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“But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things that we have done, but because of His mercy” (Titus 3:4-5). It was the kindest deed ever done to us by a human being , this radically low rent price offered to us by our landlord, Bryan. In a season of living month to month, our landlord was extravagantly generous to us (I believe because the Lord moved his heart and hands to do so), offering us a preposterously cheap price on his property. And it wasn’t just “nice” of him to do this. Nice would’ve been dropping the price by a couple hundred dollars, or offering to mow our lawn for us (which he also did). But instead, he slashed the price and in doing so incurred a cost. He could’ve rented that house out for double what we paid him. It was selfless and sacrificial - a truly miraculous act of kindness. There’s a difference between “nice” and “kind.” Nice is easy, cheap and superficial. It’s “Minnesota nice” - friendly at surface level (there are a lot of great Minnesotans out there, by the way 😉). On the other hand, kindness is costly - sacrificial in the deepest of ways, cutting straight to the heart. It will cost us time, energy, resources, comfort, relationships, and our pride. And as limited human beings, we feel this cost deeply. Jesus paid it all - the highest price, the full cost of kindness. The cross was the costliest act of kindness ever performed - nothing could compare. Our King of kings is the King of kindness - giving up His only Son for the sake of us all. “But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things that we have done, but because of His mercy” (Titus 3:4-5). We cannot even begin to understand the kind heart of the Father towards us. Kindness comes naturally to him - Dane Ortlund puts it this way in his book Gentle and Lowly: “…picture a damned-up river, pent up, engorged, ready to burst forth - that is the kindness in the heart of Christ” (207). He delights in showing His children His immeasurable kindness. He directs his kindnesses toward each one of us personally, like arrows aimed at our hearts, handpicking his kindnesses towards us. And furthermore, he wants to show us this kindness forever - into eternity! In Ephesians 2:6-7 we read, “And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus.” In all his kindness towards us, Jesus carries our burdens and desires to walk with us through the challenges we face. Dane Ortlund explains: “The Greek word for kindness means a desire to do what is in your power to prevent discomfort in another. It’s the same word used in Matthew 11:30 where Jesus says ‘my yoke is easy.’ His yoke is kind” (210). When we come to Jesus and stop resisting his kindness, he sustains us - carrying us and our load and lavishing love on us. But what keeps us from receiving the fullness of God’s kindness, or even missing it altogether? I believe that in order to receive God’s kindness, we must have a soft and tender heart. We live in this age of calloused hearts - bitterness, brokenness, hurt and pain have hardened us. We must seek to keep our hearts soft in the midst of it all. How do we do this - how do we keep our hearts soft so that we can experience God’s kindness for ourselves? 1. We come to Him , as He invites us to do in Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest…” He wants to speak to us and show us His kindness. We must give him our time and our attention in order for Him to do so. 2. We repent , for “God’s kindness is intended to lead us to repentance” (Romans 2:4). His kindness is not a license to sin but rather an invitation to realign ourselves with the Spirit and receive His forgiveness. We come to Jesus with repentant hearts so that He can refresh us and bless us and keep our hearts tender. 3. We count God’s kindnesses towards us - not downplaying them but rejoicing in gratitude over each big and small kindness we receive, starting with the cross of Christ. We give God the credit, counting God’s kindnesses out loud in front of our children. This quote rings in my ears frequently: “Two women looked out of prison bars; one saw mud, the other saw stars.” We find the stars and follow them with our eyes and count the kindnesses of God toward us over and over again. 4. We are kind to ourselves , having compassion on ourselves and thinking true thoughts about ourselves - thoughts aligned with the Word of God. We don’t live as though we are unlimited beings - we live within our limits and give ourselves grace on the hard days. When our hearts are soft they are like a sponge, able to soak in the abundant ocean of the kindness of Jesus and then squeeze it out onto others. We will be filled to overflowing again and again as we allow His kindness to flow onto us and then through us to our families and into this world. The world would be a divinely different place if we all received for ourselves the kindness of Jesus that He is ever extending to us. We just need to reach out our hands, reject the lies of the enemy and the world (which tell us that God is not kind) and receive His kindness for ourselves. God’s kindness is immeasurable and it is eternal and it is for you. “In the coming age we will descend ever deeper into God’s grace in kindness, into his very heart, and the more we understand of it, the more we will see it to be beyond understanding. It is immeasurable” (Ortlund, 212). May you experience the beauty of His kindness towards you in the week ahead.

