Welcome to the New Look!

Welcome to the new Soul Munchies!

Many of you know I started this site some years ago as a safe place to wrestle with questions of faith and daily life. Since the birth of this site, I've been through a divorce, re-marriage, a couple of job transitions, several transitions between faith communities, the birth of two children, the purchase and sale of a house we loved dearly, and a huge move from Atlanta - the city we have called home for most of our lives to the Boston-area - a new, very big, very unfamiliar one.

After only a few months in the big city of Boston, we found ourselves longing for a quiet, small town life. We stumbled upon the town of Acton, Massachusetts, where we bought an updated 1950's ranch with a huge yard and tons of potential. Each one of these transitions has shaped me in some way, and has also had fingerprints in the creation and evolution of Soul Munchies. 

With this new redesign, I bring to you a new mission: to explore what it looks like to live simply, faithfully, and seasonally. Although there are exceptions, you'll find that most posts fall into one of three categories: Food, Faith, or Family. These are my three passions, and are the things I devote most of time to, so is only fitting that they are what I write about.

I am so glad you've decided to stop by and I can't wait to get to know each of you a little better!

On Giving Roots ... and Wings

There comes a time when you realize that the tiny baby that changed your life forever is not a tiny baby anymore. She’s still little - she still needs mama, and she probably always will, but one day you realize she has begun her life's journey to independence.

And it totally wrecks me inside. For the last five years, all I’ve known is how to be Mama. And now, with one 5, and the other almost 3, I’m feeling like it’s time for a new identity. And that absolutely terrifies me.

I know it’s been happening in little pieces all along the way. First she started preschool. And then she dropped out. It was too hard for her … and for me too. Neither of us were ready.

And then we moved across the country. And I discovered that I wasn’t sure how to be anything really. This place we now live - it looks so different than the one where I learned to parent. Parenting has to look different here … because of the geography, because of the weather, because of the fact that we no longer live in the city. It’s been hard to find my place here … and in a lot of ways it’s been a rough road over the last 18 months. I found myself wrestling with a feeling that I needed something more than being just Mama. And yet at the same time, I wasn’t quite ready to let them go for any amounts of time - no matter how small or big.

But somewhere along the way we discovered she was ready for a little time on her own. So she started ballet. It was only 30 minutes a week, and I began to watch her go from timid and shy older toddler on that first day to incredibly excited preschooler every single week.

When she began asking about school, we discovered our homeschooling adventures just weren’t enough for her. So we started Pre-K. And she has flourished in that place more than I ever imagined she would. She thrives there. Learning, playing, discovering what it means to be independent and without Mama.

But today … today I dropped her off in a big room that was loud and full of people. She’s getting ready for her very first dance recital, and this is her first big rehearsal on the stage. Parents aren’t allowed, so I gave her a big hug and kisses, said thank you to the teachers and the teenagers who will be hanging out with them all day, and then I walked out the door.

And as I got in the car, the tears began to fall. Partly because she’s getting older and she doesn’t need me quite as much, but mostly because when I left, she was so nervous. She looked so overwhelmed with what was happening around her - like she wasn’t really ready for this, but she knew she had to be brave, so she would sit there and soak it in until someone led her somewhere else. I didn’t want to leave her like that … I wanted her to be excited - to immediately start talking to the other girls in her class … to be thrilled with what was about to happen. But instead, I saw a deer stuck in headlights look on her face. Excitement tempered by nervousness and feelings of being overwhelmed. She was so overwhelmed she didn’t even say goodbye.

It’s a damn good thing that she lathered herself in Sacred Mountain this morning, and that I did the same with Valor. Thank God it’s back in stock and a new bottle is already on it’s way to me. Because if this is what parenting is turning into … I’m going to need a vat of it in my house.

I think these feelings are part of the reason I had a deep longing to homeschool them both - a desire to just hang on to them and their littleness as long as possible. And part of me really loved those initial days of homeschool preschool. But then reality hit. Reality that I can’t give her everything she needs. The reality that this town that we now call home - it doesn’t give us the same opportunity for community the way we had in Atlanta. The reality that our community here will look different - and that public school will be a huge part of that community.

