By Grace Alone

Last fall, after I had taken my children's school photos in the orchard, each of them holding a chalkboard with their grades written on it, one of them snapped this photo of me with my own chalkboard sign for the new school year. Throughout last summer I was nervous about going into the new school year, because the previous year had been rough, but the Lord was giving me hope and by this time I had begun to trust Him more that He would give me His grace to enter the unknown of a new school year. Years ago, I would have never imagined myself coming to a place in my life where I found homeschooling to be stressful, frustrating or overwhelming. Homeschooling has always been my dream! My parents had homeschooled me from Grade 2 to graduation, after which I helped with teaching my younger siblings while I still lived at home. Joel and I had talked about homeschooling before we were even married, then I jumped into “tot school” with my first three girls when they were still all under the age of four because I just couldn’t wait!

Each year since then has had its own unique challenges and joys— as I know it does for everyone— but the year before last, the 2021-2022 school year, was the hardest I’ve ever walked through. That year, we started school with a 3-week old baby, a (very) busy preschooler, and 3 elementary-aged girls who still needed lots of focused attention from me to get through their lessons. Baby ended up catching three different respiratory illnesses between December and March, and she and I spent a total of 25 days living in the hospital with her on oxygen.

Right after all the stress of those experiences, combined with postpartum hormonal changes, I began dealing with panic attacks and heightened anxiety. I know I didn’t talk about it much in this space, but that was the scariest thing I’ve ever faced and it made some days just seem nearly impossible to get through. If you are walking through something like this and want someone to pray or talk with you, please reach out; I would love to be there for you.

Homeschooling now felt overwhelming and impossible, but we were only at spring break and still had the last term to finish. I cried often. I nearly threw in the towel, it just didn’t seem like that would solve the problem either. Joel and I prayed and talked about changes we needed to make so life could be easier. It was extremely humbling for me to realize that my dream-come-true was so much harder than I had ever expected. It was nothing like the nature walk, morning basket, idyllic homeschool experience I had imagined. I was both struggling, and disappointed in myself for struggling. The Lord’s words in John 15:5 made so much more sense to me now: “apart from me you can do nothing.” I realized (anew) how incapable I truly am on my own, apart from His grace at work in my life giving me strength and hope and wisdom.

As it turned out, we made it to the end of that school year. His words proved true once again: “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” (Is. 40:29-31). The Lord provided help, practical solutions, very clear answers to prayer, and spiritual refreshment. Through a friend I had just met He directed me to a wonderful naturopath who quickly pinpointed adrenal fatigue as the root cause of many of the physical and mental issues I was experiencing, and who has been helping me get my health and hormones back in order ever since.

Last summer was refreshing, but I also had to fight anxiety with prayer about the upcoming school year. Hearing the phrase “back to school” had me fearing we would be going “back” to all that stress and overwhelm. I imagined it being harder than before, with baby becoming a toddler, our son entering the picture officially as a kindergartener, and my three girls entering even higher grades. My heart’s desire to educate my children at home was renewed, but I knew it would be by grace alone that we would make it through the year peacefully and successfully: Hence the words scribbled on my chalkboard in the orchard, “By grace ALONE”.

So we stepped into that school year with hope that He would give us the grace He promised. And would you believe it? Term One passed and it was so, so peaceful. Term Two went by, and it was not perfect by any means; we had ups and downs, struggles and questions; but multiple times throughout the year I noted to Joel just how peaceful it felt. Term Three came to an end in June and we were ready to celebrate and enjoy summer. Overall, it was such a good school year.

The Lord gave so much grace. I learned to ask for help in certain areas, to let people in, to humble myself more in other areas, to let go of certain ideals, and to always keep praying about the hard things.

I wanted to share this story as we take our first steps into the new school year, because it’s my hope that it can give courage and hope to some of you who may also be in a hard or dark season. I want to remind you that our loving Father “causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28) and that “He makes everything beautiful in its time.” (Ecc. 5:11). When we are in dark seasons it is good for us to trust that things will not always be this way. The Bible says “The path of the righteous is like the morning sun, shining ever brighter till the full light of day.” (Proverbs 4:18). When we are walking with Jesus, we can know that it will get better. Even though that may not always look like we expect it to, it will be GOOD.

