I turned 31 yesterday, which is kind of like the feeling you have on December 26th; the year after your 30th birthday is somewhat anti-climactic. Leaving my twenties felt big, like a milestone of measurements in so many ways because thirty was basically my made-up deadline to get my stuff together. With three decades of life behind me, I thought that certainly I would feel wiser, kinder, less rough around the edges. But now the only thing I am certain of is that it doesn’t work that way. Self-imposed deadlines have always been my downfall, but this year I have figured out something worth noting: our souls don’t have a schedule, and God will have his way with us on His time, not ours. That lesson alone has made my 31st birthday my favorite so far.

Without a doubt, this has been the most profoundly different year of my life, as a wife, mom, writer, friend, and follower of Jesus. Becoming a mom of three kids under three years old in the fall, each one needing very different things from me, brought a very real shift in what made up my days; there is truly very little else going on between 6:00am-7:00pm other than, well, them. I don’t exercise like I used to, I have less time to write than I want, reading makes me feel like I’m cheating on my other responsibilities; so many things that are life-giving just don’t fit in to the minutes I have.

But maybe it’s designed that way; maybe motherhood during the little years is just not set-up to be the most productive years of our life. I think these years are just teaching us the kind of dependence on Jesus we will need when we aren’t exhausted from all the clinging but exasperated from all the worry. Every few months I stop and realize that this is actually going by faster than I can believe, and I am content to ask God, “what do you have for me today,” rather than lamenting all that I didn’t get done.

I also think this is the year I may have settled in to this title of writer in a way that I finally feel comfortable with. Six years ago this month, my best friend and I sat at her big kitchen table and started dreaming about a blog together. We poured our hearts out for four years in that space, trying things that didn’t work and being surprised by the things that did. Almost two years ago I started writing for Coffee + Crumbs, and shortly after that this space was born to capture my ever-present need to process life and faith in words. But in the last year, I’ve (almost) stopped feeling insecure about calling myself a writer, because I am; this is just what I do, this thinking of the world in 800-1000 word essays. I’ve stopped trying to copy someone else, stopped trying to manufacture success in any form other than honesty, and I’ve started to find what I really want to say: God is good, and He is perfect. I’ve always wanted that to be the message, but I’m not sure I even knew what that meant, and at times it got lost in my need for others to say, “Katie, you are good.” I know now that I’m not, and I’m chasing after nothing except knowing Him more.

But what I will remember the most from my year as a thirty-year-old is this: God got big and I got small. He’s so good, and I think I finally believe that He is after his glory in all things: the way I love my husband, the way I parent my babies, the words I send into the world, and the way I care for my people. I have spent the last decade believing that I needed to do or be something bigger in order to make a difference for the Kingdom, and that a success for someone else meant a loss for me. Not anymore. God’s kingdom will come no matter what, and my part in that has nothing to do with who sees or what they think. And with that, celebrating the victories of my friends has become one of the joys of my life; what is better than seeing someone live into the work God has only for them?

And after years of tension that I’m not doing enough, something beautiful happened to me: I understand that I actually can’t do enough, yet I am free to do as much as my heart will allow me to do purely. There is rest in that place, a rest I haven’t ever known before. Because of who He is, I have a peace and a fire, and both feel right.

Now on a completely separate note, there are other notable things about being thirty-one. For example, the gray hairs are here to stay. I’m officially on a twelve-week rotation to cover them up; and because I can’t afford to go down to eight, weeks 7-12 are straight up painful. I also cannot lose my last few pounds of baby weight and the button on my jeans is too uncomfortable to sit down in, so I finally went high-waisted; but don’t worry, I’m very aware of “mom-butt” and plan on wearing long tank tops under everything until I die or stop eating chocolate chip cookies. I am up and at it by 5:30am but am basically useless by 9:00pm, so I’d fit right in with all my senior citizen friends. But other than hair and weight and sleep, I’m totally feeling young, wild, and free! (Ha.) (I have to laugh, or I’ll just cry.)

But really, I love getting older. Every single day is a gift, and that truth only becomes more and more real to me. Here's to 31, the most significant insignificant birthday of my life.

We all got an extra hour of sleep last night, which to a mom of little ones essentially means that everything just starts an hour earlier.  But that’s ok, because mornings are my favorite and I love that the sun will rise before the world really gets going with their day now.  And do you remember that summer sunshine I bragged about for three solid months?  You know, the 10:00pm sunsets and late nights on the deck with friends?  Well, THIS is where we earn them.  We have officially entered the abyss of darkness that is the winter months, when the sun is gone a little after 4:00pm and we all walk around just a little bit tired and slightly Vitamin D deficient for the next half a year.  Soldier on, Northwesterners.  June is a mere eight months from today and in the meantime I will just casually leave three words here for your cold hands to hold on to: toasted graham lattes.

