Rejected by Men, Chosen by God


My family collects rocks. Not just any rocks. Rocks that are shaped and sized for a special purpose. One that fits in the palm of my hand, or in my daughter’s two miniature hands put together. A rock that’s mostly smooth, with a flat surface.   On hot days, we lay out one of daddy’s giant drop cloths on the tiled kitchen floor, and my girls strip down to underwear and diaper, and we paint our collection. Layer over layer of paint forms swirls of color like the blur of a moving pinwheel. When they dry, I take a Sharpie and mark them with words. Words that carry stories, purpose, and promises, more than their one syllable can contain: HOPE, GRACE, TRUTH, LOVE, JOY, TRUST.

I set them in plants and throughout the garden. But somehow our rocks seem to find their way back to the doorstep beside the welcome mat, like a cairn that marks our way home.

Our rocks remind me of lasting truths, in a rapidly changing and fast moving world of unspoken challenges to do something; to be someone.  

One word commands twist in my head like the roar of a  helicopter’s spinning rotors, their deafening demands distract me from my true identity as a child of God. Produce. Create. Solve. Smile. Do. Achieve. Demands that suffocate my passion and purpose and create a vacuum for my soul.

Before David was the famous giant slayer, or a great king, he was first a humble shepherd. I don’t know when David wrote Psalm 23, but I do know that of all the illustrations he could have pulled from, David tugs at his experiences as a shepherd, to unravel a poem that challenges the notion that contentment is found in castles and admiring crowds.  No, he doesn’t find rest in his bed made with silk sheets, or on the shoulders of the cheering crowd at the feet of the fallen Goliath. He finds rest in the quiet of God’s creation under the reassuring whispers of a Father that loves him.

“(The Lord) makes me lie down in green pastures,
heleads me beside quiet waters,
he refreshes my soul.”

When I don’t take the “green pasture / quiet water” kind of time I need with God for soul restoration, I allow my heart cup to be filled with the praise and approval of others. I look to others for my truth and my identity.

When I don’t look to my Creator for a reminder of who He is, I begin to believe the lie that I myself am the creator. I create my life, I manufacture my own success, and I merit my blessings. I smugly fill myself up with my own achievements and the high fives and compliments of a job well done. I become bloated with the pride of my own performance, while my soul starves for truth. In this state I can go through the motions of life, propped up by expectations of others and fueled by the pressure I put on myself, but deep down I know that its an elaborate performance. Under the thick makeup and exquisite costume is a girl that longs to be free.

Like a cat, I’ve lived nine lives. Each of them torn down when the illusion was no longer maintainable. High school cheerleader. sorority socialite, party girl, actress, college creative, traveler, devoted girlfriend,  business owner, perfect pastor’s wife. Again and again God gently whispers to me, reminding me that my true life is at His feet, in the truth of His light.

But even in the Old Testament, we see God’s people needing that reminder. In the book of Joshua, when the Lord miraculously parts the Jordan River for the Israelites to pass to safety, God commands Joshua to have the leader from each of the twelve tribes, pick up a stone from the center of the river bed as they cross. God commands them to put the stones at their camp by the waters edge, to stand as a reminder for them and future generations of Who God is, and what He has done for His people.

Yes even when God is in my midst working miracles, I can become forgetful and complacent. I need to be reminded by His Word who I am in Him. I do this with bible verses scrawled on my mirrors, on chalk boards, post it notes, and notebooks. But sometimes it means pausing and remembering all the rivers God has lead me across, the dark valleys He has lead me out of. and the people He has lead me to. My people collect rocks to help us pause and enjoy something simple, together as a family, as we let God’s truth soak in, rock by rock.

Recently I visited a dear friend’s house for the first time. As I walked up the path to her front door, I saw colorfully painted rocks heaped in a pile on the edge of the steps. When I asked about them, she explained that her in-laws collect the rocks at the beach every summer with the kids, and then they paint them together. “They help my kids remember,” she said simply. I smiled. My rocks help me remember too. Remember that I am a mom, a wife, a dreamer, a believer, a storyteller. That I am chosen, cherished, precious, forgiven, and called. But most importantly, that he picks me for a special purpose; and that He holds me in the palm of His hand.

