Let’s be gracious to ourselves this weekend.
Let’s embrace messy hair buns and pajamas all day and lingering long in bed.
Let’s let our kids watch one more cartoon and our husbands have some reprieve from the honey-do list.
Let’s chase rest instead of hustle.
Happy Weekend.
Let’s be gracious to ourselves this weekend.
Let’s embrace messy hair buns and pajamas all day and lingering long in bed.
Let’s let our kids watch one more cartoon and our husbands have some reprieve from the honey-do list.
Let’s chase rest instead of hustle.
Happy Weekend.
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Went sent our baby girl off to kindergarten this morning, alongside her big 1st and 3rd-grade brothers. But, as many of you know with this youngest baby milestone, it’s not just sending her off. It’s tying up the bow on toddlerhood and the years of baby-raising and little ones and three hours of sleep and fighting for every nap.
We’ve potty-trained, paci-weaned, ditched car seats for boosters, and learned to swim. It’s been nearly nine years of not knowing what the heck I’m doing alongside middle-of-the-night research, gut instinct following, endless desperate prayer for wisdom, and peeling clinging arms off of my neck because I know they are braver than they think they are.
That baby girl? She was the clingiest of all. All of preschool was marked by tearful drop-offs and swift exits. And this morning, in a brand new school with no one she knew, she showed me just how much she grew in the last year. She walked right into her classroom, sat in her chair, gave me a smile, and began to color.
I, as you might expect, cried the moment I climbed into my empty car. I expected that. I didn’t expect to see my tiny little fluff of a bird fly today. To see her so big. So confident. So fearless. So beautiful. But she puffed her chest and spread her wings the way that I always knew she could, and in her own little perfect, kindergartener timing.
If you need me, I’ll be basking in the silence of my clean home until further notice (or, at least, until 2:45 pickup).
This has been sitting as a draft for months. Today, it needed to be shared.
Battle cries for waiting women: take what you need, share with the person you immediately think of. That’s usually God telling you they need to read it, too.
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1. Did you know that one of the primary Hebrew words for “mercy” in the Bible means, simply, “womb”? You can see it for yourself in action in Nehemiah 9:19’s “mercies” and Isaiah 46:3’s “womb.” Both are the same Hebrew word, raham, which describes a deep love that is rooted in a natural bond. So, if you are a woman who is waiting for God to fill your womb? Know, as you wait, that He carries you in His.
2. If you’ve already been waiting for what feels like forever and you aren’t quite sure your faith can handle much more, good news: it doesn’t have to. Just hang onto hope for today. His womb-mercies are brand new to (literally) carry you afresh tomorrow.
3. If nothing else, you can rejoice in this: Today, you are one day closer to your miracle.
4. But, if not? He is still good.
5. This is hard. The waiting is crushing. It might not be well with you now, but it will be, eventually (because, Romans 8:28).
6/7/8. Psalm 90 is directly from Moses’ mouth, and the oldest of the Psalms. The man (and the people he led) knew affliction and suffering in a way we can’t even begin to imagine. Psalm 90:15 has long been a beacon for me, a proportionate prayer of faith that God would balance the weight of my waiting scales with the same amount of gladness after.
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“Make us glad in proportion to the days in which You have afflicted us,” Moses prayed in Psalm 90:15-16 AMPC, “and to the years in which we have suffered evil.” And then, as one last tacked-on faith cry, when those glad days come? “Let Your glorious majesty be revealed to my children.”
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Yes, God. We believe for it.
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