Our life on the homefront has been both the best and the fullest of any season I can remember.  In the midst of babies and bellies growing, careers demanding time, relationships needing tending and all the usual stuff of life, God has been so, so good to do something for Alex and I: He has united us in ways that I’m not sure we have ever been so ‘together’ on before.  We are hungry for God’s word, and while our time and walks with the Lord are separate, the paths are merging in the sweetest ways.  I did not truly realize until recently that we have mostly cheered one another on in our four years of marriage—not at all a bad thing—but right now it feels like we are hand in hand and not waving at each other from a sideline.  I feel so lucky to do life with this man and call him the leader of our family, more and more every day.

The last two months have also taught me a whole lot about juggling, a skill I thought I had down because, well, former student-athlete over here.  But let me tell you, Division I sports has nothing on motherhood, nothing.  Add 36 weeks of pregnancy to that mix and GOODNIGHT.  Keeping up with an almost-three year old, an eighteen month old who climbs on everything, and a baby boy who seems to be half-ninja in my belly has me leaning toward the deep end of exhaustion every day.  The kind where, if you sit down past 3:00pm, it takes an effort of monumental proportions to lift your own body again—mostly because we all feel the size of a child humpback at this point in baby-growing.  I’ve also taught nine credits since the end of August, which means grading, always grading (shout out to the two grandmas in my life for free babysitting!).  And perhaps the weightiest, no pun intended, piece of the last few months has been less physical and more emotional, because I’m watching the refugees and learning more and more of their plight and my heart falls right down to the floor (p.s. you can still HELP raise money for them right here!).  I’m sitting with friends who are walking through cancer diagnoses with people they love dearly, and it’s painful.  I’m part of building a small team of women that want to tell a different story to the world about our sisters stuck in the sex industry, and it’s hard to meet those women and hear what they actually think of themselves. 

You see friends, I’m so much of a make a list and get to work on it kind of person that this season of tenderness and deep feeling God has brought me to has truly stretched and humbled me.  Between God’s Word, and of course, third trimester hormones, I’m in a new place.  Still rejoicing in all the good, but really feeling the hard and wrestling through the insecurity that seems to follow any good endeavor we all make (anyone else feel like they always need to be told “Hey, you’re doing alright!”)?

In the end, the Fall season has been beautifully stretching, as much of life seems to be.  We’ve had children’s dentist appointments (I cannot talk about this), broken garage doors (not cheap), and freeway calls to AAA (just get the membership, worth it).  But we also have had late nights in our friend’s home, the kind where you put the babies to bed in pack n’ plays and stay up late solving all of life’s dilemmas (my favorite kind).  Big Al and I snuck away to a hotel (with a Jacuzzi tub!) for one night and enjoyed very second of it (and also slept nine hours. Hallelujah).  My best friend spent a weekend in town from Georgia and Harper jumped into her arms again and again and again at the park (it does something crazy good to your soul when lifetime friends become heroes to your babies).  We’ve all been growing, all been learning, all been stumbling.  And it’s all been worth it; I think it always will be when you somehow love Jesus a little bit more when you’re standing again. 

And here we are in November.  Just over four weeks from my third baby in three years, and very much looking forward to life with him and the other three people under my roof.  I have prepared less for this baby by a large measure than the other two, and I’m looking forward to wrapping up a few projects and then just being: finishing the room transition, packing a hospital bag, praying, waiting, praying some more, teaching my toddlers about thankfulness and practicing it every day, and keeping scripture at the center of my life and home.  And who knows, if baby boy decides to come a week early like his siblings, my November round-up might be a little extra exciting!

I hope your November is filled with good things, including cozy socks and fireplaces and time, just time to be around the people who fill you up.  I am immeasurably thankful for mine.

Today Alex and I celebrate our 4th anniversary.  I know. Babies. In the marriage sense that is.  Four years hardly qualifies me for any sort of marital advice, so you won’t find any of that here.  But we have had a full enough four years of marriage and just over five years together that, like anyone who has lived, sinned, parented, loved, fought or forgiven, four years does give me story: one larger story of God at work and a hundred short stories reminding us of that very thing.

My friendship with Alex started in January of 2010. I was just starting my last semester of graduate school in the middle of Pennsylvania, and Alex was in the middle of a year-long deployment to Iraq.  So, that sounds like a great recipe for a meet-up, yes?  Besides the problems with the physical locale, each one of us had, well, junk in our lives.  We wouldn’t know the full extent of one another’s stuff until later, but I’ll spoil the ending just a bit: I was rather hung up on another guy, and Alex was not fully free of a life that involved a bit of women and a lot of alcohol.  Still, behind the encouragement of my best friend who had connected us, we emailed and looked endlessly at one another’s pictures on Facebook (whatever, I call it discretion, people; you know you would do the same). 

The email communication with Alex was easy from the beginning.  He was kind and funny and honest.  He emailed when he said he would (a welcome relief for the girl who spent far too many hours waiting by her phone for the text that would never come), and he asked good questions, things I cared about answering.  As luck, or God, would have it, my trip to visit my best friend Emily in Spokane, Washington, would overlap with the first two days of his two weeks of leave from Iraq.  Our first date was March 9, 2010, with the company of great friends who knew enough about me to know that sending me out on a solo date with a guy I had only ever met in words would be, well, disastrous.  Case in point: I went to get dressed for the date and walked out in a black sweater, jeans, and my Nike running shoes.  True story.  Emily took one look at me and said “No.”

