I'm so thankful for this little space,a nook to document and appreciate life's gifts while I walk through these early years of motherhood, these busy years of marriage.

It's been such a joy to find a community in those who are listening to each other and encouraging each other's heart through the failures just as much as the blessings.

and just as I share photographs with a full heart of thanks for those who let me into their life, I share a few favorite pieces of writing in humbled gratitude for those who let me learn out loud.


He could have brought us into a world grey and shaded, but instead in his omniscience, he first provided these tangible glimpses of His glory, the ones I chased now with open embrace.

On embracing gratitude.


“There are adventures and trips that will create memories for my lifetime, maybe 80 years, but who I mold my children to be are memories that are going to last for 500 years, the length of my bloodline.” On watching my husband become a father. 


The sorrow for a loved one never known with anything other than the heart is indescribable. Although I don’t believe there was a reason my baby died, I’ve found meaning through pain. First, my profound awe and appreciation for conception and pregnancy has deepened exponentially. I will never take life’s beginning for granted. Secondly, I’m grateful that I can more earnestly grieve with other hurting sisters in this otherwise unexplainable brokenness. In fact, it is through opening the door to these conversations and freeing our vulnerability, that a unique strengthening, unparalleled comfort and lasting camaraderie can be established. On miscarrying. 


It will always hurt, three children later, I know this well, but it doesn’t have to be lonely. I’ve been on the side of losing a baby and experienced the unique beauty of friends who grieve with me; and now, unfortunately, I also now know the vulnerability of being on the other side. However, while I know full well how awkward attempts at comfort are, what I know even more is how important it is to not stay silent. On comforting the hurting. 


In reality, there are just a handful of years where I am the primary source of input into my children’s lives. It won’t be long before teachers, peers and media will begin to more regularly feed my children’s minds as my role gradually dwindles. Inevitably, these new influences won’t always be the most positive or encouraging. Therefore, intentionally embracing each child’s unique giftedness is an urgent duty. Dedicating the early years to proactively nurturing each child’s innate and individual intelligence is the most grand responsibility as one ever receives.

On recognizing, empowering and honoring our introverted children. 


When we become mothers, our Heavenly Father grants us the privilege of demonstrating our devotion to him through the total self-sacrifice this occupation requires daily, even hourly. He allows us the honor of having a hand in the weaving of His story. And that is what it is, His story. His purpose. It’s all for His glory. 

On mothering like Mary. 


See, if I’m being honest, it’s easy to find myself consumed in the spread of my middle, insecurely concerned with the incline of my weight on the scale, the creak of every joint, the waddle, the slowness, the fatigue. If I’m being even more honest, I often feel very discouraged by the un-femininity I feel compared to the fullness of femininity that pregnancy seems like it should be. I think, in a way, we all feel these pains; we all bear these burdens of motherhood in different ways. Sometimes these scars are physical, forever tatooed across our bodies, harsh reminders of the smaller clothes we used to wear or the smoothness our skin used to boast. Perhaps the burden is the career we still miss, the validity and affirmation we heard and felt on a daily basis. Perhaps its the heart-wrenching departure each morning when we pack the diapers, the breast pump, the bottles and wave another goodbye, throw kisses in the dark and muster up the courage, the dedication to take on another day apart. Maybe its the the darkest, deepest ache helplessly watching milestones be missed, gaps widening between the littles we’re surrounded with and our own precious one.  Maybe its the relentless frustration, unending exasperation, daily battle with an enormous personality bottled up in a tiny stranger that just so happens to call us mom. Perhaps its the constant state of comparison we the bedraggled, disheveled and sleep-deprived are consumed in as we see every other mother around us fly gracefully, beautifully multi-tasking, succeeding at it all. Perhaps its the grief of babies dreamed and lost, perhaps its childhood passed too quickly, perhaps its the constant questioning, debating, doubting of nursing or formula, organic or Aldi’s, working at home or out of the home, schooling choices, discipline decisions, ear-piercings, curfews or first dates … the burdens we bear as mothers weigh deep within the heart and at times, we find ourselves lost in the discouragement, demeaned, debilitated as women.

On the gift of motherhood. 


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