And if the light hasn’t dawned for you yet: the Lord is near, friend. He is ready to help and strengthen you. “The eyes of the LORD search the whole earth in order to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.” (2 Chron. 15:9) He answers prayer. He gives practical solutions, mental respite, hope in the dark. He has given us the blessing of being supported by His other children, who are His hands and feet on earth; He says we are a Body (1 Cor. 12:14-27) and it is important that we remember this because we need each other. We were never meant to do it alone. And on the days when we ARE more removed from other people, feeling ‘stuck’ at home with more babies than arms to hold them (been there), or toddlers whose nap schedules encroach on our desire to get fellowship (been here too), or surrounded by school books and mountains of laundry that keep growing (I can relate!): we are STILL not alone. “The LORD is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.” (Psalm 145: 18) He never leaves us alone (Heb. 13: 5). Never, under any circumstances, does He want us to try and figure out this motherhood thing on our own. He himself is here to guide us every step of the way.

“Show me your ways, LORD, teach me your paths.

Guide me in your truth and teach me,

for you are God my Savior,

and my hope is in you all day long.”

(Psalm 25:4-5)

What a good Father. He gives us the grace we need for every single hard season that unfolds in motherhood. No matter the challenge, He gives more grace. (James 4:6) Let’s step into this new year holding His hand and taking hold of that grace with everything we’ve got. We will make it, by His grace. By His grace alone.

Enjoy It

This afternoon I picked up my five-year-old from her very last kindergarten community class day. In the back of my mind all day were the words I’d written in September on that rainy morning after I had left my girl at her first class and drove to the coffee shop to write before I cried. I let them get buried in my phone memos

 (which are basically a running conversation between myself and my whirling mind) and never ended up posted them; but today I dug them up. 

It goes without saying, this school year has gone by so fast. 

When the elderly lady at the grocery store puts her hand on your arm and looks you in the eye with a solemnity that catches you off guard while you try to wrangle your toddler from standing up in the seat of the cart and says the words that could so easily pass as cliché; “Enjoy every moment, it goes by so fast.” What she actually, literally means is: ENJOY EVERY MOMENT, IT GOES BY SO FAST. 
What she actually literally means is: Enjoy the wrangling of the toddler, enjoy the hustle and bustle of grocery shopping with kids, and enjoy loading the minivan, buckling all the seats, driving home to then unbuckle them all, unload it all and put it all away with the help of chubby, clumsy hands. Enjoy it. You will not get this experience, this day, this season, this year back. 
What she literally means is: This is your life. Right now. Enjoy it. Don’t rush it, complain about it, wish it away, or pine for anything else. Enjoy the days you get to shop with little helpers, enjoy that the growing minds ask questions of you on every single aisle, and enjoy that they actually love spending time with YOU. 
That elderly lady who caught your eye knows that clichés are really just truths that the Experienced know by heart, and that there’s really something to this “enjoying-the-season-you’re-in” thing. She looks back and she remembers; she can’t go back to enjoy that season again, so she speaks to you while you’re in it now to help you remember to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of it while you’re here. 

This reminder of the truth that babies grow up and life chapters end and open onto new ones is not actually meant to make our hearts ache. It’s not meant to feel like a taunt that what we have now will one day be taken away, and it most definitely isn’t meant to cause us to make a wild grasp for control of time and circumstance in effort to hold on to what we know. No. The knowledge of the fact that children grow and seasons change is meant to open our eyes from apathetic sleep and cause our hearts and our hands and our whole entire selves to choose to be ALL HERE and ALL IN, and to enjoy where we are right now. We need reminders like we need alarm clocks so that we don’t spend our whole lives sleeping with our eyes open, watching from the sidelines.

This big girl of mine went to her first kindergarten class today. I wanted to cry my eyes out when I left her in the classroom, and had to make myself leave the parking lot. Instead of tears though, I drove to the nearest coffee shop and wrote my heart out. I need to process instead of panicking. I need to rest in His choice to measure time as He does instead of resisting something I cannot fully understand. 

Cliché aside, it really does feel like last week that I was rocking her to sleep, a tiny newborn doll. My mind can’t quite wrap around this. 
Since she turned one week old and the realization hit me like a truckload of bricks that time keeps moving on, with or without my consent, I have develop a complicated, bittersweet relationship with time. I’ve struggled and fought with and howled from an aching heart at God that time is flying by way too fast and I just cannot handle this. 

Slowly- very slowly- through anxiety and panic and, at times, avoiding deep thoughts of any kind;  through grace upon grace and because of my Lord’s patience with me, I’m starting to learn the beginning of this lesson of time and using it wisely.