And perhaps the hardest part of all of that is admitting that I need something more. That as much as I do like teaching her and doing the homeschool thing, I also desperately need something that is for me. I desperately need the opportunity to fulfill the gifts and passions that God has placed in my heart without having to care for my children all day every day. Admitting that while my heart hurts that they are growing up and it’s time for them to do things without me, my heart is also SO looking forward to having that time to myself. Time to write and edit. Time to dream. Time to plan essential oil classes. Time to really create something incredible that has been percolating for the last year or so.

It's hard to admit that it is all okay. It is okay for me to not be their everything. It is absolutely okay that I want other adults to teach them things - while at the same time slightly wishing that it could be different. It’s okay for me to both want to be their everything and want to find myself once again.

This stage of parenting - it’s such a roller coaster. Maybe all stages of parenting are. They say it gets easier as they get older … and in so many ways that’s so true. But man - as they begin to separate from you and become their own little people with their own little minds and their own desires - it gets way more emotional.

I think of the tears in my own Mama’s eyes as I said goodbye to her right before we moved away. And I understand them more now than I ever did before. She knew in her heart that I would be okay … but she saw my own fear, my own insecurities, my own timidness and uncertainty … and she knew there was nothing she could do to make them disappear. She knew that she had to watch me do this on my own - with my family - and simply have faith that there would be people in my life that would care for me when she couldn’t.

These feelings of wanting to hold our kids close while at the same time watching them soar … they’ll never go away. And as we embark on this new journey and stage of parenting, I am encouraged by the artwork that hangs on our wall ...

There are two gifts we should give our children ... one is roots and the other is wings.

remember you are dust…

remember that you are dust … and to dust you shall return

Today is Ash Wednesday - a day when we are reminded of this sometimes harsh reality. We are mere mortals. We begin as dust and one day we will return to the same state – nothing but dust. Growing up in a liturgical church I became familiar with these words from a very early age. Each year we are reminded that our lives here on earth will one day end. One day, we will return to dust.

It’s easy for us to focus on the beginning and the end. But I don’t think that’s what Ash Wednesday is all about. Ash Wednesday is the invitation to go on a new journey. A journey of introspection, of intentional meditation, of discovering who it is that God has created us to be.

The good news as we start this journey is that we know how it ends. We know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. We’ve heard the story before. Jesus wins! Our journey is not one into complete darkness. Instead it’s a journey to the resurrection. It is only in knowing where the journey will take us that we are free to explore and enjoy the journey in the meantime.

But again – it’s not about the end. It’s in knowing the end that we are able to live through the journey. If we focus only on the end, we miss so much. Life isn’t about the beginning or the end – life is about the in between. It’s about the memories we make and the stories we tell along the roads we travel.

I remember the year I gave up chocolate for Lent. I think I was about 11. It was awful. I counted down the days until Easter. And in my family, Easter didn’t come until after you had attended the Easter Sunrise Service at 5:30am. So you can imagine me running, as fast as I could, to the car after that sunrise service. I didn’t care that I hadn’t eaten breakfast or that it was only 6am. That Reese’s peanut butter egg in my easter basket was calling out my name.

It was only as I got older that I realized the significance of giving something up for Lent. It’s not to deny myself something that I love, but it’s to give myself a reminder of the journey that I’m on. Every time I desire the very thing I’ve given up, I remember the Israelites’ journey through the wilderness. I remember Jesus’s journey to the cross. I remember my own journey to discover who it is that God has created me to be. And instead of indulging in the thing I gave up, I have the opportunity to turn to God in prayer and meditation. Not out of denying myself pleasure, but in search of something new.

Because new is what we’ll find on Easter morning. Sure, we may be dust, and our bodies may one day return to dust. But Jesus gives us the promise of a full life in between the beginning and the end. He invites us to a journey. A journey of repentance. A journey of remembrance. A journey of discovering who we are created to me.

Will you join me on this journey?

Photo credit.

This post was originally published at Bibledude.net.

On Being Deeply Rooted

I am one of those people that is deeply grateful for the season of Lent. It comes at just the right time every year … when I’m feeling over the cold winter months and ready for the light and warmth of Spring. It is a time for reflection. For mindfulness. For purpose. And in these final months of winter, I’m in desperate need of all of these things.