Our first date was great, our second over coffee the next day was even better, and by the time I hopped on an airplane back east 48 short hours after I met Al, I was taken.  He was, too.  Mutual taken-ness with one another is perhaps the most fun time in a dating relationship.  It’s all light and flirty and wonderful when you occupy a space in someone’s heart and mind that makes you feel, well, loved. And loved is no small thing at all. 

But every relationship does eventually get real.  Ours did in July 2010.  Alex had been committed to a new life in Jesus and I had finally found the confidence to cut all ties with the other guy- something I should have known to do many months before.  But you know, sin is a hard thing.  You’ve heard the metaphor, but if the wound isn’t completely clean, the infection will just come back even if you diligently change the bandaid each day.  We both had more cleaning to do.

In July 2010, on his way home from Iraq during a three-day stop over in Germany, Alex found himself deep in the elation and celebration that a war-tour for a few hundred young U.S. Armed Services members was over, and he made a few bad decisions.  He called me around 3am that morning, told me through pained tears about the alcohol and the other woman, and listened to me sob on the other end of the phone.  Everything we both feared the most was real and right in front of us.  For Alex, his fear was his past.  For me, my fear was my future.  We both thought our sweet romance was over. 

I could tell you so much about the next few hours, and someday I will.  But there was godly advice from a wise man, there was prayer, there was an ocean, there were a few trusted friends who spoke life and not death, and there was a small spark of hope.  That’s all we needed.  I'm not sure that we have ever done this as well in our lives since that day, but we went to God on desperate knees, and He answered. 

The days and weeks following were painful.  There were more tears, a whole lot of insecurity, and discussions that you truly never want to have with someone you love.  But right there, in the middle of all of that, there was Jesus.  And I can tell you what saved our relationship in those months, and even today, was not our pursuit of each other but our pursuit of the Lord.  Only He can heal in the ways we all need him to.  Only He can teach us what love and grace are supposed to look like, and only He can make it possible to live them.

Alex and I were married at the park of my childhood, where I grew up pulling tadpoles out of the creek and keeping up with my brothers as we climbed from tree to tree.  It was a perfectly warm California August, thirteen months removed from one of the hardest days, but it might as well had been a lifetime, because it truly was the best day.  Between that terrible July night and the beautiful August evening, we had mentors and Alex went through a recovery program.  We read books about purity and marriage and we told the truth to each other- sometimes that is a hard thing to do.  Alex committed to abstaining from alcohol and still does to this day.  I’m so proud of him for that, because it’s not easy.  He’s felt out of place or just left out more than once—as people pleasers social events are often a lot easier to navigate with a beer in your hand.  But Alex has said again and again that his best is sober, and he’s committed to staying that way.  Five years strong.

I love so many things about being married to Alex.  I love that he makes me laugh hysterically and supports every single one of my dreams.  Really, every single one.  I love how he acts like everything I cook is the best thing he’s ever tasted.  I love how incredibly patient he is with me.  I love watching him parent our children, because he loves them so tenderly.  I love how he listens when I talk.  I love the way he cares for other people.  I love that he cried in the Hunger Games when Rue died.

You only have to be married for two hours to know that there are plenty of things you won’t love about your spouse, and yes, we have that list for each other, too.  (Have I told you that when Alex tells a story while he’s driving, he might as well be in outer space because the rest of the world is going the speed limit while he cruises along at 40 miles an hour.  Multi-tasking, not so much). But what being married to Alex has always done is make me want to be more of the woman he loves.  Our marriage most certainly gets tangled with rude comments, shut doors, silent treatments, and irrational anger on my part (see: three babies in three years), but when someone serves as selflessly as my husband does, the only reaction is repentance, and then to try and serve him better. As any married couple knows, the crap comes and your spouse gets the worst of you sometimes.  But when you turn to Jesus before anyone or anything else, He loves making the ashes of that mess something beautiful again.  Maybe more than anything else, being married to Alex made me believe that.

In four years of imperfect marriage we’ve watched two precious babies come into the world and anxiously await a third.  We’ve left jobs, took risks, and lived on a summer landscaping job salary.  We bought a home and a minivan.  We’ve set goals and made mistakes and had to ask for forgiveness from each other, from our friends, from our children.  But here we are, living a story that almost wasn’t.  But it is, because Jesus is, y’all.

To my amazing man, I love you more than yesterday, but not as much as tomorrow. 

*All of these pictures were taken by my beautiful friend, Laura, who is talented and generous and sweeter than I can say.

**I made Alex take these pictures for our anniversary gift to each other, both to document what is *probably* my last pregnancy and remember this beautiful story we get to tell of God.  He's such a good man for saying 'sure.'

