I've Loved You The Longest

5 years…

5 years ago today, I lost a piece of my heart.  A piece of my heart went to Heaven with my Gravel when she went home to be with Jesus.  My heart broke in a way that I didn’t even know was possible when I told me Gravel “see you later” for the last time.  She and I always had a special kind of relationship.  I knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was in my corner.  What I wouldn’t give for one more hug…  She gave the best hugs and she always held my hand.  I never ever one time in my life doubted that she loved me.  I never ever one time in my life doubted that she was proud of me.

I chewed a piece of doublemint gum during Sunday school this morning, and my mind went straight to her.  It doesn’t take much for me to think of her.  I’m glad that she’s still so alive in my memories.  She will always be alive there.  I wish I could play uno with her one more time.  I wish I could lay in her bed with her one more time.  She always let me lay on her arm.  Now that I have kids, I know how quickly your arm goes to sleep when a kid is laying on it, but she always let me lay on her arm, and she never complained that it was going to sleep.  She was the first person to ever “dutch oven” me.  Yes, you read that right.  But she was also the person that instilled in me the importance of going to church and studying God’s Word daily.  I believe in love because of the way that I saw her and my grandpa love each other.  Oh what an eternal difference she made in this world because of the difference she made in me…

I wish she could see what awesome kids Jaxon and Knox are growing up to be.  I wish that she could have met and held my sweet baby girl.  She would love Paxton Grace so very much.  I’m pretty sure that she would think that she’s about the greatest thing ever…  She was so proud of Justin too- for the stand he took for Jesus, and for the way he loved me and took care of me.  She loved his smile.  She called him Smiley.  She would be so proud of the life we have.  I wish I could argue with her one more time about who loves who more.  I’m so thankful that our story isn’t over and that she will be there waiting on me when I get home.

She’s been gone for five years, and I still think about her every day.  In honor of my Gravel- I wanted to share something that I wrote in 2003- 13 years ago, when I was 18 years old and a freshman in college.

“I’ve Loved You the Longest”

                When I was a child, my whole world revolved around my Gravel.  And now, as a young adult, she’s still the one that can make me smile when no one else can.
                When I was younger, my favorite place to go was my Grave’s.  I’d spend the night with her every chance I got.  Before bed, I’d go into the bathroom to take my shower.  I always made my Gravel stay in the bathroom with me while I was in the shower.  For some strange reason, I did not like to be in the bathroom by myself.  We always stayed up as late as our eyes would let us before we’d finally lie down in her waterbed.  Once our heads hit the pillows it was time to talk.  We talked about everything.  And I giggled about everything.
                She’d tell me the story of Hansel and Gretel over and over again, because she knew that it terrified me.  I guess my favorite thing was her stories- the stories about her and her childhood.  She’d tell me about her best friends when she was younger.  I loved to hear stories about her friends, and I’d love to try to compare them to my own friends.  She told me stories of her parents, my great grandparents, who passed away before I was every born.  Her stories were so real that I feel like I knew them.  She told me stories about my mom growing up and the ways that we were alike.  I remember that I used to close my eyes and picture my mom, and wonder to myself that if we were the same age, if we would have been best friends.
                Before long, Gravel would have me giggling so loud that Papaw would yell at us to be quiet and go to sleep.  I’d cover my mouth up with the edge of the blanket and cut my eyes over at my Gravel, who would always have some sort of sarcastic little grin on her face.  Then I’d continue my giggling.  Papaw would finally give up on us and just go to sleep himself.
                As the hours passed, my eyes would continue to get heavier.  Finally, just before drifting into dreamland, I’d lay my head over on my Gravel’s arm.  And I’d always say, “I love you.”
                “I love you, Kendra Marie,” my Gravel would reply.
                “I love you more,” I’d say.
                Gravel would answer, “But I’ve loved you the longest.”
                Being the argumentative child that I was (and still sometimes am), I’d sharply say, “Uh uh, I’ve loved you the longest.”
                “How’s that?” Gravel would ask. “I loved you before you were even born.”
                To which I replied, “Well, I loved you before you were even born.”
                Through her laughter Gravel would say somewhat hesitantly, “But Kendra, you weren’t even born then.”
                Being the smart child that I was, I always had a comeback for everything.  But every night as I was engaged in this same conversation with my Gravel, I’d have the same response.  “I know I wasn’t born yet, silly.  But I was in Heaven, and God told me ‘Kendra, that right there is going to be your Gravel someday.’”
                It was almost as if Gravel just loved to hear my response because she acted just as shocked to hear it each time.  She’d laugh her sweet laugh, and say to me, “Goodnight sweet baby doll.”
                “Goodnight Gravel.”
                I could never fall asleep until I knew that she was asleep.  I felt safe in her arms, and as a child, I did believe that I had loved her the longest.  I had told myself that story so many times that I could actually picture myself, sitting upon a cloud in Heaven with God, and seeing the joy on my great grandparent’s faces as my Gravel breathed her first breaths.  I could see my Gravel running barefoot through a field with her childhood friends, laughing and playing, and not having a care in the world.  I could see my Gravel raising my mother to be the wonderful person that she is today.  And I loved her.  I watched her up until the day that I entered this world to be with her.  And then I felt her for the first time.  She held me.  She looked into my eyes, and my world has been forever better because of her.
                In my heart, I’ll always believe that I have loved her the longest.