Ash Wednesday is two days away, but I’m already getting a start on my Lenten journey. A friend introduced me to this book yesterday and I knew, just from reading the sample, that it is exactly what I need in this season of my life. The Introduction brought me to tears within the first few pages.

This happens to us all at some point. A crisis hits like a storm. Divorce. Death. Loss. Our stories differ, but the fallout is the same: we lose sight of who we are.

We become unrecognizable. And so we struggle to regain our footing, to find our place, to feel secure in who we are.

But no matter how we grab for a sense of significance, it remains out of reach. We’re not sure who we are anymore, and we haven’t a clue where to find the answer.

Sound familiar? What was the last crisis in your life?

Nine years ago, I lost my job as an attorney. I can remember the moment my boss let me go as if it was yesterday. “You’re doing great work, but I just can’t afford to pay you any longer.” I had a wonderful relationship with her, and she will always have a very special place in my heart. Between sobs in her office, as she was calling to get me set up for unemployment compensation, I replied, “I think you just answered a prayer. I think God has been trying to tell me something, and I wasn’t listening. And I think you just provided a big ole’ smack on the head.”

And then, just a few months later, I left my first marriage. Although I knew it was absolutely the right decision, not only for me, but for my ex-husband as well, it was one of the hardest decisions I ever made. Not because of the loss, because if I’m really honest, being out felt more like a huge gain than anything else. But because of the shame. I was only 27 years old, and already I had a big fat “Divorce” next to my name. How would anyone ever trust me again? How would I ever come back from that moment to live a full life?

One of the best things that came from those crises was that I spent intentional time in Bible reading, prayer, and writing. I would sit on my small twin bed in my tiny apartment and read, and write, and cry. I would call out for God to hold me and make his presence known. For the first time in my life, although I was deeply alone, I never felt lonely.

That was the biggest crisis of my life. And yet it was the time when I felt the most rooted in my faith.

Fast forward 8 years. I was feeling wonderfully secure. I had a house that I loved. A one-of-a-kind neighborhood where I always dreamed of living, but never expected that I actually would. I had a community of neighbors and friends that truly taught me how to be a parent. I learned so much there. How to be a neighbor. How to care for people. How to parent simply. How to live purposefully. How to eat (and cook) real food. I never dreamed I would leave.

And then we did. We sold our house, we packed up our things, and we moved over 1000 miles away. We did it because D got a job offer we couldn’t refuse. We did it because Massachusetts is, in so many ways, such a better place to raise children. We did it because we knew it was the right thing for us as a family.

But man … did it shake my world. I realized, when I read this passage yesterday, that this was my most recent crisis. My identity was wrapped up in Grant Park. I was a parent. A wife. A neighbor. I was a friend. A cook. A provider. A creator. And since that moment when we last drove away from that dear beloved house … I am just not sure who I am anymore. I have become unrecognizable. I have struggled to regain my footing. To find my place. To feel secure in who I am.

So this Lent, I’m digging deep to find my roots. I’m going to use this gift of a season to really become rooted once again. I’m going to be intentional about reading, praying, and writing. I’m sure there will be a lot of crying. Maybe even some weeping. But I know, at the end of this journey, I’ll look back and say “That was one of the most formative times in my life.”

The First Day of the Rest of Her Life

One of the hardest parts of parenting is knowing when you are not enough for your kids. There comes a time when you can't give them everything that they need. A time when they need more than what you can offer, while still staying sane yourself.

That's where I am this morning. We just dropped A off at her first day of Pre-K, and drop off went swimmingly well. She was nervous - but there were no tears - and there were even a few smiles. And now I'm home with E, who's eating cereal, and I'm doing all I can to not break down into uncontrollable sobs.

Don't get me wrong ... I'm excited about the quiet time. I'm excited to have time to work on my own dreams. Excited to find my identity outside of "mom" once again. And I'm excited to have some intentional time with E ... because that hasn't happened in all of her short little life.

But man - am I feeling all the feels this morning. Pride at watching her find her name and sit in the circle of kids. So proud of her for looking through my oil bag and finding the one that would help her be brave and strong this morning. (She chose Stress Away, in case you're wondering). So proud that there were no tears, not from any of us.