Oh sweet July, you’ve been a month to dream, to talk, to play, to question, to seek truth, to laugh, and to savor.  July was the month my husband marked five years of being sober and the month Harper learned to take selfies.  It’s the month we hiked and played with friends and finally got a few tomatoes from our garden, and also the month we argued over big things and prayed for resolution that the Lord so sweetly brought us.  It seems like life is a pattern of heavy and light, and we are learning the best we can how to navigate it all with the grace the world needs us to.  As I look back on the last few weeks of sunshine, I know I will want to remember…

…the day we found out we are having another baby boy.  We brought Harper and Cannon into the ultrasound room, and as the technician said “it looks like a brother!” my heart about burst into pieces.  My leading lady, my sweet and playful middle boy, and now a little buddy to round out the starting lineup.  I could not have dreamed up this life I’m living, but I am crazy grateful God is entrusting me with these babies.

…that we are all dreamers.  I read Make it Happen by Lara Casey earlier in the spring, and then when I found out a few people I love had started a book club, well, I went ahead and invited myself to it.  Meeting with these girls and going through the powersheets has been amazing for me.  I’ve been getting clarity on what deserves my yes and bravery on what needs my no.  And I’m inviting God to guide my goals in a way I never had before.  The point of this book and the activities with it is to think about what is possible and be intentional towards those things.  And sharing the process with other people, listening to their fears and then cheering on their ideas and goals, has reminded me that God did give each of us— yep, you too— a big, huge purpose in this world for Him.

…the way my son wants to snuggle every morning. Mornings have always been mama’s territory, so when Cannon started waking up just ten minutes after me, I was mostly frustrated by it.  But then I realized that these days are fleeting, and someday soon he won’t want my lap anymore, then a sweet little routine was born: as soon as I hear him around 5:30, I make a bottle of milk, greet him with a smile, and we go rock in the corner of our living room for about 20 minutes.  When he is done with his milk, he turns around and finds a home on my shoulder, and there we sit in silence—with the occasional glance and smile from him.  The light is so peaceful in the early morning, and when your baby boy is on your shoulder, so is your heart.  When he’s ready, he slides off my lap and goes to find some toys, and I attempt to resume a little time with Jesus before the house is busy again.  But these mornings, just me and my boy, will forever be etched in my heart.

…that our words matter.  I have been more encouraged by the words of others this month than I can remember.  Whether they are congratulatory words, truthful words, sincere words of correction, or encouragement to keep writing, the honesty of so many of my people has been nothing short of soul-filling.  Did you know that every comment, every text, every single bit of love shown to me as a mama, a wife, or a writer feels like an instant reason to smile and keep going?  They do.  I hold on to every one of them.  So if you did not know before how full of gratitude I am for your words, you know now.  I only hope that my words go as far for others as theirs have for me.     

And lastly, I hope I always remember that God’s word matters the most. The last month feels like it has brought with it an unrelenting storm of confusion and sadness in the news, and the vitriol loaded at one another over social media breaks my heart as much as the actual events on display.  And still, there is God’s word, that calls to us as believers and reminds of the truths we desperately need to cling to and boldly believe in, as we always have.  Fear cannot take over our hearts when God’s words have already taken up residence there, it just can’t.  In our home we are constantly remembering the words of Peter, when he reminds us that “we have the prophetic word [the Bible] more fully confirmed [you know, by the empty grave and all], to which you will do well to pay attention as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.”  Let’s not kid ourselves, God is so much bigger than our tiny moment in history.  Infinitely bigger.  And what He has always said never changes: love Him, love others.  His ultimate justice cannot be and will not be messed with in any way.  Let's not forget that.

Another full, wonderful summer month in the books.  We will be soaking in our last few weeks of sunshine before the leaves turn and the routines come back around, and I hope you will, too!  Happy August, friends.  Let's love well, even better than people expect us to.

Is there a better place than the ocean to teach your babies about bravery?

When I first started dreaming up Just Enough Brave’s title around this time last year, I swear I felt like I was a pioneer.  Brave was the word God had put on my heart months before as I sat in a room full of women and told them about my very real ache for women working in the sex industry.  I told this crew with something I would call a false confidence (meaning I sounded more ready than I was) that one day, ONE DAY, I was going to do something about it.  I was finally going to be brave.  It was a liberating moment for me: putting my words out there to people other than my husband felt like instant accountability.

And it felt like I was on to something with my writing, too.  The wordsmith-ing geek that lives inside of me went to town with the semantics.  I loved the idea of being brave.  I am obsessed with the concept of biblical justice.  Just. Brave.  Well that sounded perfect.  Just Brave would have been the title but it was taken on the domain purchasing list, and then I added a qualifier and no one in internet land had thought of it before, and it became mine!  Just Enough Brave! I was going to pioneer a brave movement!  I am so creative with my words!  Everyone will want to be brave when they read them!  And everyone will love me!  And think I am brave myself!

{You are certainly free to start laughing here}.