“As you come to Him, the living stone, rejected by men, but chosen and precious in God’s sight, you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For it stands in Scripture: “See, I lay in Zion a stone, a chosen and precious cornerstone; and the one who believes in Him will never be put to shame.”…1 Peter 2:4-6

Let My Life Song Sing to You

I want to have a Bible that is tattered and care worn, its soft tissue pages scrawled with different colors of ink, its exquisite leather exterior wrinkled and worn like a second skin. But in moments of weakness or doubt, too often I grab my phone and  numb my mind with the easy distraction of Facebook,  or I call and spew my worries and fears to my mom or sister, who patiently listen and “mhmm.” After a long, stressful day, I’ll sink my mind into a romantic comedy to anesthetize the pulsing ache of worry and stress. Too often, my stiff , clean Bible sits among the polite line of of patient books with their stripes of colored jackets.

But even though my Bible isn’t the tattered life map I’d like it to look like, I realize that its verses are a song that breathe life into my days.


Psalms sung along to the bass of music in the car.
“Bless the Lord Oh My Soul, Worship His Holy Name” Psalm 103

Encouragement scrawled on chalk boards, mirrors, on post it notes, and framed on walls.
“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you” Deuteronomy 31:6

Reassurance whispered to my daughter to calm her fears in the dead of night.
“Perfect love casts out fear.” 1 John 4:18

Commands that give our lives the shape of discipline and integrity.
“The one who says he abides in Him ought himself to walk in the same manner as He walked.” 1 John 2:6

Grace breathed in words of forgiveness to one another.
“In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace.” Ephesians 1:7

The early church didn’t have a Bible that they pored over with the sunrise. This argues why we should take advantage of this amazing tool- but it also points to how as Jesus followers we are called to live out the Gospel in our daily life. More than just words on a page, we can live out the scripture as the Holy Spirit lives in us.

In Romans, Paul tells us how we are God’s poiéma, a Greek word meaning “creation,” or “workmanship.”

As His workmanship I pray that my life can be a poiéma to Him who created me. I pray that His words aren’t merely a book in my life, but breathe the very life into my tired mama soul.

She’s A One-der: My Second Chance Baby

Happy Birthday Elyse!

In a movie called “About Time,” the character has the amazing ability to time travel back to his past. At first he tries to memorize and control every aspect of his future to get it right, but then his Dad (also a time traveler) gives him great advice. He says instead of trying to change his life, to repeat it twice in exactly the same way, “The first time with all the tensions and worries that stop us noticing how sweet the world can be, but the second time noticing.” This gives the character the amazing ability to overcome fear and uncertainty, and to simply live moment to moment, soaking them up with all of his senses.
I see Elyse as my second chance at motherhood. As she grows, I don’t worry about well meaning advice, or following a book, or ticking off the milestones. I get to soak her up one day at a time and relish her living out who God created her to be, on her own timetable.

Bree is my first, and its exhilarating, and challenging and exciting. Just like my Bree. But Elyse is my take an extra moment to cuddle, nurse her in bed, cleaning can wait, take your time to grow up baby, and I’m loving every second with her.
But even though I get to have a repeat on motherhood, I love to experience how absolutely different God makes each of my girls. Where Bree is bold, my Elyse is tender; Bree is brave, and Elyse is more tentative, Bree is moody, Elyse is mellow, and yet they are both mine, full of Daddy’s mischief, and my sensitive heart.
Elyse stretched my belly beyond capacity. Now she is stretching our lives, to a point where it sometimes feels beyond capacity. But I laugh at the question I asked, just days before her birth, “Will I be able to love this one as much as I love Bree?”
God stretches us and in the process He grows us.

And the best part is He grows our hearts, so that we have the ability to love more and more.