Proud of myself for taking the next step towards finding community for our family here in this little town where we live. And proud of myself for putting her needs first. Because the truth is, homeschool wasn't enough for her ... not in the way that I could do it here. When I first dreamed of homeschool, I dreamed of an urban city life. A life where we could be at a museum in 5 minutes, and I could teach her as we experienced the world around us. A life where we didn't have to spend time in the car to find a solid community of other homeschoolers. A life where we could walk across the street and be at a park where there was all kinds of nature, and a playground in between. A life that just isn't feasible here. And who knows - maybe that kind of homeschool wouldn't have been enough for her anyway.

I'm feeling all kinds of sadness that she's no longer mine all of the time. Sadness that I can't make up our schedule as we go anymore. Sadness that I am no longer enough for her. I honestly am not sure I ever thought this day would come. She's always needed me so much ... she's always been such a fierce sidekick to me. It's hard to believe she needs something else too.

And yet in that pride and sadness that I'm feeling, I'm also feeling incredible gratitude. Gratitude for the adults that will become faithful adults in her life. Gratitude for the friends that she will make, who will probably teach her more than I ever could (for better or for worse). Gratitude for the community that we are destined to create here.

And although I'm realizing today that there's a whole lot more that I don't know about her ... and a whole lot more left to discover, what I do know is that she was so excited to start school. "Tomorrow is a special day, Mama!" She said to me last night before she fell asleep. "Today is a special day, dada!" she said to D this morning when she woke up.

And indeed it is.

A Letter to Mr. Trump

Dear Mr. Trump,

I guess I should call you "President-Elect". You'll probably never read this letter - and even if you do - I'm sure you won't care, but that's never stopped me from writing before. So here goes.

There was once upon a time when I thought you may be a brilliant business person. I can remember watching those early seasons of The Apprentice, when you would tell people so bluntly like it was. You were a truth-teller. There weren't many times when I didn't agree with most of what you said. And at times, I thought you were funny. But, like anything, after so many seasons I had had enough. And to be honest ... you kind of fell off my radar.

Then you entered the presidential race. At first I thought it was a big fat joke. I never dreamed it was something you would really want to do. I mean, come on - there's no money in that job. The President doesn't have a lot of friends. There's nothing but the accumulation of grey hairs. There's never been a President that everyone liked, and hell - the last several elections we've seen the country completely divided in half.

And then you continued to win. You insulted person after person ... and people in America continued to vote for you. You incited - encouraged even - violence among people all over the country. Hate crimes began to rise because of your words. Racism, sexism, bigotry ... that's what you represented throughout your campaign. And you weren't even apologetic. When it became apparent that you would be the Republican candidate, I felt sure that equality and the goodness of humankind would prevail over your hateful insults and terrible character.

But here we are ... three days after Election Day ... and you have won. Only because of an outdated system that you yourself once called a disaster. If it's such a disaster Mr. Trump, why don't you concede yourself? It's not too late, you know. I think it's a disgrace that the American people voted for the other candidate, and yet you will be the one taking office.

But this letter isn't about that.

No - this letter is about what's happened since you've been elected. It's about the violence that's happened in the streets. It's about the stories I'm hearing from the people I love all over the country. Stories of hate. Stories of insults. Stories of swastikas on buildings, and busted out windows. Stories of nasty names being written on cars, and of women being cat-called and grabbed. Stories of minorities being taunted and yelled at.

Is this what you had in mind when you said, "Let's make America great again??"

And if it's not - because surely it's not, right? Surely you, Mr. President-Elect, don't believe that we should go back in time to a land where only the white male was counted a citizen. Surely you, the soon-to-be leader of this great country that was founded on religious freedom, equality, and human rights, don't really believe this is the right way to treat people ... do you??

I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. I want to believe that now that you've been elected you will stand up for the things that matter. I want to believe that you played the game well - however nasty you were - and that now you're ready to do the hard work of bringing people together. I want to believe in the goodness of humankind ... and that deep down, you have a big heart and you want to take care of America as best you can.