And then this year, brave was everywhere.  It showed up in songs, on book titles, on my instagram feed and in Christian-women-blog-circles the world over.  I even saw a facebook status from a sweet writer whom I respect to no end and it said something along the lines of “this ‘brave’ trend is rubbing me the wrong way.”  And I realized, much to my dismay, I’m actually not the first person who has wanted to be brave.

Most of the months of March, April and May of this year are a blur of me laying on the couch with a bowl nearby.  Pregnancy just had its way with me.  But those months were hard for other reasons, too: I just had too much darn time and space to think about myself.  And so much thinking about yourself is simply not good.  My inner monologue was something like this: you should stop writing.  Who reads what you write, anyway?  Ok, maybe you should keep writing but at least change the title of the blog.  It is far from the original, creative namesake you thought it would be, anyway.  Actually, free yourself from this insecurity.  Hang up the words, girlfriend.  There are enough better ones out there.  On and on it went.  On and on it still goes, to be honest. 

Since last summer, my sweet friend and I have been visiting women working in a local strip club once a month and trying to show them just a tiny glimpse of care with coffee and trail mix and Swedish fish.  Last Saturday, as Jordan and I drove to our destination, I said to her, “You know, this still takes bravery for me.  Even though it has been almost a year, I have to remind myself God is here, that this is obedience, and that he loves those girls so much it is worth my fear to get out of the car and love them, too.”  Jordan agreed, and because she is just awesome, prayed a beautiful prayer and in we went.  An inner dialogue so similar to the one I have over writing usually happens as we walk to the club: who are you?  What are you even doing here, you can hardly relate to these girls at all.  You’ve been coming for months now and nothing has really changed for these girls yet, focus your time elsewhere.  On and on.

When I get inside my own head too much, I can convince myself of a whole lot of things.  That brave is too trendy.  That writing is not worth it.  That my personal brave is doing very little for the world so it doesn’t even count.  But you know, God has been so sweet to teach me something as I emerged from my feel sorry for me I’m so sick weeks, and that is there is never going to be too much brave going around.  Not in words.  Not in deeds.  Just look around, do you think the world needs a few less brave people?  No.  Having too many brave people around is not our problem.

Our problem is that it is just flat out hard to be brave.  It’s hard to share vulnerable words with the world. It’s hard to tell a story about women working in the sex industry that is quite opposite from the one much of the Christian church believes.  It’s hard to volunteer to raise babies who are not biologically yours and may join your family with a whole host of scars from their own.  It’s hard to move your family to a brand new place.  It’s hard to give away your time, money, and possessions.  It is hard to do a lot of things that God asks us to do.

But here’s what I know: he does ask something brave of all of us.  And this brave is a lot of things: it’s challenging and it’s scary, but it just must come with the sweetest feeling of grace once it has done its work in us—I don’t know, because I’m not there yet myself.  But there are also a few things it’s not: it’s not a competition, it’s not a judgment, it’s not a show, and it is certainly not the same thing for everyone.  Brave is between me and Jesus, and between you and Jesus.  He simply will not ask me about anyone else when my life ends and I get to meet him.  Such a beautifully freeing truth. 

So I don’t know, but maybe brave feels trendy because we are finally catching on to this idea, that God really has a brave thing for us.  And we’re talking about it, trying it on and doing our best to make it real.  Many of us are fumbling our way there (can you see my hand raised over here?), but gosh, we are trying.  Perhaps this is a time and place in history when we really see that playing it safe and building only a life of comfort is just not working. 

Could it be that it feels like brave is everywhere because, well, it is supposed to be?

Let brave be trendy. In fact, jump unabashedly on the band wagon.  Because if you be brave, then I will be brave, too. 

My man.  He was the best part of my twenties. I love getting older with him.

I’m turning thirty on Friday.  Three-zero.  It feels like a big milestone, leaving my twenties.  I think culture has always made me believe that all the things happen in your twenties so I had better live it up and enjoy the decade for all its worth.  I’m not sure I did that.  I’m also not sure that I didn’t. Bloggers the world over have created list after list of things you just have to do in your twenties or you have missed out on life— I’ve read a lot of these things and I would say I’m about three for twenty-five on most of them.  But I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on life.  Actually, I can tell you with all honestly that the twenty-nine year old version of myself is a hundred times happier with who she is than the twenty-three year old.  Maybe a thousand times happier.  And Lord knows it’s not because I’m skinnier or prettier or more successful.  Ha, that is laughable.  Let me compare- on paper- the two:

At twenty-three I was rocking the graduate student title in one of the best programs in the country (pride, much?).  I unashamedly spent at least a hundred dollars a month at starbucks, sixty on my acrylic nails, and got my hair done every other month on the dot.  Friends, I wore business casual every day.  With heels when I was really feeling it.  I went to happy hour with co-workers each week and to the gym almost daily.  I had my own schedule and only a handful of bills to pay.  I was single and terrible at flirting but I did try.  And I wrapped up that season with a masters degree and a resume I was really proud of.