It’s as simple and as complicated as this: I cannot slow time down, but I can enjoy today and all the little victories of a brand new kindergartener’s life. I can thank the Lord for what I have, what I have had, and where I am now; because thankfulness makes sense of things. I’m finally catching on to the idea that it’s really quite simple, the way to real-life contentment and joy. It’s like a lilting rhythmic dance, and the steps are easy enough to learn by heart:

As you hold that baby-dear close; ENJOY EVERY MOMENT, it goes by so fast. 

And when they get to kindergarten: ENJOY EVERY MOMENT, it goes by so fast.
And when they get their drivers license: ENJOY EVERY MOMENT, it goes by so fast. And when you watch them walk the aisle and your heart bursts in every way possible; ENJOY EVERY MOMENT, it goes by so fast. 
And when you earn the title of Grandma and you don’t even know how you got to this point when only yesterday your own baby lay sleeping in your arms; enjoy every moment, it goes by so fast.
If you miss a step, don’t give up on the dance. If you didn’t make the most of your time in one season it doesn’t change the fact that you can make the most of the one you’re living in now. Don’t look back with regret: you have today. 

You have now. 

Enjoy it. 

It goes by so fast, but it’s life and it’s yours and it’s meant to be enjoyed. 

Peace Without Quiet

We so often associate PEACE with QUIET that we’ve actually coined the phrase “peace and quiet” as if the two are inseparable. As if we can’t have one without the other. 
It’s hitting me in a new way lately, and I think I’m finally starting to understand: I don’t need to have quiet to be at peace. It’s like an epiphany. Peace and quiet are not one-and-the-same. 

This is very good news for me because quiet is a real rarity here these days, with a 4-year-old and twin 3-year-olds who don’t nap anymore in the daytime, and a 10-month-old who doesn’t sleep through the night. 
Too often these days I find that I’ve lost my peace of heart and mind because I’ve believed (even without realizing it) that I needed things to be different for me to be ‘at rest’. 
Jesus gave us a really good example of peace like this when he was sleeping deeply in a boat that was about to capsize in a storm (not remotely quiet) while his disciples panicked and screamed at him (Mark 4:35-41). 

He’s called the “Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6)... not the King of Quiet. 

It’s the heart at PEACE that gives life to the body (Prov. 14:30) ...not the quiet (or clean) house; and I forget this (and need to be reminded again) daily. 

Jesus also said (John 14:27): "Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful.” The world would have me believe that peace and quiet must go together, and that peace has everything to do with tranquil surroundings and relaxing sensations, calm background music, a trip to the spa, steamy drinks and cozy blankets or hammocks on the beach. (NONE OF WHICH WOULD I TURN DOWN; BUT) the truth is: peace has nothing to do with any of that. The peace that Jesus gives is “not as the world gives”. It’s a steady heart and mind in the midst of chaos, noise, unknowns, mess, looming pressures, sleepless nights and difficult mornings. It passes all understanding (Philippians 4:7) and isn’t logically explained. 

Not all of motherhood is chaos and noise and unknowns and mess, NOT AT ALL; but the point is, as I’m finally starting to understand, when those moments arise, and when it’s anything but quiet -outside and inside my head- when I can’t even read my Bible and have some ‘quiet time’ alone (as pictured); 
I CAN BE AT PEACE. Because Jesus said I can. It’s as simple and as revolutionary as fixing my thoughts on HIM instead of the surroundings. 

“You will keep in PERFECT PEACE all who trust in you, all whose thoughts are fixed on you!” (Isaiah 26:3).

Every Hour

Mothering four children under the age of four-
combined with a nasty, highly contagious sickness in the first three weeks, AND a sweet baby who wants to be in Mommy's arms every hour of the day possible-
has brought me to a whole new place of seeing.
I'm seeing my inadequacy like never before. I'm seeing my weaknesses and meeting my limits. Hourly.

I've realized more than ever that I DON'T just "got this" motherhood thing. I've finally come to firmly believe that no matter how passionately the HuffPost articles or Mom Blog posts or Facebook memes or inspirational YouTube videos iterate and reiterate the point; truth is, it's just not true: motherhood is absolutely not something that can be simply done by grit and determination; with positive thoughts, self-affirmation and a headstrong I-got-this-thing, "Mom-boss" attitude.  That'll only carry a mama so far until she realizes she just don't got it no matter how hard she tries. And that's okay. It's not something to get discouraged about, it's just realizing the truth.
Because, from what I understand, we were never meant to have it figured out or have it all under our control. We weren't meant to do this motherhood thing on our own. Jesus said "Apart from me you can do nothing.", and I'm thinking that includes motherhood.

