rest, dear mama. rest.

As the days shorten, the to-do list of a mama lengthens, and we are, so many of us, worn plum out.

See, mama love and mama tasks don’t end with a check mark next to an item on a to-do list.

By mid-October, the gimp sets in, our psyches sulking and spent from back to school and the start of school, first report cards and first dances, car pool lines and school bus bullies, IEPs and 504s, SATs and endless school fees…

…but may I whisper something to you? Something that was whispered to me? I heard it the other day as the sun shone down and lifted the morning fog from the fields…

…be still.

God’s got it.

God’s got your kids.

He loves them more than you do, remember?

And God’s got YOU, mama.

His strength is made perfect in weakness, in our inability to do and be everything to our kiddos and husband and bosses, to teachers and PTA leaders and The Jones’.

Rest in Him and let Him take the reins blistering our worn out hands.

Rest in Him and know that after you’ve kissed your kiddos goodnight, He’s still with them, always.

And He’s with you, too, in the unforced rhythms of grace.

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Pottery. A poem.

Pottery. A poem.

The starting from a lump of dirt, I always understood that part. I mean, pretty obvious, the soft, unformed places, inside and out. The shaping, molding, pulling, not so much. After all, who can imagine what a piece of nothing … Continue reading

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On peace, left with us. An autumn poem.

all around, grace
cathedrals
the liturgy longed
for in the whitewashed
clapboard weary
world
all around, mercy
symphonies
the dry bones of
summer finally finding
technicolor
hope
all around, peace
preaches
eschatology reserved
for rough hewn pews
under azure
skies

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