At twenty-nine I have grown, birthed and nursed two babies and I go to the gym… well, I think went sometime this month but only because my friend Emily made me… so my body is hardly in tip-top shape.  I left a great job to stay home with my kids, and although I have loved teaching a class or two since leaving full-time work, my resume is being sustained by the grip of a fingernail, not built.  I feel guilty every time I buy any latte because four dollars buys a whole pack of wipes.  And I can’t talk about my hair, it’s just too painful. 

Twenty-three wins on paper.  But you know, no one could pay me enough to go back to twenty-three, because so much of that piece of my life was riddled with things that do not get put on paper. Twenty-three was probably the most insecure I had ever been.  I tried to control this with nails and hair and buying new clothes with my credit card but it was all a façade.  Or there’s the fact that I was so desperate to meet the right guy that I cried and cried and waited for and made excuses for the wrong guy for almost two years.  I look back now at the heart grip the wrong guy had on me and I can only shake my head; but at the time, no one could have talked me out of it, out of him.  Until circumstances and divine intervention finally did, and then I met the right guy and went “Oh my gosh, I almost missed out on THIS!”  I did feel “accomplished” at twenty-three but here’s the truth: the two little people I spend the most time with are very unimpressed with accomplishments, but they need me.  Gosh, it is such a precious gift to be needed.  I like it so much more than being accomplished.

I never backpacked through Europe or moved to a big city.  I never had a “night life” or got familiar with any bar scene in any place I lived in.  I never did a lot of things twenty-somethings “should” do.  And I would still say I’m going in to thirty really happy.  And without many regrets—I do think the regrets I have are more about what I’ve done that I’m not proud of than what didn’t do. I’m learning that growing up is more about making a life than about making a list.  And I think making a life is all about learning, growing, giving, and seeing yourself less and less as you see others more and more.

I am going in to my thirties seeing more.  I see my husband who is such a joy to love to and serve every day because he does those things for me a hundred times more.  I see my babies who make it impossible to think of myself all day long.  I see my friends who are more like family by now, and I see their babies who I love as my own.  And I see my community, the people hurting right around me.  Once you see, you can’t un-see.  But that has been the best part of getting a bit older.  It is amazingly refreshing knowing what a small part I play in the world, but knowing that God has given me roles to fill that only I can: a beautiful paradox.  I feel like I spent many years just wanting to be seen, and it is an exhausting way to live.  But then I fell in love with a real Jesus and realized I am seen, and its really only his view that matters.

I am less of an athlete and less of career woman and less of a lot things now.  But I am more of who God made me to be.  Not perfect, and I certainly haven’t arrived anywhere in life worth noting.  But I can honestly say older is better, more sure, more free.  I can’t wait for thirty.  (And I’ll write about forty when I get there, but I do know a few kick-a** forty year olds who I would be so proud to be like.)  One day at a time though, right?  Here’s to being brave and seeing ourselves less.

It’s May.  Already.  I can’t believe it, but I also love it. In this family the month of May means Mexican food, birthdays, mamas, and warmer weather. So basically, some of my very favorite things.  You can expect me to talk entirely too much about the sun until September, because after that the Northwest weather is rarely worth talking about.  But Washingtonians… we summer, y’all. Verb. Come visit!

The last few weeks have been a big hiatus on the home front.  My written words have been few, and I feel that deep in my heart.  I’ve unintentionally traded quiet time for more time in bed, writing time for television, and books for instagram browsing.  But I’m not stuck there in guilt; just thankful, excuse the cliché, for a new day.  Yet in spite of the slow pace of my own world the last month, we have had great days and blessings to celebrate.  My amazing husband got a new job and then because he’s a total stud ran the 7.4 mile Bloomsday race in 49 minutes; we celebrated Mother’s Day with my mom and mother-in-law at Dockside in Coeur D’Alene, and then Cannon Lee, my sweet little boy, turned ONE!  For me, the second child’s first year has gone by much faster than the first’s.  Like, way faster.  How is my little man already walking and eating everything and getting mad when he doesn’t get what he wants?  He’s becoming a little boy right in front of my eyes.  I love it, but I want him to stay cuddleable and little at the same time.  Yet the calling of motherhood always, always wins over what we want, doesn’t it?  They grow and grow and our job every day is to do the best for them.  It’s hard, holy work.  The best kind of work.

Later this week I’m going on a we’re turning thirty this year girls weekend with some of my favorites.  I can hardly think about anything else this week because I’m beyond excited. Already started packing excited. Four of us are leaving seven kids with grandmas and dads and headed to the sunshine. Three nights will be the longest I’ve been away from my babies, but they will be in good hands and I will be with my besties, and by Sunday I’ll be ready to get home and hug them tight.  Isn’t that part of the good a weekend away does— makes you long for the hugs at home again?

At the end of the month I’m saying goodbye to my twenties. (!!!) Ummmmm… we can talk more about that later.  For now, I’m anxious to get in to a new rhythm again and live in to all that God has in store for a new decade.  He’s so good, even in our mess.  Happy May, friends!

