I post pictures of date nights with my husband, but it doesn’t mean we are all smiles.

Nine years and I’m still trying to figure out how to live with a man.

And like life and mothering and pain and pieces of happiness, such is marriage.

I love my husband because I choose to. Sometimes I feel it, and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes we don’t even like each other.

Sometimes we really like each other.

We are tangled together in this mess of marriage, figuring it out week to week. When it’s really hard I remember that, Lord willing, on our 50th wedding anniversary we’ll look back and say, “I’m glad I did this with you, this life.” It’s hope.

Hope holds us together.

Hope gathers up the broken parts so they don’t stay on the floor.

Hope is the push.

Without hope, we live in the dark; we live stale. We live mediocre.

And so we pick this thing up called love and we try to stretch into it, even though sometimes we don’t fit.

We keep trying.

We remember that this skin is temporary and there is so much more than what’s in front of us; more than our desires and our aches. There is more.

Let’s find it.

I bought Raviolis because I was tired and it seemed easy. All kids love Raviolis, right?

Apparently, not mine.

The three-year old flat out refused.

I got mad when she wouldn’t try a real bite. I told her, “you are going to eat this bite or you’re not eating!”

She cried, and took the bite. Then she said she didn’t like it, and I told her she could have bread.

Then I gave in and made her something else. And she got strawberry milk.

I asked the other two if they liked their lunch. They were all, “yes mama, I like it.”

I realized I probably scared them out of not liking it when I spoke so harshly to their sister.

“It’s okay if you don’t like it, just tell me and I won’t buy it again.”

My son says, “well, I don’t like it.”

My other daughter, the oldest says, “I love it. I just love it!”

So I’m in the kitchen and I’m fixing my own lunch and I hear crying. I look over to the table and my sweet Ella, the one who “loves” the Raviolis, has her head down and she can’t stop the tears.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I want to like the food because you bought it and it makes you happy if I like it.“

More tears.

Oh dear.

“Ella, I am so sorry. You don’t have to like it, you can’t help what you like and don’t like. And you are not responsible for making me happy – look at me – it is not your job to make me happy. Will you forgive me for putting you in a place that made you feel like you had to make me happy? I shouldn’t have been harsh with your sister. I want you to be who God made you to be, and it’s okay to not like things I like. You be you! Do you understand? You make me happy just because you’re mine.”

Her lips go from quivering to smiling.

“I give you permission to not make me happy. You are free to like or not like what you want. I love you all the same.”

The smile expands.

I pour her some cereal, and the day goes on.

And now I understand how the Father loves so well.

I don’t have to please Him, I already do, just because I’m His.

Love, SM

“Emerging is when you use a platform to come into your own. Merging is when you sacrifice who you are to become part of something else.” -Seth Godin, Merging/Emerging

I’ve been emerging lately, and you’ve been along for the ride.

This space has been a place where I stretch into the new creation God is weaving in me. It is a space where I don’t claim to have figured “it” out, but where I trust Jesus to lead me into a vulnerable place where I can process life and offer grace into the hearts of those who need it (’cause Lord knows I do, every minute of every day).

As I emerge, I recognize the temptation to merge…to sacrifice the nuances of my soul in order to appear put together or doctrinely on point. I am a flawed soul who loves and desperately needs Jesus. And I think needing Him and following Him are enough. It’s what I have…it’s myself (and He chose me!).

The rough edges in my soul are just a part of this gal’s journey towards her creator.

And you know, I really like the idiosyncrasy’s  in a soul. I love when I catch a glimpse of why someone needs Jesus because it reminds me that we all are just tiny. We are small, but significant; messy, but beautiful.

Trust me, that woman that looks like she’s on top of her game, she isn’t. She needs Jesus.

And trust me, that woman who looks like she’s a mess, she is. She needs Jesus.

Don’t merge to be like anyone other than Jesus. Don’t sacrifice your tangled, beautiful, starving soul for anyone…but Jesus. He will make you more beautiful than anyone else ever could…He makes you perfect.

So be perfect, in Him, today. Be you.

Aside from getting into a fight with a cabinet the first day of my break (and acquiring a Harry Potter like mark on my forehead), I had a wonderful, wonderful, super time being offline.

I love being offline so much, that I’m probably going to stay offline much more. I gained perspective, was able to see things in my life more clearly, and just enjoyed the illusion that I had no online responsiblities (AKA no stress).

Grand I tell you, grand.

So what does this mean for the blog? It means that I am only going to post when I feel inspired to write. I don’t want to write just to write. I want to write when I have something to say, not something conjured up. Sometimes this means I’ll write every day for a week, and sometimes you may not see anything on here for two months. So it goes. I’m at peace.

When I first started blogging four years ago, I couldn’t wait to get online in the evenings and write because I loved it so much. I wrote every day, and I looked forward to it. Now, not so much. So, I’m making happy changes. 

I’m going to own my life (insomuch as that is possible), and make decisions that genuinely make me happy and that honor my family. A girl only has time for so much in her life.

Here’s to life!

They were outside playing and he said he didn’t want to get wet.

She doused him anyway.

My sweet, wonderful, full of fun helper doused the boy who didn’t want to get wet. She figured it was all fun.

And then he went missing. “Where is Caed?” I asked her. “He came in before us” she replied.

Hmmm…

Ah, he was hiding in his bedroom underneath his blanket. He was soaked and when I went to tickle him (thinking he was hiding for fun), he looked up at me with tear wet eyes and said, “I didn’t want to get wet, and I told her that.”

My children love Miss A, and she loves them and never wants to hurt them or make them sad. She was just playing with them and having fun and had no idea the boy would be so upset. She is so humble and sweet and she went to the boy and said she was sorry. Of course he forgave her, and they went on as usual. But a lesson is learned.

We must respect one another.

I believe that respecting our children is of the utmost importance. I want them to know that when they say “no” or “stop” that they should be listened to, respected. If I’m tickling my babes and they say stop, I stop. If I go to rub their back and they say stop, I stop (and I don’t make them feel guilty for it). We should not be offended if our children don’t feel like hugging, or being tickled, or playing ball, or getting wet, or whatever. They are growing into who they are and what they like and don’t like, and we need to respect their boundaries.

Just as we want our boundaries respected.

They need to know that what they say matters, that we care about their opinions and feelings and bents. It’s not only how we respect them, it’s how we gain their trust.

And I want the trust of my children.

I bet you do to.

Let’s listen to our babes and offer them a safe place to grow and learn and stretch into who they are. Let’s respect those little loves of ours.
Love, SM