we step away from the noise.

Our souls yearn for stillness.

Go outside. Don’t tell anyone and don’t bring your phone. Start walking and keep walking until you no longer know the road like the palm of your hand, because we walk the same roads day in and day out, to the bus and back home and we cease to see. We walk in our sleep and teach our muscles to work without thinking and I dare you to walk where you have not yet walked and I dare you to notice. Don’t try to get anything out of it, because you won’t. Don’t try to make use of it, because you can’t. And that’s the point. Just walk, see, sit down if you like. And be. Just be, whatever you are with whatever you have, and realise that that is enough to be happy. 
There’s a whole world out there, right outside your window. You’d be a fool to miss it.” 
― Charlotte Eriksson

Here’s to a weekend bursting with moments of stillness and contentment and freshly picked wildflowers!

One of the most surprising aspects of motherhood is the way time seems to slip between my fingers at lightening speed. Granted, the old saying “the days are long but the years are short” is incredibly true: some days feel like an eternity yet every passing year seems to fly by at record speed. As we celebrated our Charlotte-girl turning two this past weekend, I honestly couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that my baby girl has grown into this hilarious little person.

This age is so fun. The funny things she says {particularly when she is trying something new, “I’m too little!” or when I do something that she disagrees with, “Mom! Why did you do that?!“}, the way she throws herself on the floor in dramatic fashion when upset, the way she has to give her brothers a hug and a kiss each morning before they leave for school and shouts after them, “I love you Ben! I love you Nate! Have a good day!” and the way she climbs onto my lap and cuddles when she is sleepy.

We celebrated all weekend long. Two years is a big deal and she deserved extra cake and ice cream and dances with daddy at sunset.

I know all too well that I will look back on these days through the lens of nostalgia soon enough. I will smile knowing how our girl has filled our home with joy and laughter and sweetness.

Isn’t that what makes motherhood so sweet? Scoring a front-row seat to watch these little ones grow into the future versions of themselves right before your eyes. You know these years under your roof and in your care are precious and few. You try your best and you pour out as much of yourself and your love as you can. You want to fill their cups to overflowing so they can go out into this great big world and leave their mark.

Even on the days when it feels mundane and ordinary and repetitious, you know your job is so incredibly important. You’re in charge of shaping the hearts of these little people whose names are carved on the hand of the Creator of the universe. You get to love on them and change diapers and prepare meals and wash laundry, all the while praying they will be ready to go out and do the good works prepared for them before the beginning of time. What an incredible privilege that is. I hope to never take it for granted.

Happy second birthday to my beloved Charlotte. You have rocked our world in the best possible way – we couldn’t have dreamt of a more perfect little person to be our daughter. You are sweet and sassy and independent and silly and smart and adorable. Daddy and I love you to the moon and back times infinity. All my love, Momma

Motherhood is not mundane. | The Sassy Salmon

What I learned from losing my mom. | Amy Writes

Fourteen Ways to Bless a Single Mom on Mother’s Day. | Carried by Hope

To the brink: a tribute to parents. | Glenna Marshall

The Fervent Prayer of a Ragged Woman. | Shauna Letellier

Happy Mother’s Day weekend, dear friends.

Spontaneity is my favorite. Although I’m a Type-A 99.9% of the time, last minute adventures are my heartbeat.

Dave and I had planned to be in Springfield, Missouri this past Saturday for the second month of City Sessions: Springfield – a collaboration with our own Bentonville Sessions and benefitting our work in Congo. A couple days prior, we decided to change our plans from an evening out for just Dave and I, into a family getaway {including my parents who are still in town}. I found a crazy deal online for the “Winter Special” at a hotel with an indoor waterpark so we went for it.

We had the best, most hilarious time. The hotel was crowded and a little dated but the kids absolutely loved it. We got our money’s worth at the indoor waterpark, arcade, bumper cars, mini-golf, Amazing Pets live show, and pizza parlor. The weather was INCREDIBLE – Saturday was 84 degrees. In February. We sat in the sun while eating our picnic lunches and pretended it was summer. Perfection.