Kendra Marie Henderson: September 7, 2003

A Pastor’s Appreciation Letter from a Pastor’s Wife

  

Dear Justin,

I wanted to write Bro Justin, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that.  To me, you are just Justin.  You aren’t Bro Justin, or Dr Justin, or the Reverend, or just “preacher” as some lovingly refer to you.  You are just Justin.  Because I know you in a way that no one else knows you.  And knowing you in a way that no one else knows you enables me to also appreciate you in a way that no one else appreciates you.  

I appreciate the hours that you spend every week doing your job.  In honesty, every minute of every hour and every hour of every day, you’re doing your job.  You are always “on call.”  No matter what.  You can’t clock out at the end of the day.  Even after your sermons are written, your job is still not done.  There are people to visit in the hospitals, in the nursing homes, and at home.  There are meetings… endless meetings.  There are emails and text messages to reply to and an unbelievable amount of phone calls to answer.  There are cancelled vacations because of deaths, stopping in the middle of trick or treating with our kids because of heart attacks, and nights of having to get up and rush to the hospital after already being in pajamas and ready for bed.  There are date nights that are made up of dinner, just the two of us, but only after we stop by the funeral home or the hospital first. 

I see all of this first hand.  I know and I understand many things that the rest of our church family doesn’t know and understand.  And I appreciate you more than you will ever know because of everything that I see that goes on “behind the scenes.”  There is no way that someone could pastor a church in their own strength.  If it isn’t a calling from God, there’s no way you can do it.  Spiritual warfare is a real thing, and it’s something that I’m reminded of daily because of our life in the ministry.  But every morning, we get up and face a new day.  And I can get up and face a new day every day because I know that I’m facing that day beside you.  I’m thankful for this calling of God on your life, even though it certainly isn’t easy.

At your ordination service, our pastor at the time said, “The church is the bride of Christ.  Kendra is your bride.” I’ve thought about those words several times throughout the past three years.  I’m thankful that you always make time for your family.  You are the hands-down busiest man I know, but I never question where I stand with you.  You aren’t married to the church.  You are married to me.  And I’m thankful for that.  Not every wife can say that- but I can.  And I’m grateful for that.  Every day isn’t easy.  We are FAR from perfect.  We don’t always get it all right.  We don’t always love each other the way that we are supposed to.  We don’t always make the right decisions concerning our kids.  Our house is messier than I wish it was.  We don’t have dinners around the table as a family as often as I wish we did.  Sometimes we fuss and we fight.  Sometimes our patience with each other runs really thin…  But you make me laugh harder than any human being on earth- and making you laugh brings me a different kind of joy than anything else in life does.  You listen to me when I’m frustrated or sad and I cry and don’t make much sense.  You protect me and you defend me.  And I appreciate all of that about you.

I’ve seen you spend time on your knees praying for God’s will to be done in our church.  I’ve heard you tell God that you want to see His glory, and that you just want to get out of His way and let Him work.  I’ve seen you be broken.  And I’ve seen you be so full of God and so amazed at His grace and mercy on our lives that it’s brought you to tears.  I see your insecurities.  I know the ways that you feel like you fall short or you don’t measure up.  But you are a man of God and a man of integrity and you desire His glory above anything else in this life.  And I appreciate that about you so much.

