“Grace is the face that love wears when it meets imperfection.” -Joseph R. Cooke

I’m cooking dinner and hear an upstairs crashing followed by scrambling scurrying of mancub feet. There’s a collective pause-that space where a mama of wild blessings listens for broken glass and tears. Maybe the pause is from me, or the boys; likely, from both. We wait in suspended time and weigh the impact of our choices.

No glass.

No tears.

I climb the steps, unsure of circumstances I’m climbing toward. Seems there was a heated debate on whether it’s best to brush first or floss. One kiddo had confirmed with the dental hygienist that morning: floss first. The conversation between these mancubs of mine escalated from intention of sharing this floss first truth to the reality grabbing dental floss picks and trying to floss his big brother’s teeth. Escalation continued.

Intention and impact both matter, people matter.

There had been a moment of choice from both: conversation and conviction both available, yet chaos was chosen. Intention barreled and the impact was hurt hearts. So, what next? Apology given; yet, apology without heart change is mere words.

It’s after dinner, close to bedtime. I send them to brush teeth and hold my breath. Will they collide over dental floss again? Will they even speak? Did we learn anything at all-that this world does not revolve around us?

Growing mancubs get out their toothbrushes, the youngest quietly hands his big brother the dental floss first. They floss, then brush, quietly together with peace.

"The Christian shoemaker does his duty not by putting little crosses on the shoes, but by making good shoes."

- Martin Luther

I’m guessing it’s because my mind is in garden mode. My soul reminds me over again to stay sensitive to pruning that needs to surrender quick before spring arrives. Are there weeds that were missed, begging confession? Removing weeds offers energy to roots. Are there dead branches, weighing heavy? Harsh prune, eradicate them-opening space for healing. Even in the hibernation, healing is happening. Winter sun, short days, notice the warmth and offer thanks. Look around the garden, what is around you, what is missing? Not people, not plants-just your soul. What do you surround yourself with? What deep down in your roots is missing? You may need to pluck some weeds, prune some branches. Preparing for spring growth starts now, here.

We live in a world that low base teaches us that the loudest, most aggressive woman wins. Paired with church messages of a Proverbs 31 wife standard of perfectionism, you end up with a world of women feeling weary worn, less than defeated.

I’ve wondered if the “real” Proverbs 31 wife would shake her head, bury her face in prayer for this current generation.

Walking out of lockdown doesn’t look like you think-it can roar anger or have stronger purpose. It cannot do both.

The part we often mix up? Self-care and self-indulgence aren’t the same, not even close!

Self-care is putting our hands over our hearts and breathing in peace. It’s physical rest and spiritual peace. It’s working mightily from a state of internal joy. It’s knowing that you can’t love your people well when your heart and soul live in a state of brittle cracked.

Self-indulgence cannot offer that to you. It’ll offer cheap dopamine depletion and leave you hungry parched seeking. So, where to start filling your heart and soul?

Self-care, soul care. Physical rest and spiritual peace. These gives clarity for the nuances.

Will my feet ever catch up to my heart? Maybe that’s the way to shrink wishes and build plans.

It’s stunning beautiful when others think you’ve lost bloom—but, you know it’s merely winter and you’re still working. Spring is coming.

Gracious Lord, I come to you this morning, clutching a cross I feel unworthy to touch. And You gently welcome my heart despite it all. I feel it, the way I can be wholly whole honest when it’s just us-You and I. I can tell You of the daily crosses I still keep carrying even when You’ve said to lay it all down at Your feet. When my burdens are laid down, if I still hold splintered remnants, help me treat them as refining thorns instead. Help me meet You continually as you turn the thorns into healed scars, beauty marks, polished continually for Your glory-places and spaces of grace, wholly holy whole healed. Amen & amen.

I like color-lots of happy beautiful nature colors that flow like sparkly glitter in the sunlight. I adore autumn leaves and afternoon warm breezes, the kind you can lift your chin, close your eyes, and feel down in your bones warmth. And more than color, I feel music-the kind that skips techno keyboards and offers soul-filled jazz instead. But, then, one day my toddler got a diagnosis and the notes stopped singing. Music hurt his ears, warm water caused him to shiver, blades of grass caused him to stabbing screech. Color faded, the music went silent. So when I looked at self-help books with bright colors? They weren’t going to be able to walk me out of darkness to joy, they didn’t understand the depths of silence here or the piercing volume of my child’s screams. They didn’t have a plan to prevent a child’s elopement into snowy fields or the magnetic draw to the cold water pond down the hill. So, what do you do? How do you bring back color and sunshine, much less sound and warm breezes. You hibernate, you heal so your child can, too.

All the notes wouldn’t sing…that’s what it felt like.

I learned to navigate red flag roads, don rose-colored glasses, a chameleon imposter searching for calm water on waves, settling for slivered glimmers of potential. When I took the glasses off, clarity entered and shivered cold.

Gracious Lord, Today feels new, somehow hopeful but still heavy. I look around, I see potential could be miracles in the making. Keep me humble, focused, fully looking to you-my Anchor, my safe haven, miracle Maker. Remind me to open both hands, release and receive. Keep me humble confessed, repented, redeemed, restored. May my eyes stay open in awe at the unmistakable holy in it all. Amen & amen.