One morning recently, as I thought about how incapable I've discovered myself to be of keeping my attitude in check around these three darling and precious-- but very busy, curious, and strong-willed-- toddlers when things get intense, the old hymn I Need Thee Every Hour came to mind. Just that first line itself resonated with my heart as I thought back to the previous afternoon when things went sideways and nearly everything that could go wrong felt like it WAS going wrong. The afternoon that felt like a failure for the books? Yeah, that one. The morning of that day had gone fine and somewhere in the back of my mind I was patting myself on the back because -obviously- I was totally crushing it at momming 4 kids 3 and under; but oh, the difference one hour can make.
By 4:30 pm my sick twins still wouldn't nap, the house was a mess (and I do mean MESS), baby was wanting to nurse, I had not showered, did not have any idea what the toddlers' dinner would be, my mother in law was on her way to babysit, and I was supposed to meet my husband and his bosses for dinner in the next town by 6pm. My patience was worn thin and my attitude was....
well.... I was not "crushing it" anymore, we'll just put it that way.

How Mama gets a shower these days

So the words "I Need Thee Every Hour"? Oh. Yeah. They resonate with me lately. So much can happen and change in a mama's day from one hour to the next, can't it?! I'm realizing I have got to start looking to Jesus for help sooner rather than later.
I need His help with the attitude problems (mine or the kids);
I need Him when the toddler-sized catastrophes hit;
I need His patience for dealing with the adjusting, and the potty-training regression that has happened with both twins since baby arrived;
I need His wisdom with the questions that beg for answers that I don't have;
I need His guidance when sickness racks my little one's body and I can't make it go away;
I need His peace to rule my heart and mind when the baby is screaming to nurse while two (or all three) toddlers are on two different potties waiting to be wiped and yelling "Mooooooooommmmmyyyyy!"
I need Him to renew my mind in the peaceful morning hours, and to help me cherish the sweet moments when I watch my toddler girls interact with their baby brother;
I need Him to teach me faith from the example of my children when I watch them completely absorb every Bible story they're told, and then refer to them throughout the day in their playtime and talk about God and miracles and prayer as if they are the plainest, most natural and real of realities to talk about in normal conversations:: because THEY ARE.
And? I NEED HIM in the blow-outs and the melt-downs and the discouragement and the running behind and the exhaustion:
These moments that can threaten to drive me crazy and stress my mind- they CAN ALSO drive me to Jesus if I will let them; and are often the best reminders that I can be given that I NEED JESUS.

So that morning when the hymn came to mind, the thought came to my mind quite strongly that I should look it up and learn the story behind it. As soon as I found a moment I did a quick Google search... and wouldn't you know?

Wouldn't. You. Know.

That hymn? It wasn't one that was born out deep sorrow or loss or a difficult trial as many hymns are.
That hymn:
It was written by a young mom of 3 kids.

OF COURSE IT WAS.

One bright June morning, nearly two hundred years ago, the song came to her as she just went about her daily household tasks. She didn't elaborate on what that looked like, but you and I, Mama; we can imagine. It probably looked a lot like our mornings.

As she was busily caring for her little ones, or sweeping up another mess, or pulling together the makings for another meal or nursing a baby- she said that she became so filled with the sense of nearness to the Master that, (in her own words) "wondering how one could live without Him, either in joy or pain, these words were ushered into my mind, the thought at once taking full possession of me: 'I need Thee every hour'...." 
So she sat down by the window and wrote out nearly entire hymn right then and there.

How did I never know that simple story?!
I guess because I needed to know it so real and so personal that morning.


The hymn of motherhood: I Need Thee Every Hour.

Every hour. I can't do this on my own: Jesus, show me how.
Help me stay in your peace.
Help me love these children as you do.
I need to know that you are nearby and I'm not alone, that I'm not forgotten, that I'm noticed and valued and doing a very important job.
I need Him to make this motherhood thing possible, but more than that: joyful.

I need Him every hour, and without Him I can't mother these four little ones as I ought.

And wow. WOW. He gives such grace and joy and peace and strength to help us when we ask.

Come

Three o'clock one morning a man named Peter found himself, along with his eleven friends, aboard a small boat in the middle of a lake, far from any shore, battling heavy waves and terrible winds.

Suddenly a figure came walking across the tossing waves toward the men in the boat, and all twelve of them were absolutely terrified. I don't blame them. I would be too. At three o'clock in the morning, in the middle of a lake, in the middle of a storm.

In their fear, they cried out, “It’s a ghost!”

But Jesus spoke to them at once. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Take courage. I am here!”