The last three and a half years of being your wife has been different.  I’m not only Justin’s wife, I’m also the pastor’s wife, and that’s brought about some adjustments, some difficulties, and some frustrations.  I have often felt lonely and many times felt isolated.  Being a pastor’s wife is weird, for lack of better words.  There are times that you don’t feel like you have a pastor.  My entire life, when someone was sick, we called the preacher.  When we needed prayer, we called the preacher.  When big decisions needed to be made and we needed wisdom, we called the preacher.  When we were sick and in the hospital the preacher visited us.  When I had my first two babies, the preacher came to the hospital to see us and to hold them and love on them.  But now I’m married to the preacher and everything is different.  Sometimes it’s weird to not have someone that you have a “pastor” relationship with.  So sometimes, I feel like I don’t have a pastor, and sometimes, at church, I even feel like I don’t have a husband.  Being a pastor’s wife at church can sometimes feel like being a single parent.  At fellowship meals and church events when you are talking to church members, visiting with visitors, and shaking hands, I’m often sitting at the table alone with our three kids.  While most couples sit beside each other during worship and are shoulder to shoulder during the preaching, I’m often sitting alone.  I’m not complaining or wanting to be felt sorry for, I’m just stating the facts that being a pastor’s wife is sometimes hard and it’s often lonely, and it’s sometimes weird.  

But as weird and as hard as it is, I’m thankful to be walking this road with you.  Watching how hard you work, and how hard you pray makes me appreciate you in a deeper way than I knew was even possible.  I trust your heart because I hear you pray.  I appreciate the way that you strive to lead our family in the way that you feel God wants you to and I appreciate the way that you desire to lead our church in the same way.  You are a tremendous pastor and you are a phenomenal preacher.  Those two things are not the same thing, but you are outstanding at both.  You are a great husband, a terrific father, and a wonderful best friend.  I have a front row seat in watching you fulfill all of those roles every day, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.  And I just wanted to say how much I truly do appreciate you.

Happy Pastor Appreciation Month, to my pastor, my husband, and my friend.

Love,

Kendra 

I love you's, Engagements, & Weddings

If sappy, lovey blog posts bother you, then you probably want to keep on scrolling past this one.

Because it's full of the sap and the love.

Weddings.

I love weddings.

What girl doesn't love a good wedding...?

As a photographer and a pastor's wife, I experience a lot of weddings.

Many times I'm behind the camera, capturing the wedding through my lens.

And even through my lens, there have not been many weddings that I haven't, at very least, became very teary eyed.

And as a pastor's wife, I've attended my fair share of weddings.

I've been a bridesmaid in eight weddings.

But of course my favorite wedding was my own.

My husband has said jokingly, more than once, that he can't keep my hands off of him after I've photographed or attended a wedding.  He acts like that bothers him, but I know that it really doesn't. :)

But I guess, if we were honest (which I try to do here) weddings do make you feel more "in love."

Back in July, Justin had the opportunity to officiate the wedding of one of our church members, Ashton, and her new husband Andrew.  The wedding was July 9th.  This particular wedding blessed my heart, and moved me to worship in a way that I have experienced very few times in my life.  It was completely God-centered, and more worshipful than I have the words to describe.  As a congregation, we lifted up our voices and sang, "Holy Spirit, You are welcome here.  Come flood this place and fill the atmosphere..." and believe me, the Holy Spirit without a doubt filled that place.

And the bride and groom? They were stunning.  And portrayed the picture of true love.

But as beautiful as they were, I couldn't take my eyes off of that preacher boy in the background.

This guy....

The one that after all of this time, still sometimes literally makes my heart skip a beat.

And on that day, July 9, 2016, I couldn't help but to think back to that same day, 11 years earlier.

July 9, 2005.

The day that sweet preacher boy said "I love you" to me for the very first time.

We had been dating for about six weeks.  And neither of us had any doubt that we loved each other.

He had told me that "he thought that he loved me"

to which I replied "well, I think that I love you too."

But we had never officially said it until that day.

And I can close my eyes and go right back there, even now.

And when I saw that sweet preacher boy up there preaching that wedding on this July 9th, I couldn't help but think back to that very first July 9th that he was in my life.

Then there was yesterday,

October 22, 2016.

And Justin was blessed to participate in another wedding ceremony at our church.

This ceremony was something that was dear and precious to our hearts, because we set this couple up.  Mitchell and Kelsey's first date was a double date with us over three years ago.

And they got married yesterday...