So, Mr. Trump, I'm calling on you to stand up for what's right. Stand up and speak out against the things we see happening. Stand up against the violence. Stand up against the hate. Speak out against racism, and sexism, and inequality. Reassure us, the American people, that the next four years won't look like the last few days have. I'm longing to hear a word from you, our next President, about how we can move forward together in a peaceful way.

Stand up Mr. Trump. It's time for you to begin the work you've been called to do. It's time to bring us together. Speak out against hate. Speak out against violence. Speak out.

That's what a President-Elect would do.

Because We Will Overcome

As I began this article, I was glued to the television - watching results come in for the Presidential election that were vastly different than anything I expected. I went to bed before the final votes were in, and cried myself to sleep in my husband’s arms. I said all along it could happen. I knew, in my head, that this man was appealing to all that is selfish about humankind. As the results came in, I wasn’t surprised. But that didn’t make me any less devastated. My heart believed that good would prevail. My heart believed that people would stand up against hate. My heart believes that God is Love … and that Love always wins. But last night, love did not win.

My husband and I laid awake for hours last night, wondering:

How do we raise daughters under him as President? How do we protect their rights?
How do we live in a country filled with so much hate and animosity?
Where do we go from here?

And now … as the final results are in … as we prepare for Donald Trump to become the President of the United States … I can’t help but think about how we got to the place where we are today.

Yesterday, I read my daughters a story about a black woman who walked to her polling place to cast her vote. As she walked through her town, she reflected on those who came before her, and the events in history that brought her to today. She looked back on her great-grandparents, who were sold as slaves and were forced to work in a cotton field. She looked back on the African American men who gained the right to vote in 1870, and the wives that stood beside them, even though they couldn’t cast their own vote. She looked back on her grandpa, who was charged a poll tax in order to cast his vote ... a poll tax he couldn't afford. Her uncle who had to take tests before he could vote ... tests that didn't have any right answers - only wrong ones. She looked back on the first women to be granted the right to vote - her own mother included - in 1920. She remembers the angry mobs, the burning crosses, the hate and animosity. She thinks about trying to register to vote, having to write down a section of the Constitution word for word ... yet another unpassable test. She remembers the people who died standing up for what's right. John Lewis, Martin Luther King Jr, rabbis, priests, and other good-hearted Americans. She remembers the first time she cast her own vote - in 1965 - and in every single election after that. She walked and walked to cast her vote … and she did it because she knew the sacrifices that were made so that she had the right to vote.

I’ve voted in every single election since I turned 18. I don’t always make the most informed decisions, but I always try to research and vote according to my heart, my faith, and my education. I always vote for goodness. For equality. For love. I don’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t allowed to vote.

And this year, I voted for a woman. I voted for a woman who I thought would be the next President of the United States. I voted for a woman who has - for years - fought for rights for children, for women, for those most in need. I voted for a woman who makes me proud to be American. A woman who inspires me to do better. A woman who I believe in - and I think she probably believes in me. That woman lost the election, but she won my heart. And she inspired me to do better. To be better. To love harder. To rise up and go high.

Many people in my social circle voted differently than me. And while I don’t understand how they could possibly vote for someone who espoused hate at every turn, I do respect their vote. I respect their voice. I respect that they exercised their right to vote.

And now, even in the midst of our grief and despair … maybe because of our grief and despair, it’s time to move forward. If Hillary taught us anything, it’s that we are Stronger Together. It’s that we never give up. It’s that we get fired up and ready to go.

Men and women of America ... people of America, we’ve got a lot of work to do. Take a moment to grieve today, and then let’s get to work. Let’s join hands and show that united we are strong. Let’s work together to show that we will overcome hate and fear and animosity. Because we will overcome. And we will not be silenced. God is Love. And Love will always win.

Today We Started Pre-K

Our sweet Autumn Grace started Pre-K today. I guess it might be more accurate to say <em>we all</em> started Pre-K today. After several years of thinking, praying, and researching preschool and pre-Kindergarten options and curriculum, we decided to use this Pre-K year as an experiment in homeschooling.

I never imagined myself a homeschooling parent. I grew up in public school and considered myself pretty well-educated. I had incredible teachers, a well-rounded education, always felt adequately challenged, but never felt incredibly stressed out. Art and music were always a part of my education, and my teachers always went above and beyond to make sure I was challenged and equipped to use the brain I was given. I liked that my schools weren't 99% people that looked just like me. In fact, in my youngest grades, there were times when I was a racial minority. And that made me SUCH a better person.