Happy Birthday to my attached to my hip, cuddle all morning, slobbery kisses, cling to my leg, second chance baby, that makes life even richer and fuller than I ever thought possible

Are You Listening?

are you listeningOn average women speak 20,000 words a day. That’s 13,000 more daily words than our male counterparts! But I would argue that as mothers, we earn every. single. one. of those extra words.

Yet, how often does it feel like our words fall on deaf ears? Especially when we’re asking our kids to put on their shoes, or our husbands to put their laundry in the hamper (not that I’m speaking from personal experience).


One of the biggest fights I pick with my husband is when I feel like he’s not listening to me.
(DISCLAIMER: I’m totally guilty of doing the same thing!)

“But hun, I can watch Netflix, type up an email, and listen to every word you say.”

And the amazing thing is, he actually can. The man is actually able to repeat back to me every word I just spoke. And yet. And yet- I don’t feel heard. And maybe thats because I don’t just want my words to be absorbed, but I want my words to accomplish something. I think we all do.

In the past couple weeks I’ve been feeling fearful. With lots of change in our lives I’m letting doubt and fear creep into my thoughts. But I’ve had a song that I sing at the top of my lungs (when I’m home, or driving in the car, not in public-that’s just weird).


My three year old daughter looks at me like I’m crazy. But then she looks at me like I’m crazy a lot, so I just shrug and take it as a compliment.

But then, last week my little girl was struggling with fears of her own. One day as I stirred the crackling ground beef on the stove, down the hall, I heard a sweet little voice, singing a tune I knew well. It went a little something like this:


I realized, that my words really do stick. Yes ladies, our words stick

As moms we are the encouragers of our homes.

Our words shape and mold our children into the people God has destined them to become.
Our words embolden our husbands to make brave decisions, and to do the right thing.
As daughters, and sisters, and friends, our words inspire each other to keep going, even when life feels too heavy, or our bodies feel to weak.

But at the end of the day, after we’ve pushed and scraped, and given all we have to give, and still feel like we’re coming up short. When we lay our heads on our pillows with our thoughts reeling and accusing and questioning our efforts, our worth, our words– I want us to grab hold of 6 words.

“My grace is sufficient for you.” 2 Corinthians 12:9

Because God has the last word.
And He looks at us and says- “My child, in my grace…You Are Enough.

Taking Time to Doodle


When I reached in the pocket behind the driver’s seat, my hand found a confusing tangle of different shapes and sizes. From the hard round beads of a strand of a necklace, to the the hard corners of a deck of cards, my fingers read the brail of a three year old’s heart. I had mistakenly stumbled upon the treasures she had tucked carefully away for safe keeping. A pastel Yogurtland spoon licked clean, daddy’s favorite cherry flavored chapstick, a small oval stone were among the trinkets she had ferreted away in her secret hiding spot in our family’s minivan.

Anyone else gazing on this collection would see clutter, even trash, but in them I saw the joy of a three year old. I saw the time we stayed up way past bedtime on a sticky, hot night for a frozen treat with rainbow sprinkles, or daddy reaching in his pocket to sacrifice his chapstick to an impatient toddler. I saw long walks searching for smooth flat rocks to paint for our garden, and the necklace her cousin gave her along with a kiss, last time we pulled out of their driveway.

This random mess formed an unexpected beauty, like the tangled nest of bedhead hair when she stumbles into my room early in the morning, or the art she creates for me with bold crayon scribbles. Each trinket formed a string that tied to a bright helium balloon of memory that floated in my consciousness and made me smile.

As I went about my day today, my time was consumed with executing one task after another in an endless stream of to do’s. With kids, it doesn’t take long before my to do’s are undone again. Its easy to become exhausted and for my emotional tank to hit empty. It can begin to feel like my life is a random jumble of activity as I whirl from one task to the next.

But amid the activity, God reminds me to slow down and appreciate the treasures tucked among the everyday moments.

Tonight I had my hands in soapy water, while my daughter perched on a stool at the kitchen counter coloring. “Mom draw with me!” she pleaded, in a voice a decibel louder than necessary. I almost put her off with a promise of “later,” but then I realized that “later” isn’t a good time either. There will always be laters, but there will also always be dirty dishes, counters with crumbs and footprints on floors. I dried off my hands and picked up the purple crayon. My eyes curved around her smile and traced the tips of her pointed toes, Then I pressed the sticky wax onto the scrap of paper and  drew an “I” and a “U” with a heart in the middle.