“We wait in hope for the LORD; he is our help and shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name.” Psalm 33:20-21 I was walking around a little lake by our house last Thursday when it hit me: this insatiable desire for spring. It was a warm day for January - twenty four degrees above the average high temperature - and as the sun settled on my skin so did this deep discontentment settle in my heart. The devastating reality is that spring is still months away. The Thursday thawing was a tease, the ground refroze in no time and they’re calling for snow tomorrow. My walk in the sun left me crying on the inside, desperate for spring to come - and I cannot deny that these Minnesota winters have brought me to real stinging tears before. The winter seizes me in this state of impatience, as motherhood often does, where I cease to believe that God is moving even when I can’t see it; that He brings good things even out of these dreaded months of the year and seasons of my life; and that no season is ever too long or too short because all of time rests in His hands. In these times of unwanted waiting, I find myself wandering into doubt, discontentment, and daydreaming of a “better” season. I start preempting what I think God has for me next and writhing when I have to wait. I refuse to remain where God has me - like when I left my hat at home on said walk, pretending it was spring instead of planting my feet where they actually were (I froze my ears off). Often I wait in hostility - feeling hurried, worried that life is passing me by, and putting hope in my circumstances instead of in my Risen King. I grow bitter and resentful as I carry the weight of waiting on my own instead of offering it to Jesus. Why do I do this? Why do I cling so tightly to my timelines and grasp at my plans? I forget what’s True: He holds me, the universe, and all of time in His hands. He’s never in a rush, He’s never late or panicked. With Him, “a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8) - His concept of time is altogether otherworldly. There’s a much better way to walk this marathon of motherhood and all things in life: waiting on God, with God, and for God. Walking in patience, even when it’s painful. Waiting on Someone instead of something (because won’t we always be waiting on something this side of heaven?). There’s a shift we must make here: throwing the weight of our waiting and worries on Him, and lifting our eyes from the earthly to the eternal. We take the psalmist’s words to heart: "I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord" (Psalm 27:13-14). We wait in hope, trusting the God will take care of us and has good things in store. We wait with endurance and perseverance, pressing on and pressing into Jesus even when the waiting feels endless. This type of waiting is not for the faint of heart. It requires great strength to wait like Psalm 130:5-6 describes: “I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope. I wait for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.” Let’s be “watchwomen,” waiting for Him who is our only Hope and allowing our impatience to drive us into the Word and into His arms. As we moan and groan, waiting for better things to come, all of creation is right there with us (Romans 8:22), waiting for the restoration of all things. One day, the beauty of spring will replace the wasteland of winter, and all things will be made new (Narnia, anyone?). There will be no more tears or mourning or death or pain (Revelation 21:4). We won’t feel impatient anymore, but rather completely and deeply satisfied - and God will dwell in our midst forever (Revelation 21:3). But for now, we wait in this “now but not yet” between the resurrection and Christ’s return. Our waiting is not in vain - Jesus is “the One who was and is and is to come” (Revelation 4:8), and He will fulfill all of His promises to His people. The best is yet to come - He tells us He is “coming soon,” and we plead along with John: “Come, Lord Jesus” (please, hurry!) (Revelation 22).

“Now may the Lord of peace himself give you peace at all times in every way.” 2 Thessalonians 3:16 Aren’t we all craving peace these days? We’re desperate - we know we are hurry-sick and worried sick, and we are all trying to curate a cure with our own hands. We’re tired of barreling through life, battling anxiety and crippling fear, and barely breathing through it all. It’s almost too much to bear. We know two things: something needs to change. And, peace is priceless. But we’re fooled, thinking peace can be cultivated through pointed practices and preaching to ourselves. Believing mindfulness is the answer or that we can buy our way to perfect peace. We’re feigning peace and finding temporary solutions when we’re really in pieces: fretful and fragmented. I’ve been there too - looking for peace in many places. I’ve looked along the path of least resistance, duped into believing that ease is synonymous with peace. I dropped a class in the beginning of almost every semester of college, thinking my light load would carry me to a peace-filled existence. As it turns out, I was left feeling bored for much of those years of my life. I’ve looked for peace in prosperity, in pleasure, in productivity, and applause. I’ve run to places and things and people, but as it turns out, Peace is a proper noun, a Person, and His name is Jesus. He is the Prince of Peace - He’s the only One who holds the keys to peace, and there’s no point in looking elsewhere. We’re missing it, missing the piece of the puzzle who is Peace Himself. We’re homesick for Jesus and it shows in our shaky and unsettled souls. Our aching hearts are laid bare before Him, this Prince of Peace, and He aches for us to experience the goodness of His peace. He offers us the only cure to our crisis: Himself. His hands open wide on the cross, His body broken for you and blood spilled - He was pierced to bring us peace and to bind up all of our broken places. He pieces us back together - providing the peace we longed for all along. And this peace is all-encompassing. It’s not partial peace or situational peace. It’s shalom (the Hebrew word for peace) - wholeness in every way: body, mind and spirit. Relational peace, with God and people. Flourishing and fullness of life, the way things God intended them to be. THIS is the peace God has in store for us if we would stop our striving and come to Him instead. We are meant to find our home in Jehovah Shalom - the God of Peace Himself. Peace is our privilege as children of God, our portion as those who call on the Prince of Peace. We cannot purchase it or earn it - He grants it to those who follow Him: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you” (John 14:27). His peace “transcends all understanding,” protecting our hearts and minds (Philippians 4:7). His peace is perfect, sustaining those who humbly trust in God (Isaiah 26:3). His peace can even circumvent our circumstances - we can experience peace in discomfort and poverty and pain and suffering and less than ideal situations because “the Lord is near” (Philippians 4:5). This is not a worldly peace but an altogether otherworldly gift of peace straight from the hands of God. It’s the New Year, and we’re all full of hopes and dreams. Maybe this will be the year… And we’re plotting out the year ahead and placing our hope into our own hands, thinking that we’ll find true peace in our plans. If only ________, then I’ll be happy and peace will be my prize. I’ll finally be fulfilled. I’ll never need anything again. And isn’t that just the way of humans - putting too much pressure on this world to satisfy? Searching for shalom in temporal places. How do we claim this peace that Jesus offers to us in 2025? How do we finally experience this peace that all of us so desperately long for? We stop our searching and start surrendering. We stop planning and plotting and start praying, inviting His presence into all that we do. We stop putting hope in our own hands and start opening our palms to receive peace from the only true Source of it. May this be the year we find shalom instead of success. May shalom settle on our homes this year, and in our hearts.