And talking about it still gives me goosebumps because I have seen the fingerprints of God firsthand in this relationship.  God is so good, and I'm so thankful that He brought Kelsey and Mitchell together.  And I can't wait to see how He works in their lives...

The ceremony was beautiful, God honoring, and filled with awe and all the right things that just make you feel love.  But again, all I could focus on was that preacher boy in the middle.

And I couldn't help but to once again think back to this day 11 years ago.

October 22, 2005

The day that sweet preacher boy got down on one knee and asked me to be his for forever.

We had only been dating for five months, but we knew after about five minutes that we never wanted to spend another day without each other.

God is so good, and I'm so thankful for the ways that He shows Himself to me every day, in both big ways and small ways...

But the fact that He orchestrated the events surrounding two sweet, perfect weddings and planned them to happen on two dates that are so special to me makes me smile across my whole face.

...My whole face.

Get back on the bike.

I have a million things to do.

Like, a million things.  Literally.

Justin got back from Africa less than a week ago and there are still suit cases laid in my living room floor.

My house looks like an actual bomb went off in it.

This has very little to do with said Africa trip, and much more to do with my million other things to do and my lack of motivation to do any of them.

And we leave for vacation in less than a week.

And my house has to be cleaned before we leave for vacation because I refuse to return home to a house that looks like an actual bomb went off in it.

So... I need to clean my house.

And I also need to edit, post, burn and order like half a bazillion pictures.

The struggle is real over here.

I have a million things to do.

But all my heart keeps saying is "sit down for a minute and write."

Writing is how I unwind.

It's how I express my struggles, my joys, my fears, my heartaches, my concerns...

And I've got this one thing on my heart, 

so maybe after I sit down and write about it,

I can actually get one of the million other things that I HAVE to get done, done.

A week ago on Saturday, Knox (my five year old) learned to ride his bike.

We've worked on it a lot this summer.

I've worked with him.  His daddy has worked with him.  His grandparents have worked with him.

He really wanted to ride his bike.

All of the little boys in our neighborhood can ride theirs, and he felt like a little kid because he still had training wheels on his.  

So we worked at it.  

We would go out in the yard, and I would hold him up and run alongside of him while he pedaled.

But every single time, the minute that I let go of his bike and he felt me let go, he stopped pedaling.

He would only pedal if I was holding onto him.

As much as he wanted to get those training wheels off, he was afraid to do it alone.

He only felt safe if he felt my hands on him.

Then last Saturday morning, Mr. Jim, our precious family friend, invited Jaxon and Knox to go on a bike ride.  I told Mr. Jim that Knox still had training wheels.  He didn't seem too concerned and simply said, "That's okay, I'll work with him."

He came and picked up Knox's little bike from our house, took off the training wheels, and within an hour Knox was riding his bike.

And not just riding it, but fearlessly riding it.

Knox has been a bike rider for 9 days now.

And for 9 days now, riding his bike is all that he has wanted to do.

And I think what amazes me the most is how many times he has crashed.

The kid has had a ton of crashes.  He has hit the pavement.  He's hit trees.

He has more bruises than you would believe, and every single one of them came from bike riding.

But every single time, he jumps up, and climbs right back on the bike, because he knows that he can ride it.

He's been the bravest little thing that I've ever seen because he just keeps standing right back up and getting right back on the bike.

Watching Knox ride his bike and crash his bike has made me think a lot about life lately.

And about how maybe life isn't about avoiding the bruises and the scars.

The bruises and the scars just show that we showed up.

We might walk away with more bruises than you can count, but we showed up anyway, and we climbed back on the bike even when we crashed and even when we hurt...

Life is just plain hard sometimes.

People let us down.  Over and over again, people let us down.

But we can't avoid the bruises.

And we've just gotta keep on showing up anyway.

We've just gotta keep climbing back on the bike.

Because we know we can ride it.

I hesitated to write this, because more than anything, I just didn't have time.

And I didn't want to write a blog post without having a picture to attach to it.

And I hadn't taken a picture of Knox riding his bike yet with my camera.

And I didn't have time to go get my camera and take a picture.  But my cell phone was in my pocket, and Knox just so happened to be on his bike, so I snapped a picture with my phone.

And the quality isn't great.

But it's life.

And it's real.

Friends, you might feel like me today.

You might feel bruised and scarred.

You might feel like you've got a million things to do.

And you might be having a hard time doing the million things that you need to do because of all of the bruises and the scars.