As a kid, I doodled hearts on everything. I “heart” trolls and I “heart” Hello Kitty. As a teen I used hearts to dot my “i’s” and to finish my notes. But as an adult, my pen usually has time for only the serious business of signing checks and scrolling out grocery lists and chores. Its funny how as kids we are so eager to take on responsibilities, until we become so responsible that we forget how to be kids again. Finding my daughter’s pocket of treasures reminds me that the whimsical, even silly things in life are valuable too. It reminds me that just because I am a responsible adult, doesn’t mean I should give up coloring and doodling, giggling and relishing. Because I can cram my day full of to do’s that eventually become undone anyway, or, I can find opportunities for hidden moments that form memories, and shape hearts.



Growing in Grace


growingingraceI was tired of looking at our ugly, dying grass. Like an overused carpet, it showed only patches of the green it once was. In its vibrant place was a dull and lifeless yellow and brown. I tried to lift the edge, and to my surprise, it ripped up in a long strip. As I pulled, it snapped out with a pop like cracking knuckles. As I stacked the thick layers of dead sod along the sidewalk, I sighed with cathartic relief. Before I knew it, my yard was a clean patch of dirt.

I left it forgotten. But after a quick week, my front yard had erupted in a thick garden of weeds.

Its easy to tear down, to criticize, to walk away- yes to tear out what has been planted. But even if we walk away or turn our back, the empty soil is still there.

Its impossible to leave that space empty. We have a choice. When we face a hurt, or challenge, a loss, frustration, or broken heart- a space that feels lifeless- we have a choice to leave it empty and let it erupt into painful weeds that choke out life, or we can water the soil with gratitude, with hope, forgiveness and love, and see what God can grow there. We can bury the hurt and shame, the hopelessness and anger, we can put a stake in the middle of it in the shape of a cross, and see what God resurrects.

I realized how easily ugly weeds can take over when I’m not looking. I have a choice to fill those empty places with flowers, or let them get ravaged by weeds.  Weeds grow deep gnarled roots that leave me breathless and hurting. Weeds that leave thorns that tear hidden wounds that scar me.

But I don’t have to leave hurt places empty. My weed patch in the front yard  reminds me that I can’t ignore the raw and empty places of my heart, but need to take the time to sit with God in them. To let Him  fill them up with His truth and a beauty only He can create..

God blows seeds into my life every day.. With love, patience, and forgiveness, over time, I can allow Him to grow gardens, even in the raw, empty spaces.

He can grow wildflowers, forget-me-nots, and fiery red tulips shaped like love notes. He can raise up white elegant lilies, and sweet pink gerber daisies like my baby’s pink petal lips. He can grow bushes that burst with big ripe strawberries, and grape vines that stretch out with a sigh of fullness and life. When we’re desperate its easy to think life looks desolate– but He can use our tears to grow dandelions. He can paint that cross white like a picket fence, and scroll across it the word grace.

Bye For The Birds


Some people have come into my life and brought my world into focus.. They have made me more brave, and more patient. They remind me of the person I want to be.

Some have always been there. Some, I have met and grabbed hold of tightly, so they can’t escape. Others have been taken from me. Some are like a passing ship that I wave “hello” and “goodbye” to, before I have time to realize what I’m losing. But each of them leave behind scraps of wisdom that I tuck into my heart. They leave memories that I weave together and protect, and feelings that words can’t capture; moments that reshape who I am.

With each goodbye, I weave a piece of that person into my heart so that they never really leave me. Each are grafted into the person that God is creating me to be.