Then Peter called to him, 

“Lord, if it’s really you, tell me to come to you, 

walking on the water.”

“Yes, come,” Jesus said.

Peter wanted so badly to have faith. I can relate to this guy in more ways than one. He spoke out loud to that dark eerie figure, when all the fears in his head were probably telling him the opposite. He asked for direction, he asked for hard. Jesus said "Take courage, I am here!" 

Jesus said "Come." 

Just come. Just step out of that boat and walk to me. Ignore those fears. I'm more than a shadow or a figment of your imagination. Come to my arms. Just come.

So Peter did. He climbed over the side of that boat onto the dark, pitching waters, and he walked on the water. HE WALKED ON THE WATER! 

Peter stepped out of that familiar fishing boat where he'd spent years of his life, onto the water he'd only ever touched, swam in, been controlled by; and he walked right over it. Walked. On water.

But then he saw the strong winds and the waves. Out there in the middle of the lake, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the storm, walking on water, away from the boat, Peter took his eyes off Jesus and looked at the waves around his feet. He felt the icy breath of fear breath down his neck in all that wind, and he listened to it. That voice that whispers "You're not going to make it this time; you're going to drown." that voice that steals all the joy right out of doing the impossible. That voice that says "You can't walk on water!" while you're walking on water.

And he was terrified. Terrified.

And I don't blame him. If you listen to fear in the dark, it's terrifying.

If you look away from Jesus to the angry waves of your storm, to the strong winds that whips the water into your eyes, you're bound to be terrified.

Peter started to sink. His feet began to slip into the waters. “Save me, Lord!” he shouted.

Jesus immediately reached out and grabbed him. Just like He said, He was right there.

“You have so little faith,” Jesus said. “Why did you doubt me?”
All He had said to Peter was "Don't be afraid. Take courage. I am here. Come." But that's all Peter needed to know. Don't be afraid, even when you want to be. Take the courage I'm giving you. Courage: the ability to do something that frightens you. I am here. I'm stronger than the waves, I'm able to keep you above the water, I want to see you through this storm, you're not alone, I didn't leave you, I love you: I am here. Come.

And all Peter did wrong was doubt. He looked at the waves and the wind, and he listened to the fear that said "Jesus can't hold you up" while Jesus was holding him up. And that's where everything went wrong.

But I get that.

There was once a girl who found herself in a bit of a night season of life. All the safe and the lovely and the happy in her days became tainted with a certain darkness of impending doom. She was listening to the voice that says "It's not going to be okay. You need to be afraid."
The wind started picking up, a storm brewing in her mind, so that all the struggles she'd been facing began to swell and pitch and toss like waves; seeming bigger than they'd ever been before.
And there she sat, in that boat of familiarity, her comfort zone, but nothing was comfortable anymore. She longed to have real faith, overcome what held her back, and do great things, but that wind howled forebodingly and her safe place no longer felt safe. She was terrified.
That girl was me.

Fear has a way of robbing us of so much in life.

And then He held out His strong, gracious hand to me, beckoning me to leave the fears and worry behind, and He said "Come."

Just come. Just step out of that prison-of-a-boat and walk to me. Ignore those lies. Ignore those headlines and those what-if's. I'm more than a shadow or a figment of your imagination. These waves are nothing beneath my feet. Let me show you the way to really live. Come to my arms. Just come.

It sounds so simple. It sounds so inviting! It sounds so glorious and victorious and...

And it can seem so impossibly out of reach. Because it involves getting out of the boat. Stepping directly into the tossing, swirling, wretchedly-dark things we fear and saying, 

I'm not even looking at you, waves; I'm looking at Jesus. 
Jesus is bigger, stronger, REALer, TRUEer than you, fears.

I'm taking the courage He's offering: the ability to do what frightens me; and I'm walking.

Walking on water means first saying "I trust you, Jesus, that you can hold me up. That you can guard my life. That because of your great love I am not consumed. That you delight to show Yourself strong on my behalf."

I long to have faith. I long to do great things. But perhaps the greatest thing I can do right now, right in this very moment, is to get out of this boat. To believe Him. To say goodbye to the pitching and the rolling of a life spent confined in a vessel that's stranded in the middle of stormy waters, and step on the lies; step right out on top of them, and to quit listening to the voice that says "There's nothing you can do about it, your fears are real. Logical. Legitimate. You need to be afraid." 

To quit listening to that voice that whispers as I take the first step "You're not going to make it this time; you're going to drown." that voice that steals all the joy right out of doing the impossible. That voice that says "You can't walk on water!" while I'm walking on water.