So I always thought I would send my kids to public school. It was a no-brainer. Public schools are for everyone. It's about more than the book education ... it's about the societal education. It's about learning how to live with and work with other people. Even if public schools aren't the most rigorous, I held a strong belief that they were the best education.

But then I had Autumn Grace. A fiercely independent, vastly creative, amazingly intelligent, incredibly sensitive child, whose brain never stops working. As she got older, and we began to learn more about our education options in the place we lived in Atlanta, we realized that there wasn't an option that would give her the education we thought was so important. A creative education, tailored to her specific needs, in a diverse community. After we tried (& ended rather quickly) a preschool experiment with her at the age of two, we knew better than ever before that she is not your average kid. So we began researching homeschooling. I talked to other parents of homeschoolers. I read about homeschooling. I fell in love with the idea of homeschooling. We had basically decided we would homeschool.

And then we moved. We moved to a town where the school system is consistently one of the best in the state of Massachusetts. A town where there families have a choice between six elementary schools, all with very different curricula. We get to CHOOSE a school for our kids. We have incredible options. There are two that are totally right up our creative, very-little-pressure, loosey-goosey alley. But you know what? There's no state-sponsored Pre-K. And although we did explore a few Pre-K programs that didn't cost a total arm & leg, there weren't any options that would allow me to take both girls at the same time. So we stuck with our decision to homeschool - at least for Pre-K. We decided this would be our trial year. We'll use this year to experiment with whether or not I can be a dedicated homeschooling parent. Can the girls can learn from me? Or would they be better off learning from someone else? A year to experiment with a curriculum that seems like a perfect fit for our family - is it one that is sustainable for future years too?

I had originally planned to start after Labor Day, but when A's best bud started Pre-K yesterday, she begged to start our "Homeschool Pre-K"...and when your kid begs to start learning ... well ... you start teaching. So we jumped in to our curriculum last night. And this morning, we started our day with a regular homeschool routine. We start with a Bible story - today was Creation - and then we move on to a page or two in our workbook, and then lots of story time. The curriculum is setup to only take 20-90 minutes of your day ... we blew through today's stuff as well as most of the stuff for the rest of the week. I knew this kid was smart ... but man ... she is ready to learn. All in all, today was a roaring success - and I can't wait to see how the rest of the year pans out.

On Wandering

Today is one of those days when I'm hating it here. Not necessarily New England here … but this little rural place we find ourselves in. It comes in waves - this feeling of isolation and separation. We knew when we bought out here we would have a very different life than the one we were used to. And with every house purchase comes some kind of sacrifice. This time we sacrificed location so that we could have affordability, and space, and outdoor space to play. But man … some days that sacrifice seems almost too much to bear. Some days the sacrifice just doesn't seem worth it.

Some days I would rather have a smallish condo with very little outdoor space so that I can walk outside and be in the hustle bustle right away. But even those places are hard to find in our price range. At least for a price that doesn't feel financially irresponsible. I could go on and on about my disgust over the Boston-area house market … but that’s for another day - another post.

I'm not sure there is ever a day that I truly love it here. I do love our house … I dearly love our house. I even love our mess of a yard. But when it comes right down to it … I don't totally love its location. There are days when I allow myself to like it. I like that we are close to the commuter rail. I like that we are close to Concord - without the Concord prices. Some days, I like to pretend it's a retreat center. A quiet place away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. I mean - once I’m home - I do love it. It’s when I head out for a walk that I get frustrated at the ruralness of this place.

So I try to convince myself that we will rise up out of this rut. We just need time to adjust. In time, we will learn to love the feeling of living in the middle of nowhere. We'll learn to love the fact that there's nothing around you. We’ll start growing our own food, and we’ll create a safe haven here in this place - not just for us, but for everyone we know. We'll adapt to a life of mindfulness - and truly appreciate the beauty of the simple.

But some days I just long for hustle bustle. I long for people all around me - for human connection, for art museums, for live music, for a front porch, for my old life.