Maybe the bruises and the scars are visible, and maybe no one can see them,

but if they're there, I'm praying that you'll keep getting back on the bike.

When your hope seems gone, climb back on the bike.

Be brave.  The bravest thing you can do is climb back on and work to gain your balance again.

Don't give up.

Life is hard and you are going to crash again- but just keep getting back on.

God, please help us all to just keep getting back on.

And may we feel Your mighty hands on our backs as you guide us as we learn to pedal with confidence again.

"Oooooo oooooh, We're halfway there..."

Ooooo ooooh, we're living on a prayer...

Okay, I'm being a little silly.  But seriously, we are half way there.

And we literally are pretty much living on a prayer.

Today marks the half way point of Justin being in Africa.

We are so thankful for his servant's heart and that God has called him to take His Gospel to all nations...

But we are so ready to have him home with us.

Things started off with a bang before he ever even left.  Thursday morning we left the house at 5:30 because we had to have him at Friendship Baptist Church by 6:00.  At about 5:40, on some crazy, dark backroad, we plowed a deer in my van.  I thought that was a pretty good sign that he should just stay home with us and forget about Africa.

Before we got to the church, Justin told me to look on his cell phone and to send a video to myself that he had recorded for me.  It was information about our bank accounts, what payment comes out of what account, and all of the information that I would need to know concerning his life insurance.  Not exactly the things that I wanted to hear when I was sending my husband to Africa for 12 days.  I gave him strict instructions to come back alive.  He isn't allowed to die (not just on this trip, but ever, because I seriously couldn't function without him.)

The deer caused $1300 to my van.

My dryer decided to see if it could burn my house down.

My computer has thought about dying.

Because, you know, it would be a fantastic time for troubles to arise since I obviously don't know how to do anything by myself.

BUT, we are halfway there!

And seeing pictures like this makes it worth it.

Justin is helping train pastors in Tanzania this week.  He is teaching them the gospel so that they can better proclaim the gospel to those around them.

But it was this picture that pulled at my heart strings.

Because if he were home right now, this is what he would be doing with our own kids...

Just kicking a ball around...

Since my van is in the shop, I've had to drive Justin's car the last couple of days.  Monday I pulled up in the pick up line at the boys' school to pick them up, and I was in Justin's car.

Little Knox's eyes lit up and he yelled "It's DADDY!" as loud as he could.

It was a tad bit heartbreaking to see how disappointed he was when he opened the door and it was me and not his daddy.  Not that he doesn't love me, but he just misses his daddy.

We all do.

But we are so thankful for a man of God that allows God to use Him, wherever he is.

I'm thankful that I am second in his life.

And that the three little kids that we've created together are third.

Because God is first- and I'll take a backseat to God any day of the week.

He can only love me right when he loves God best.

And that he does.

I miss this man.

I miss the smell of coffee first thing every morning and holding his hand in bed every night.

I can't wait to hear all the ways that God has used him and the other men that are on this trip.

Ooooo oooooh, we're halfway there.

Me Made Over.

 "She looks just like her Momma."

"She has your smile."

"She is YOU made over."

These are phrases that I seem to be hearing more and more each day.

But it feels like the first time every single time I hear them.

I've been a Momma for 8 1/2 years now, but it seemed like all I ever heard was how much the boys looked just like their daddy.

And I was perfectly okay with that.

I happen to think that their daddy is pretty darn good looking or I probably wouldn't have married him and wanted to have his babies.

I dreamed of having little boys that just like him.

And I have two of them, and couldn't be prouder of that.

But then came this little girl.

And for the first little part of her life, we weren't sure who she looked like-

but we knew that she looked just like Knox.

And since Knox looks just like Justin, I guess that meant that she looked like Justin, too.

But lately, she looks a whole lot like her Momma.

And that makes me happy.

Even though I really can't always see it, it makes my heart smile.

It surprises me each time, almost every single day, when someone comments on how much she looks like me,

mainly because I think she's the most beautiful thing that I've ever laid eyes on.

And like most women, I've never thought that about myself.

But that smile...

Yea, she really does have my smile.

And the way her eyes dance when she's happy?

I've been told that mine do too.

And her 10,000 crazy expressions (she is the most expressive child)?

Apparently they come from her Momma as well.

And you should hear the girl tell a story.

I have friends that have literally took an actual seat when I've started to tell a story because they knew it was going to take me a while.