Goodbyes are hard. But God reminds me that they’re never final. We’re all just on the journey to find our way home.

bye for the birds

Freedom for In-Dependence


My first night away from home without my parents or an adult chaperone, was my college orientation. At the end of a long day in the stifling heat of summer, after enduring placement tests, campus tours and class enrollment, I sat in the air conditioned room before my college counselor, tired and and entranced. At the ripe age of 21, my counselor, Lainey, was a mirror of what I wanted to be in five years. With the tattoo behind her ear and the dozen bracelets tied around her wrists, her coffee tan, and messy bun, she sat before us with such carefree confidence. She knew the ropes of college, and she had been chosen to show us the way.

We were about to receive our dorm assignments for the night, and the kids around me were buzzing with excitement. She called us up in pairs, “Steph and Liz,” “Mark and Jeff,” “Nicole and Anita…” with painstaking slowness she listed off the names until she came to mine and another girl I didn’t know, “Lindsay and Zahara.” Like awkward shoes on the wrong feet, we walked up and each grabbed the folded white paper with our name scrolled in bubbly handwriting on the front. For a brief moment I glanced at Lainey. She winked, popped her gum and said, “You’re free kiddo! Go have fun!” 

That night I sat on the long, narrow bunk and cried. Free for what really? Free to be lost and lonely? Free from my parents’ guidance? Free from the comfortable place I called home?

Its been a long journey of grasping for freedom since then. Asserting my independence by making stupid choices that ultimately steal my happiness. But In the eyes of my young self, I’m more free than ever: a taxpaying adult, a homeowner, a mom (Holy Cow!). Not only can I drink legally, but I get excited when I’m carded.

Sometimes I want to look back on that timid and tentative 18 year old and say, “Look kid- I’m an ace at this “adulting” thing!”

But when I have a rough day. When my relationships aren’t going exactly as I want them too, and my self worth feels bottomed out. When my kid is burning a fever and my three year old is demanding my attention, and I just feel tapped out…I want to shake that lonely 18 year old self and say, “You aren’t free because of who YOU are but because of who HE is.”

Yes, I’ll never have it all together. I’ll never have this adult thing all figured out. But I’m free. Free to serve humbly. Free to live boldly.

On this Independence Day, I get to live in-dependence on Him.

So friends, I echo the wise words of that college counselor, but with such a different understanding of what it means:

“You’re free kiddo! Go have fun!”




Dear VBS Kids,

What a week it has been! My guess is you might wake up tomorrow morning and feel a little deflated, like the bounce houses will be when we take them down tonight. Its sad when fun days end, like when we have to say goodbye to our friends after a fun day together, or when the pile of presents are all unwrapped. But don’t give your parents too much trouble, cause they’re feeling a little tired too, and maybe asking some of the same questions. Questions like, “what’s next?” and “How do I get this cool-aid out of their hair?”

I know this week you’ve heard a lot about Jesus. I asked many of you what love is, and most of you gave me responses like “Love comes from Jebubblessus.”

Wow! The first step to living a life of love, is knowing where it comes from.

So my question for you is this. Do you know where bubbles come from?

If you’re answer is Target or Pinterest, then you’re mom might have an addiction. But more than that, bubbles come from mixing 1 cup of dish soap, 6 cups of water, and just a spoonful of glycerin. (Now before you  bug your parents to make you some…keep listening!!)bmonkey

That last ingredient that starts with a “G” is kinda important. You see, the recipe only calls for a spoonful, but that’s what holds the bubbles together.

So imagine this. You my friend are the soap, that God made unique: a one-uffa-kind blend with your name on it. Then, the Holy Spirit is the water, that fills us up. Lastly, the small spoonful that holds us together is Jesus. We can remember that, because he came into the world as a small baby- but like that little bit of glycerin, He makes a big difference.

At VBS you were reminded of where love comes from. Now imagine your love is like that bubble mixture, and I want you to go home, and to the store, and to the beach and playground, and school in the fall, and blow your bubbles EVERYWHERE! When you’re sad, blow bubbles- it’ll cheer you up. I promise, if you get angry, you’ll start laughing at yourself as soon as you start blowing pretend bubbles in the air. Instead of blowing kisses, you can blow bubbles to each other, and catch them, and tuck them in your hearts for later.