This girl, she is somewhat of a study in contradictions.  Harper loves pink and she loves accessories- I've lost a number of good necklaces at the hands of this girl.  But she thrives when she is getting dirty, making messes, and doing things all by herself, asking for help only when she's frustrated and exhausted all of her tiny efforts on one thing.  She dresses herself most days, because let me tell you, she has opinions; but at least once a day she still asks me to snuggle with her.  And bandaids.  All the time, all over the place, she loves her some bandaids.  I've taken no less than a dozen out her baby brother's mouth because two year olds do lack a certain amount of discretion.  There is also one stuck on our stove.  I see it every day, but haven't taken it off yet.  I don't really know why, but I don't hate the obvious presence of little ones in this home, either.  

Like most two year olds, Harper is already so many things.  Loveable, funny, talkative.  Strong-willed and challenging, too.  But the thing that I adore so much about my daughter is this: she embraces everything, whether they go together, make sense, or look right to outside world or not.  Swimsuit top and jeans?  Why not!  Sun hat, sweatshirt, and bubbles?  Of course.  Warm socks and water sandals?  If the shoe fits... (oh I love a good cliche!)  This girl goes through life without much prejudice, and it's beautiful.  I know this ability will mostly get shaped right out of her as she grows and starts caring what other people think, but her sweet little spirit has already taught me so much about my own, and how I model, or fail to model, confidence to her.

Because sometimes I think I also am one big contradiction, and this has always made me insecure.  I want more babies, but I am dying to go back to school and work in some capacity.  I love yoga pants and no-bra days, but I'm also a makeup girl and my MAC collection could rival most.  I love a good, hard, sweaty workout and following it up with dairy queen later that night.  I find good friends and good conversations to be the most life-giving thing, but what I really want these days is a few uninterrupted hours at a coffee shop so I can read C.S. Lewis classics.  I write and speak of a God who loves us unconditionally, but I do and think things so selfish that I can't imagine the holy spirit wanting anything to do with my heart.  And I want to be brave and able to live the "fear not" words we see so often in scripture, but I crave a safe home on a safe street with a safe amount of money in our bank account.  

So many things that don't seem to fit together.  And yet they are authentic.  They are me.

I think the problem is that I've created all of these nice and tidy little boxes in my head, and the older I get the less I fit in them.  I've made this system of "If I'm going to be this, then can't be that."  If I'm a stay-at-home mom, then I can't be a student.  If I'm an extrovert, then I always have to be one.  If I'm a good Christian girl, then I can't... (I have about thirty-seven answers for that one so let's just leave it there.)  I think we all start out a lot like Harper, simply and purely embracing who we are.  Then somewhere along the line, I let what I want others to think of me do more shaping than what God says about me and my purpose in this world.

I'm turning thirty in a few months.  It feels kind of big to leave my twenties, like maybe I'm finally an adult.  But almost everyone I've talked to about the difference between our twenties and thirties says that the thirties are better: more secure, more confident, less time for crap (that's my word, not others').  As I get closer myself, I feel that.  I'm watching my baby girl and starting to think that contradictions aren't bad at all- who made up the rules on contradictions, anyway?  I'm paying more attention than ever before to how God wired me, to what brings me life, and to how those things affect those around me, mostly the people I share a home with.  I'm learning that faith in Jesus is always right but it is not always clear, and sometimes we just have to take one step and trust him to open or shut the right doors.  And I think I am finally beginning to understand the whole phrase "don't major on the minors."  Because a million things could take our time and energy, but they certainly don't have to.

A little of this and a little of that.  Around here, that's a perfectly acceptable thing to be.   

I took a quick trip across the state this weekend to surprise my best friend for her 30th birthday. Four hours there, four hours back, a whole car to my little ‘ole self.  And It was pretty much the best.  I honestly cannot remember the last time that I was awake and uninterrupted for eight hours, and I feel quite confident that I made the most of it.

I rocked out, like personal karaoke show style, to some of my favorite jams, things I probably wouldn’t have on in the car with my kids because I’m not sure that Harper needs to think about phrases like ‘making the bad guys good for the weekend.’  I pretended I could play the piano with Sam Smith and my imaginary audience clapped along with me to ‘you sayyyyy I’m crazy…’ And, y’all, I pretty much sound exactly like Carrie Underwood when the music is just loud enough

And I also had moments of pure worship.  It’s hard not to let the words of some of Bethel Music’s lyrics sink in to your soul when it is just you and them.  Many of you know how I feel about “Ever Be” and it only gets better on repeat.  Same with “No Longer Slaves,” I kept skipping back to that crescendo at four minutes when it builds up build up to the words ‘you split the seas so I could walk right through it!’ Gah, so good.  Getting goosebumps all over again. 