The most courageous thing I can do right now is stop listening to the lies, and start listening to the Truth. To start believing the Voice of Truth with all my inmost being. To walk by faith.

Quite honestly? It's making me sick. All the tossing back and forth of fears and thoughts and anxious worries are making me a kind of seasick in my mind and I'm missing out on all the joy and peace of walking on water with Jesus across frothy surf in the invigorating wind.

Jesus didn't lift Peter out of the boat, he just invited him to come. Peter had to choose to trust Jesus with his life and well-being, and climb out of the boat by faith. My fears have kept me from a good night's sleep many times, from sharing the love of Jesus, from just living day-to-day life in peace and joy. All the while Jesus has patiently, lovingly held out His strong, gracious hand to me, beckoning me to leave the fears and worry behind. He simply says "Come."

So I'm getting out. I'm so done with this boat. I'm done with these fears. I'm done with only having a little faith, and I'm done with doubt.

When Jesus says "Don't be afraid" I'm going to trust Him to help me.

When Jesus says "Take courage." I'm taking courage.

When Jesus says "I'm here." He's here and that's all I need to know and I'm resting in that.

When Jesus says "Come." I'm going to step out of this boat that's held me captive for so long, and I'm going to walk right over those immense depths to Him. And I'm going to trust that He will do the things He said He will do.

And the waves are going to call my name.

The wind is going to howl and whip around me.

I can look at them, but I know what will happen. I will sink. I will be terrified.

Or I can look to Jesus, and I will be saved. And I will be held. And I will be victorious.

I get to choose. I get to trust Him to do what He says He will do. To be who He says He is.

So no more fear. No more listening to lies. No more tossing in the boat or drowning in the waves.

I'm looking to Jesus, and Jesus says "Come."

For who is God besides the Lord?

    And who is the Rock except our God?

It is God who arms me with strength

    and keeps my way secure.

 He makes my feet like the feet of a deer;

    he causes me to stand on the heights.

Psalm 18:31-33

But I called on your name, Lord,

    from deep within the pit.

You heard me when I cried, “Listen to my pleading!

    Hear my cry for help!”

 Yes, you came when I called;

    you told me, “Do not fear.”

Lord, you have come to my defense;

    you have redeemed my life.

Lamentations 3:55-58

For Such A Time As This

My dear, beautiful toddler girl,

You woke up bright and early this morning, crying for Daddy as you do most mornings, in hopes that Saturday has arrived. But today is only Wednesday, and Daddy was already gone to work. So I rocked you a while, letting you doze a bit more in my arms and hoping you would wake again with a that sweet smile of yours. Soon your eyes popped open and you wanted breakfast right away. Your little sisters woke up, and we all went to the kitchen where you each scarfed down a piece of your favorite "jelly toast" and a bowl of yogurt and granola. As usual. 

You love repetition. So do I.

We all got dressed, I made coffee, you three sillies ran around squealing and playing picnic on the living room floor simultaneously until I finally gathered everything up and opened the garage door. Somehow we managed to load the van and make it to the library, only 17 minutes late. The Aquarium brought sea creatures for you to see and touch. You held out one finger and touched the spiny sea urchin, the bumpy starfish, and the rough shell of the hermit crab. I was so proud of you.

We looked at books, played with blocks, you were all very kind to the other children who were there. We checked a few things out to take home, and finally went back to the van, buckled car seats and ate some sandwiches on our way back home. I'm slowly learning to get out of the house and take you on more little adventures like these. We'll get the hang of it one day.

You each enjoyed a few licks of a promised lollipop on the porch, together unloaded a pocket of my diaper bag while I had a quick chat with the next-door neighbour outside, and then I helped you all up the stairs and finally tucked you all into bed for naps, later than preferred. As usual. We'll get the hang of it one day.

The house is quiet and still now. 

And me? I'm thinking of all this. But I'm also thinking of those mamas in France who wish with all their hearts this afternoon that their babies were safe and sound, napping in their upstairs nurseries. I cannot even imagine the aches in their hearts and minds.

I have waited long enough. It is time for me to say something I've been wanting to say for a terribly long time.

Listen close.

My sweet girl, you are growing up faster than I ever imagined you would. When you were a gorgeous, sleeping newborn I held you, curled up in my arms, and imagined the day when your little feet would be heard pattering around the house, tried to guess what your tiny voice would sound like when you learned to talk, and planned out so many fun things that we would do together one day when you were big. 

And now, quite suddenly, here we are. 

You are two years old, you run and spin and hop your merry way through each day, chattering almost non-stop...... and I really, really would like to slow the clock down. 