Sometimes I just want to curse that old neighborhood of mine. It wasn't perfect - we actually can't imagine ever moving back - but damn we had some good memories there. And damn it was easy to connect with people. At least a hell of a lot easier than here.

It's funny - because that old neighborhood wasn't really any more walkable than where we are now. Sure, we could walk around the park, and we could walk to friends’ houses, but it's not like we could walk to get a gallon of milk. Or to a farm for fresh produce.

But we could walk to the zoo. The splash pad!! We could walk to get ice cream - or a good cup of coffee. We could walk to our chiropractor, and to the library, and to a pool.

It’s a give and take, this big move of ours. In just 9 months - has it been that long already?! In just 9 months, we’ve made connections and community here in a way that we always longed for while we lived in Atlanta. We’ve found a church to call home … in a way that we haven’t had since we left Resurrection 5 years ago. We’ve made a life-lasting friendship with a family that is far greater than any friendship we’ve ever had … as long as we’ve been a family. David is flourishing in his job in a way that has never happened before. I have stepped out on a ledge in temporarily going back to work - and trying to build a new business - while planning to homeschool and making a home … all at the same time. We can bike to the train station - to the library - to the playground. Heck, we can walk there if we really want to ... it just takes a little bit longer.

Our hearts are so full of love and joy here - and yet some days there’s still a tiny bit of wandering happening.

Just a few weeks ago I heard a sermon at church that really struck a chord with me. Our pastor was talking about homesickness … and how there are times in our lives when we long for the past. But we aren’t really longing for the past because it was so great … we long for the past because it’s what we know. And if we really dig deep within our hearts, we realize that it’s not the past we are longing for at all. Instead, we are yearning for something greater - we are yearning for something which we haven’t experienced yet.

I know that's so true for us here. We are longing for something greater than we've ever had. That's the reason we moved here. We've begun to experience that in small ways - and I know greater things are still yet to come.

Photo Credit

On Wading

I'm not really sure what I've gotten myself into. As I pack up for what will only be an hour or two of work, I can't help but wonder if this is really worth it. It took us an hour to get out the door, with a movie, coloring books, snacks, and more in tow. And now, as I sit in traffic, in the rain (praise God for that!), I almost can't believe it.

Why are we going to church for a meeting mommy?
Well, because I'm going to do a little bit of work for them.
For what?
To help make their children's ministry really awesome.
Can we go there a lot?
Yeah - I think we will be going there a lot.

We had a feeling God sent us here for something - something more than David working at Harvard. That is a big enough reason to move - but once we got here, we realized there was something else going on. Little did we know that God would put me - a former Director of Children & Youth Ministry - at a church that was in desperate need of someone to implement ministries for its rapidly growing population of families.

And after a lot of back and forth with God about what I didn't want to do, I timidly said yes ... For now. Not forever - but for right now, okay.

So here I am ... Going back to work ... Very part time ... Temporarily. They continue their search for the right person, and in the meantime, I step in so that things don't fall through the cracks. I am exhilarated. I am excited. I am terrified.

Because even though it's something I've done before, I'm still a little bit out of my comfort zone. I'm not quite ready to "go back to work." I'm not sure I'm ready to do what it is God might be calling me to do.

Ministry was my life. It was my lifestyle - it was my passion - it was my heart's greatest desire. The kids that I worked with - they will always be forever special to me. They were "my kids" before I had kids. They taught me how to love. How to nurture. How to listen. How to pray. How to serve. They taught me how to lead. How to be a faithful adult, and at the same time, a loyal friend. They uplifted me and fulfilled me. And it was one of the most amazing times in my life.

But that was then. And this is now. Now I'm a mommy. A mommy that loves staying at home with her littles. A mommy that knows their tiny days wont last forever. A mommy that loves to spend her time cooking, and baking bread, and exploring, and teaching, and gardening, and living a simple, quiet life. And I'm just not sure how to do both. How to BE both.

But here I am - stepping a toe in it once again. God has been pulling, pushing, ever so gently. I'm not quite ready to jump all the way in, but I guess I can wade a bit. Because sometimes wading is the only way to start.

<a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/iN6FWLaWqKs">Photo Credit</a>