Today ended as rough as any I can remember.

I seriously felt like Miss Hannigan in all her demanding glory.

(can you see the resemblance?)

After an arduous battle for bedtime lasting over an hour, I finally relented and let Joby fall asleep on my bed.

And guess what folks, he snuggled right in and fell asleep in two minutes without making a peep.

And a chorus of angels sang and the heavens split open and rained chocolate. Not really. But it felt like it.

I had felt that idea much earlier, but I ran through a list of reasons why I shouldn't let him. Discipline. Habits. Dependence. Discomfort. Noise.

All very valid. All by the book.

Yet the little thought persisted.

It was only when I reflected on it afterwards that I realized it was a prompting.

And we could go down the path of 'I-should-have-listened-earlier-and-saved-so-much-heartache'. Which is truth. 

But that wasn't what I learned at all.

Even during the crazy, frustrated, angry, impatient, exhausted, messy, imperfect moment, God still chose to speak to me.

And I could hear Him. 

I can't believe it.

I think there is more refining going on in my day-to-day life than I realize.

I forget quite often that families are His plan. Those relationships will bring us closer to Him, whether through sweetness, purity, desperation, loneliness, or love.

As long as I am striving to follow the path He has directed me towards, He will help me become purer, stronger, more loving and Christlike through His plan.

And I don't need to reinvent the wheel.

Or sliced bread.

That's a lot easier and a lot less pressure.

When mens' hearts shall fail them...

Usually my Facebook feed is a safe, optimistic, happy place.

However, within the last year, heavy events have struck a tender cord in the lives of my friends and my feed reflects that.

I read about refugees without coats, food, and shelter. And their children. Their precious, beautiful children washing up on the shore.

I cry.

Refugee lives matter.

I read about Harambe the gorilla and a curious boy. And the tragedy of losing a beautiful creature. And the tragedy of blame.

I cry.

Gorilla lives matter.

Child lives matter.

Parent lives matter.

I read about Orlando and the largest mass shooting in recent history. All those people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I cry.

LGBT lives matter.

I read about Willie, Josephat, and Joseph. Their courage to pursue peace ended with violence and hatred.

I cry.

Kenyan lives matter.

I read about Alton Sterling and Philando Castile. My heart is shattered by the reactions of those they left behind. There is loss, and grieving.

I cry.

Black lives matter.

I read about the brave, peaceful Dallas police officers. And the thoughtless anger that spurs on hate.

I cry.

Police lives matter.

I read the comments.

Most saddening of all is the finger pointing, the blame, the shame, the guilt, the posturing, the us vs. them. Instead of mourning with those that mourn, comforting those that stand in need of comfort, I am witness to divisive, alienating dialogue.

I cry.

ALL lives matter.

Are our hearts failing us? Can we stand with open hearts and open arms and truly say that we love men as ourselves? Are we fulfilling the requirement to forgive all men? Do we strive for Zion?

Sometimes I wish I was as brave as Viola Liuzzo, or James Reeb. To make these fights my own. To be on the front lines. For love, for justice, for peace.

But when I look into the eyes of my children, I have come to realize that I am the front line. Who they are, what they believe is largely dependent on me.

In my own corner of my community, in small and significant ways, I am changing the world.

To see

Wanderer above the Mist -Caspar David Friedrich

(perhaps my favorite painting of all time. definitely top five)

Little Brother will be joining us in June.

I will be headed into the third trimester in two weeks.

My brain can't quite comprehend that fact.

My momma: 'Well that makes sense to me. 'Cause you were in denial the whole first trimester, so it is really a two trimester pregnancy'. this is a truth.

It wasn't my plan to have babies this close together.

But it also wasn't my plan to get pregnant right after getting married.

Or my plan to fall in love with McCallin.

Or to break off an engagement.

And yet when I look back over these choices I feel awe.

From where I am standing now,
I can see
the quiet refinement brought by these shimmering tendrils that continue to wind their way through the pattern of my life.

I can see
a purpose greater than my heart, my head, my hands.

I can see
the wisdom and the love and the mercy.

And the brightest flashes of joy.
The ones that leave you breathless, and tearful, and everlastingly thankful for the life you've been given, where you reach out in love, where you cannot be constrained or contained because you are invincible in the joy of your God.

And I am beginning to see the peace that comes as I breathe in and trust.

God will gather me tenderly.

He sees me.

I just love JJ Heller.

And I love this attitude. :)

I'm not focused on the cracks in the walls,

keeping track of all the times I fall.

Walking on Water...

Be of good cheer. be not afraid.

if it be thou let me come unto thee.

Lord, save me.

Oh thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?

Of a truth, thou art the son of God.

There's a hole in your bucket...

Lately, life has been overwhelming.

Full of beautiful, good things. But still overwhelming.

To the point where I almost skipped out on Sunday School to cry in the car. i didn't. 'cause i'm a grown-up and can only have tantrums on alternate tuesdays.

I was trying to explain to my momma how I felt.

And my momma said something remarkably profound.

Sounds like you aren't feeling full (which was exactly what I was trying to say). You can't feel full because you have a hole in your bucket. And that hole's name is Joby.

Yes. yes. yes.

It doesn't mean you stop filling your bucket. In fact, it is more important than ever. You just have to trust that God will fill up the last bit.

Which has me thinking...

Can being a holey bucket make you holy?

There's a hole in your bucket...

Lately, life has been overwhelming.

Full of beautiful, good things. But still overwhelming.

To the point where I almost skipped out on Sunday School to cry in the car. i didn't. 'cause i'm a grown-up and can only have tantrums on alternate tuesdays.

I was trying to explain to my momma how I felt.

And my momma said something remarkably profound.

Sounds like you aren't feeling full (which was exactly what I was trying to say). You can't feel full because you have a hole in your bucket. And that hole's name is Joby.

Yes. yes. yes.

It doesn't mean you stop filling your bucket. In fact, it is more important than ever. You just have to trust that God will fill up the last bit.

Which has me thinking...

Can being a holey bucket make you holy?