You are growing up faster than I ever imagined, despite the fact that every parent says the same thing so often it's become cliché.

I watched you take the hands of your dolly the other night, turning circles on the carpet singing in your still-baby voice until you "all fall down!", and it soothes my heart to see you learning to imagine and play so absolutely care-free and happy, and to know that you are completely clueless of the wickedness and sorrow that exists in the great, big world outside. 

I love that your biggest concerns in life right now are that you get that promised muffin when your dinner is all gone, or that one of your little sisters doesn't take your sippy cup away;

I wish it could always be this way.

I wish you didn't ever have to know what kind of world you live in. 

I wish you never even had to know.

I've seen the headlines. 

They keep coming, more and more frequently as this world deteriorates, and each time they flash before me I'm jolted out of my quiet oblivion into a reality that just seems so unreal. 

Interrupted, as it were, from my quiet state of just being your mommy: of going about my busy day thinking about what to make for lunch, whether it is your nap time yet, how to better organize those toys, how to calm the baby sister who's been fussy all morning, and all the similar thoughts that a mom of three toddlers thinks in a day...

And each time that unwelcome interruption comes I'm bombarded by thoughts about things I didn't even want to know existed.

And I am grieved.

And I am angry.

And I want to apologize. 

I want to apologize to YOU.

That you were born into this world in such a day and age where what is absolutely wrong is now celebrated as right; even good, brave, noble, and praiseworthy. In a world where what is right is not only scoffed at, challenged, unpopular and abnormal; it is actually considered wrong nowadays by many people, in many places, in many different ways.

And I want to apologize that you will, over the course of your life, undoubtedly see things that no one should ever have to see; That you will hear about things that no person, but most especially sweet, innocent ears, should ever have to hear about; That you will be faced with decisions and choices you must make that, really, in a perfect world, would be unquestionably OUT of the question...

But this is NOT a perfect world.

And that's what the headlines keep reminding me. 

And I want to apologize, but I know better.

My dear, darling twins, you have just barely crossed the threshold from babyhood into toddlerhood. Every single thing is new to you, and oh, how I enjoy watching you learn and explore and discover the world around you each day. You are helping me learn to slow down and see plain old, ordinary things from a new, beautiful perspective. At the same time, you are also helping me learn to pick up the pace and stay one step ahead of you constantly because everything is now accessible and beckoning to you, including Tupperware drawers and power cords. And there are two of you. That keeps life exciting. 
You are beautiful, and I adore you both.

My loves, just as much as I want to protect you from the electricity in power outlets, hot water pouring from the faucets, sharp objects and choking hazards, I also desperately want to protect your innocent impressionable hearts from the filth and the dangers that are in the world. I now understand why some parents shelter their children, hide them away, keep them to themselves. I get it now. 

Really, who wants to see their precious child fall into the wrong crowd and have their name end up plastered across some unthinkable headline one day for all the world to see? What could break a mother's heart more than to see her child lose their way?

Headline after headline has touted its message across my phone screen, on billboards, random television sets we pass in the stores; like waves breaking one after another hard upon a peaceful shore;

And each time this happens I want to apologize again.

So this letter to you, my three loves? This letter began to form and take shape in my mind over a year ago. News poured in of a man who made a huge, life-altering decision, and attracted the attention of the world. Something inside of me began to move and shake and I wondered how it came to be that I was actually living in a world where things so despicable and once unthinkable came to be described by throngs with words like "beautiful", "brave", "honest" and  "heroic". There are beautiful, brave, honest, and heroic things in this life, my girls, oh my goodness, yes! And I as your mother am overjoyed with the privilege I've been given to watch you grow and discover- and even to teach you about and introduce you to- some of those things, people, places in this world which are truly beautiful, brave, honest and heroic. 

But, my daughters, standing up against God and choosing our ways over His, is never in any way, beautiful, brave, honest, or heroic. I need you to know and believe this in your heart of hearts.

This passion to write this letter to you has grown with each and every buffeting news break.

Rainbow flags flying proudly, mass shootings, influential men- claiming the name of Christ- but treading their own sacred marriage vows into the dust, attacks on our law enforcement, more shootings, refugees, wars, attacks... attacks... attacks.......... 
These words I want to say to you have rattled around in my mind and taken shape until I cannot hold them in any longer. I need you to listen and understand.

I'm going to be downright honest. I want to be afraid. Sometimes I just want to keep us safely locked up inside our home, away from the reach of senseless destruction. I want to say "No more library trips... just to be safe." 