Cause God comes into our hearts and lives and he fills us up so full with his love, that we can’t help but let it bubble over into the hearts and lives of others.

But there’s one last thing I need you to know. No bubble is exactly the same. The light catches each bubble to glow and refract colors differently. Some bubbles are ginormous, some are itty bitty. Some bubbles are big long ovals, and if you’re tricky, you can create star shaped bubbles, and hearts, and octagons. But no matter what your bubble looks like, I’ve never met one that didn’t make me smile. So go on, put your wand in the air like you just don’t care, and blow your bubbles everywhere. I bet you’ll convince others to smile along the way too.














bblueblarielbvbs familybstarbpraisegroup



DON’T STOP!!! You are sent friends, keep the love going!





VBS Day 4: God’s Big Love in Itty Packages


My big girl is three. All of a sudden she is an independent being, that thinks thoughts and says things that don’t always come from me. Her words are more than just the sing song echo of a toddler learning her first words.

My heart glowed when she came home from VBS yesterday and said, “You and I are small mommy, cause we can’t touch the sky, but God is so big He made the sky!”

Amen little lady! Don’t we all need that reminder? As heavy and ginormous the weight of parenthood feels sometimes its feels good to remember you and I are small, and God is the creator, that’s so big He reaches up and paints the sky!

Its awesome when B expresses herself to reveal her own thoughts, and preferences, and observations. I’m sure you can relate; kids have a way of sifting through all the niceties and fluff to get to the heart of the matter with hilarious bluntness, but also refreshing honesty.

vbsevanLast year at VBS, when I was pregnant with Baby E, one of the children said to me, “You are making a human being!!”

Wow! So obvious, but I admit I’d never thought of it that way. But whether we’re a grandparent, a foster parent, an aunt or uncle, or a VBS volunteer, it doesn’t take a uterus to make a human being folks!! (Please don’t get me in trouble for saying uterus on here! :0)

The responsibility can feel so, so big. Like God is entrusting us to paint a piece of the sky too.

When you zoom in on a photvbs hugograph, you see thousands of tiny dots. From that vantage point you can see every shade of a color. You can see every minute detail. But when I’m editing that closely, its easy to get caught up on the tiny imperfections instead of seeing  the overall composition.

When we’re raising children, its easy to zoom in on this exact moment in time. When we get too caught up in this moment in time we can get caught up in worrying ourselves over our kids hang-ups and misbehaviors. We can put a microscope on our own parenting skills, picking ourselves apart and trying to decipher how each of our words will impact and form our children. And every day, every moment matters, but at the same time, when life feels pixelated, sometimes we need to zoom out and realize that God is the one that creates the big picture.

And the moments that seem dark and fuzzy, when our kids are going through a tough phase, or we feel ill equipped to be parents, well maybe God is creating a shadow to enhance the bright places. Because God has a way of using even the dark spots to create beauty.

I love seeing B becoming her own little person, and soaking up knowledge from her friends, and VBS teachers, but I also love being her mom- the one that has the last word (until she’s a teenager right?). So when she told me that little nugget of truth, reminding me how small I am and how big God is- I added another piece that is so important for her to remember.

“Yes my child, God is so big that He paints the sky, but He loves you so much that He made himself small to come into the world and die on the cross for you. He loves you so much that he rose again, and when He ascended into Heaven, He sent His Holy Spirit to live inside you.”

“But Mommy, I’m so small.”

“Baby, God isn’t limited by size, His love comes in giant banners and little love notes. God can be so small too.”

Yes friend, relish the giggles, the tickles, the hundreds of questions, the shouts and loud whispers, and mischievious grins. Relish the play dough messes, the crumbs and dirty egg pans, the wet footprints and sandy bottoms. God can be present in every minute detail of life. But when life feels too heavy, or when we feel small and powerless, we can remember that we’re His child, and as we sleep at night, He cradles us, He puts the nightlight of stars in the sky when life is dark, and paints a bright blue sky for a brand new day. Yes God’s big love can overcome even the hardest things in life, in the most small and tender ways.