I prayed a lot.  My husband had a hard few days at work right before I left, and I prayed for his integrity, diligence, and love for the work God has given him.  My sweet friend and her family are going through a lot, job stuff and cancer diagnoses and the things that fog up life in a way that makes our faith have to shine brighter to get through them, so I prayed for healing, patience, and joy.  I prayed for my babies and their hearts, I asked for wisdom in parenting them and confidence in God’s word as I do so.  And I prayed for forgiveness, because truthfully, I walk through so much of life very unaware of how unbelievably blessed I am.  My lent study has been going through repentance in the book of Lamentations, and it has shown me again and again that there is a big gap between what I intellectually know about grace and what I actually believe and live about grace.  It’s so much sweeter than I can even grasp. 

So this was all on the way there.  Then I enjoyed a sweet 24 hours with my two amazing friends, Emily and Aubree, and their kiddos, a short day when I could just be auntie Katie and not have to chase my own little loves around.  As much as my babies are my greatest joys, time to spend loving these little faces without distraction was the sweetest.  We went to a basketball game in Seattle (I should insert here that Em and Aub are Arizona State basketball legends; I felt like a high roller walking in with them and sitting in the front row), out to breakfast the next morning, and then I headed home, accompanied by Andy Stanley’s Brand New series.  Oh my, so good.  I called Alex after three sermons and talked his ear off about what I was learning, which I will sum up by saying I have never heard Galatians 5:14 preached so thoroughly and applicably: “For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’”  Yes. 

I’m so thankful for this weekend, for the quiet space that I could be as loud as I wanted in.  For the friendships that have grown deep enough to cover miles of distance.  For the memories and the laughs and the lessons.

The moral of this story: take more roadtrips.  Alone, if possible.         

Two months in to 2015 already, and up here in the Northwest the sunshine and warm-ish temperatures have been teasing us in the best ways the last few weeks, making Spring feel so close we can almost touch it.  (If you don't live in a part of the country that experiences winter, you may never understand this feeling, so trust me when I say we are crawling out of out skin ready to be outside on a regular basis again.  And if you do, solidarity, my friends.)  This month has always been an unremarkable one to me: it's mostly gray, I'm indifferent about Valentine's Day, and the best times of the year (this means summer) feel farther away than is worth getting excited for.  Not so this year.  February 2015 will be remembered in my heart as a defining month in my life for the lessons I am holding on to and the encouragement that will truly hold my soul steady for a long time.  I have loved this month for so many reasons, for the words, the people, the memories, and the new discoveries.

The IF:Gathering is likely something you are tired of hearing me talk about, so I won't say much more about it here, but you can read many of my thoughts here, here, here, here, and here.  I am still rolling the words and meanings over in my head, still leaning in to the huge idea of faith and bringing that to life in my life.  But the weekend we cozied up in a little house on the lake with two of my favorite people on the planet will be one I will always remember.  (Also, you can buy all of the IF:Gathering sessions here.  You will not regret it). 

Motherhood.  This month has been marked by some of my very hardest days raising my two babies.  And I'm not over-stating that: some of my very hardest.  Days we did not even leave the house and cancelled all plans because the temper tantrums were out of control, the time-outs were abundant, the only answer I could get to any question was "NO! NO! NO!" and I felt like I needed to stay in the fight for the long haul.  I walked in to a group that my sweet friend, Meghan, hosts one Friday a month and one sentence in to my "hi, friend!" opening to her, I started crying.  Because I just don't know what to do sometimes.  Meghan hugged me and encouraged me and reminded me of the things I had forgotten in the fog of battling with a two-year-old.  Two hours later, I was a new mama.  Really since the weekend of IF and this Friday with the mom's group, my language and my heart have changed.  We are working so hard around here to point our babies' hearts to Jesus, and in the process it is pointing our hearts to him as well.  I never knew how much I needed Jesus until I became a mama.  This is one of the areas God is refining and humbling me on a daily basis, because I just cannot do it apart from Him.  And in the midst of a month that held days I wanted to retreat to a closet, God gave us days I never wanted to end.  (A few notes, Meghan is one of the most wise and humble people on earth, and she is starting a website very soon with her heart for Jesus and for families at the center of it.  I cannot wait to point you all to her words.  Also, she has given me some of the best resources for motherhood, things that changed my thinking and the language I use entirely.  You can check those out here and here).

This month the Giving Shop is donating $600 dollars to Wellspring Living.  You guys.  Six hundred dollars is a lot of money!  I'm without words to express my gratitude for you buying necklaces and cards and using what you have to spur one another on toward bravery.  As we enter in to a new season we will support a new charity, one local to my hometown of Spokane, but doing amazing work for brave, brave people.  I can't wait to tell you more about this in the coming weeks.  (For now, the Giving Shop is getting a few touch ups so will be offline for a short time.  Please check back soon.)          

And just for funsies, I need to tell you that this month I discovered Sea Salt and Carmel KIND bars and my life will never, ever be the same.  These things are like $100 bucks a bar so savor them!  And I have a new favorite book: the Family Bedtime Treasury.  "No Sleep for the Sheep" is the best thing I've ever read out loud.  I think I love this a teensy bit more than Harper.  No shame. 

That's all for this month.  I hope it has been rich and full and beautiful and not too gray for you.  March, please bring enough rain to make things grow but more than enough sunshine to enjoy them!