I want to get down on my knees and apologize to your innocent faces that this is the world you must know, the time in history you must exist in, the reality you must face as you grow.

I want to be angry, ravenously angry. To throw open my door and just yell "STOP IT!" to the whole blundering, hurting, messed up world. Just stop it and let my children grow up in peace and safety.

I want to apologize, but I cannot.

Because to apologize to you for the world you live in, is to claim control over something that is entirely out of my control. To apologize to you would essentially be saying that your Creator made a mistake in choosing exactly what day you would be born on, in placing you exactly where you are in history, and in making you exactly who you are in shape and personality and in the depths of your soul. And He does not make mistakes. 
I need you to know and believe this in your heart of hearts.

To apologize to you is to insinuate that the God of Creation is not in absolute control over every part of His creation. But He is in absolute control, regardless of the senseless choices some people make, and I need you to know and believe this in your heart of hearts, my daughters. And I need to choose to believe this in my heart of hearts. 

So instead of apologizing to you, I want to tell you of another young lady who lived in a perilous time in history.

Esther was just a young woman, but she had quite suddenly and unexpectedly become queen of a vast kingdom. She knew and loved the same true God that we know and love, but not all who lived in the kingdom did. Shortly after she became queen, a time came when each and every child of God in the kingdom was to be put to death, by royal decree. Can you imagine? An attack on every single person who chose to claim the name of our Lord. It is said that there was great mourning in every part of the kingdom; weeping, fasting, and wailing. I cannot even imagine the aches in their hearts and minds. 

Esther wanted to be afraid. I'm sure she even wanted to be angry.

But the words that have survived centuries echo loud in my mind as I sit here now and write to you, my daughters. 
Rather than speaking fear; 
Rather than whisking her back to the home where he raised her all those years- attempting to hide her away from harm's reach; 

Rather than apologizing to her for the position she found herself in, 
Esther's uncle Mordecai, who raised her to know and believe in the love and sovereignty of God, calmly and clearly told her that she must not remain silent. She must step out and make a stand for her people and for her God. 
And there it is, sounding like a speculation but reflecting a firm faith in the God who makes no mistakes, he said to her:

"Who knows whether you have not attained royalty for such a time as this?" Esther 4:13

For such a time as this.

A time when the queen herself, along with all her own people, were ill-treated and were soon, on a specific date, to be put to death by the sword. 

A time of uncertainty and impending doom.

A time of mourning throughout the entire land.

For this exact time in history, God had chosen her.

He used that one young, inexperienced woman to effect the destinies of an entire nation.

He used that one girl's life in ways no one would have imagined on the day of her birth; Throughout her toddlerhood; 
When she held her dolly's hands, singing, and turned circles on the floor.

The God who makes no mistakes used the danger at hand 

to call forth the bravery of one man, 

who summoned the faith of one woman 

who took a stand for truth and justice before the whole blundering, hurting, messed up world, and changed the course of history forever after.

And He can do the same today.

With you.

This is why I cannot apologize to you for the world you must know, the time in history you must exist in, the reality you must face as you grow.

While I do not condone it, and I will not ignore it, in the face of all the wickedness and sorrow and uncertainty of this world, I will choose to believe in my heart of hearts that the God who is in absolute control of every part of His creation, and who makes no mistakes, called each of you darling, precious daughters of mine into being on the day in which He did, making you exactly who you are, at this exact moment in history, for such a time as this.

You are right here, right now for a perfect, undeniable reason.

And I, as your mother, am overjoyed with the privilege I've been given to prepare you to walk out the calling God has placed on your life. 

I will choose, rather than speaking fear; rather than keeping us safely locked up inside our home, away from the reach of senseless destruction; rather than apologizing to you for the position you find yourself holding in this generation; 

to raise you all to know and believe in the love and sovereignty of God, 

to calmly and clearly teach you that you must not remain silent in the face of untruth. 

to speak hope to you,

to speak truth to you,

to live faith, undeniably, before you,

to uphold you through prayer,

to point you to Jesus, who is the answer to every problem in this whole blundering, hurting, messed up world,

And I will make sure you know that you are not here by accident, or here to stand by and watch history take its course; You, each one of you, my beautiful girls, are here today, even today; while French families grieve, and politicians make and argue laws, while headlines brandish preposterous titles, while hurt people hurt people, and while you wake up from your naps and finish the remainder of those lollipops I saved on the counter for you; 

You are here for such a time as this.

Do not fear. Do not shrink back.

I need you to know and believe this in your heart of hearts.