Things started to go south when we realized Charlotte’s cough was getting worse and my dad’s stomachache was turning into a full-blown stomach-virus-flu-thing. Dave and I ended up canceling our drive over to Springfield and decided to lay low Saturday evening at the hotel. We hated to miss the event – we wanted to support our friends and it was the reason we drove two hours and stayed in this hotel in the first place – but we knew my mom wouldn’t be able to handle four kiddos (one of which wasn’t feeling well) by herself in a hotel room for long.

And, that’s when we received the most unexpected surprise: the night wasn’t ruined at all. In fact, it was pretty awesome. We ordered pizza in, the big kids played in the arcade, Charlotte had moments of feeling crummy and moments of running around laughing. Dave and I looked at one another at one point and just smiled, knowing this was exactly what we had needed. We needed to step away from life and the endless demands on our time and just be with our people.

Sometimes the very best moments are the ones we don’t plan for at all, aren’t they?

Yet another post from an exasperated momma defending her choice to work outside the home came across my Facebook feed this morning. The commenters quickly jumped at the opportunity to send a rally cry for the working mom.

All I could think was, this is exhausting and defeating.

I’ve lived on both sides of the never-ending working mom vs. stay-at-home-mom battle. In the past five years, I have worked outside the home in good ole’ corporate America, I’ve run my own photography business, I’ve stayed home with my babies, and I’ve run our non-profit ministry.

With each experience, I’ve learned something: regardless of how I spend my time from 8-5, I will never do it all. The term work-life balance is a farce. I will never check all of the items off my list, I will never be present enough with my husband or my kids, I will never have enough time to invest fully in all of my friendships. I will never feel satisfied with every project or meet every deadline. I will forget conference calls and be late to meetings. Someone will always be sick at the most inopportune time. I will never clean all of the dust bunnies or fold all of the laundry. I will never exercise enough or eat as well as I should. I will never impart enough wisdom on to my littles.

The facade of perfection or balance or whatever you want to call it is just that: a facade. It looks nice and tidy in photos on Instagram. But, it’s not reality. Let’s call a spade a spade and move on.

In stark contrast to tearing one another down (or taking a stand for “our side”), can we simply lay down our weapons, breathe a heavy sigh of relief, and take a moment to notice the lightness of our load without all of that artillery?

Instead of taking a stand for the mom working outside the home or the stay at home mom or the homeschooling mom, let’s take a stand for the mom.

Whether or not we bring home a paycheck or send our kids to public school or private school or un-school, we are all just trying to do our best. We desire to love our babies well. We want the little victories that include moving the laundry to the dryer before mold grows and the big ones that come in the form of proud little hands displaying awards for kindness. We just want to sign all of the worksheets (I am still getting used to ALL. THE. WORKSHEETS. that come along with school-aged littles), to feed the bellies under our roof something of nutritional value, to model grace for our little people when we mess up and, somedays, we just want to make it through until bedtime.

Motherhood is the craziest, messiest, most thrilling, hilarious, humbling, exhausting and rewarding thing I have ever done. I don’t want to waste a single ounce of energy in a battle over who has this mom gig best figured out (spoiler: no one).

As I read the back and forth banter this morning and saw sides emerge, words I had written a year ago came to mind:

What I desire most for my children is not worldly success. My top priority is not where they attend college or even if they attend college. I want them, above all else, to love extravagantly. I want their lives to be marked with generosity and compassion. I want them to have a heart for the nations. I want them to live in a way that proves this world is not our home.

The striving, climbing, self-promoting that is so commonplace in our culture – it doesn’t have to be that way.

The realization hit me: if I expect my children to love extravagantly and extend grace and empathy to others, I need to model this in my own life.

I need to be courageous enough to lay aside jealousy or snarky comments. I need to genuinely, sincerely believe in the good of my fellow momma-warriors and call it forth. When I see a friend shining brightly in her gifts, I need to be right there in the front row cheering her on and encouraging her efforts. When I know a sister is struggling under the weight of obligation or resentment or oppression, I need to step in and help carry her load.

As cheesy or trite as it sounds, we are better together. Honest to goodness.

So, come on, work-outside-of-the-home-mommas and stay-at-home-mommas and homeschooling-mommas and public-schooling-mommas and bottle-feeding-mommas and breastfeeding-mommas and attachment-parenting-mommas and helicopter-mommas and free-range-mommas and adoptive-mommas and foster-mommas, let’s link arms and walk right off this old battlefield, together.