She mimics her Momma there, too.
Her stories are long, and never lack details, and she can talk with her hands with the best of them.

It makes my heart giddy to hear her tell me stories.

 

She walks around the house with her baby doll on her hip, and either her cell phone or her camera in her hand.

I'll take credit for that.

She's an entertainer at heart.  The girl loves to make people laugh, and she loves to be around people that think she is funny.

I'll take credit for that one too.

And the sweet way that she squints her eyes when we pray, and she reaches out to hold whoever's hand is next to her-

Well, I really would like to take credit for that one, but that's simply the grace of God.

But the way she closes her eyes when she sings,

I'm claiming that.

And the way she lifts her little hand in the air during certain songs, even though she has no clue what worship really is-
I humbly say that she's seen that in me.

Sometimes when she's praying out loud she fake cries...

Because she's seen and heard me cry when I pray.

And it's funny, and cute, and precious-

and I love it so much.

But sometimes she has a really bad attitude.

Sometimes she doesn't get enough sleep, or she's hangry,

or she just yells at her brothers for no other reason than because they are on her nerves.

Sadly, she gets that from me too.

And tonight while we were in the shower she got mad at me because I wouldn't let her use the entire full bottle of baby shampoo.

Her crying fits are always ear piercing (she's a soprano, for sure), 

but when they were echoing off of the shower walls- Oh. My. Gracious...

Yea, that's probably me.

I don't yell and scream, but boy do I want to, sometimes.

I don't always set the best example.

But I do want to.

I want to be the best example for her.

Because not only does she look like me, but she acts like me, and she wants to be like me.

And the only way that I can do that is to mimic my Heavenly Father.

I want to be like Him, because she wants to be like me.

I want Paxton to be a woman that can someday sit around the dining room table with a group of friends doing Bible Study and say, "God's Word is important to me because I saw how important it was to my Mom...

I learned how to pray because I saw my Mom pray about everything.
My Mom taught me to love Jesus more because of the way she loved me.

My Mom showed me Jesus."

Follow me, Paxton Grace.  It's okay that you are "me" made over.  Because I'm going to keep striving with all that I am to be more and more like Jesus.  I want to be HIM made over.

Kindergarten & Third Grade. Hard & Beautiful.

 

 Sometimes you have the right words to express exactly how you feel.

And sometimes you don't have words at all.

And when days like when your little baby boy starts kindergarten happen- 

that is one of those days that you just don't have words.

Especially when you don't expect it to bother you too much, 

because you've done this before when his big brother started kindergarten.

You've stood in these shoes before.

And you still have one more baby at home that will start kindergarten someday {too soon}.

So this one really won't bother you because you've done it before, and you'll also do it again.

But then you drop him off at school,

and he's so big and so brave,

and you pull away doing the ugly cry and not caring who knows it.

Because your little baby boy started kindergarten today,

and life will never be the same.

 And his brother, the crazy-tall, handsome, suddenly grown up looking child?
He started third grade today too.

And you're not sure how you got here so quickly either.

Because it was just yesterday that you were doing the ugly cry when you left him at kindergarten for the first time.

And now he's this grown up kid.

And he is a light in this dark world.

And you couldn't be more proud of him, no matter what.

So, sometimes you have words.

But sometimes you don't.

And sometimes you need to borrow words from someone whose words are better than yours.

 "So, yeah, parenting is hard & beautiful,

and very, very hard & very, very beautiful,

and sometimes you just get down on the floor and weep 

and there's no shame in it--

tears just saying we're loving deep.

 

Parenting is hard, not because we're getting it wrong,

but because we're getting to do holy work--

holy work is the hard work.

That's the miracle of parenting--

labor never stops & we never stop having to remember to breathe.

 

Maybe brave & beautiful parenting comes down to us all being in this together,

us all needing grace together.

Parenting is this way of bending over in humility to help the scraped child up because you yourself know it takes a lifetime to learn how to walk with Him.

And all the parents exhaled...

and our every breath calls for You to come, Lord, please come.

Come help us to labor over these beloved children, 

that they'd deliver into the whole expanse of Your fulfilling grace-

& never forget their name: Beloved."

-Ann Voskamp

 

Yea, because sometimes you have words.

And sometimes you don't.

But this Mom thing? It's almost always hard.

But it is assuredly always beautiful.

I couldn't be prouder of you kids.

Let your little lights shine like there's no tomorrow.

I'll be cheering you on!