“Joy to the world; the Lord is come; Let Earth receive her King; Let ev'ry Heart prepare him room, And Heav'n and nature sing….” Where is the joy? Is it here, is it there? We’re seeking and searching - looking everywhere. Is it over the fence? Is it in the next season? Has she found true joy? What is the reason That joy feels so scarce - where did it go? It feels as though nobody knows. We’re worrying, hurrying, spending and tired. We’re wanting and hunting for joy in this mire. And we’re living this lie right in front of little eyes - That joy’s found in the world, Jesus isn’t our prize. Our attention has wandered, we’ve lost our first love, Our Savior, Messiah, this gift from above. We’re spending time filling our Amazon carts Instead of preparing Him room in our hearts. We don’t need more lights and we don’t need more cheer, We just need to acknowledge - Jesus is here! The Light of the World - our Father and friend, He’s the Good Shepherd - His love never ends. We go searching and chasing and seeking for naught - He’s all that we need and all we could want. He’s precious and priceless, He’s one of a kind, There’s no one like Jesus that you’ll ever find. He was sent as a baby, our God wrapped in skin, He lived and He died and then rose again. This is why we have joy - nothing else will come close. Our Mighty God, Jesus, He gave up the most. So let’s surrender our lives and release all our things, Receiving instead the King of all kings. May our kids see it’s true: it’s not about stuff! It’s all about Jesus - He’s more than enough. And may we be the most joy-filled of all - Not because of what we have but because we are called: We are His, we are whole, we are found and free We have life to the full and that’s more than we need. It’s the call of Christmas: to come and adore The only One worthy of bowing before He’s high and he’s holy and yet, He is near. Immanuel has come - we’ve nothing to fear. So turn your eyes upon Jesus, just focus on Him In the joy of His presence, all else will grow dim.

“I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure with all the fullness of God.” Ephesians 3:17-19 I collapsed onto the couch one Saturday night in October, realizing it had been a while since I’d prayed. The “prayer” that followed was basically a monologue - me presenting a laundry lists of requests, almost as if God is a vending machine (which He is not). I was sharing my concerns over my kids and lots of future things. All of the future things. When I finally finished my speech, I waited eagerly for a response (and I hoped it would be as specific as possible). And here’s what I heard (in a gentle and quiet whisper sort of way): “Oh, how I love you, Morgan.” It’s not at all what I thought He’d say. There I was, waiting for details and an action plan, and He told me that He loves me. And He called me by name. I couldn't stop crying as He continued to express His love towards me. He wanted to show me, speak to me and shower me with love and He wanted it to sink in all the way to the very depths of my being. I could hardly handle it. I think, for those of us who grew up in the church, we are so accustomed to hearing about how much God loves us. Some of us have heard it a million times, and so we shrug when we hear it. We “know” God loves us. We are in desperate need of a fresh revelation of God’s love for us. In our world today, we are weary, overstimulated, and spiritually malnourished. We are too busy, and yet simultaneously bored. We are not easily impressed, but we are itching for something more, something deeper than what’s been offered to us. We “know” a lot of things, but they often don’t make the long journey from our heads to our hearts. God desires so much more for us - He wants us to know His love in a real, experiential way so that it sinks into our very bones and beings. This is why He sends us the gift of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit “testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children,” (Romans 8:16) taking the love of the Father from our heads and pouring it out into our hearts (Romans 5:5). Dane Ortlund explains it this way in his book Gentle and Lowly (a BEAUTIFUL book): “It is one thing, as a child, to be told your father loves you. You believe him. You take him at his word. But it is another thing, unutterably more real, to be swept up in his embrace, to feel the warmth, to hear his beating heart within his chest, to instantly know the protective grip of his arms. It’s one thing to hear he loves you; it’s another thing to feel his love. This is the glorious work of the Spirit” (122). I’ve found it true, what Ortlund says: “We are factories of fresh resistances to Christ’s love” (Gentle and Lowly, 63). We come up with excuses why God couldn’t or shouldn’t love us. Shame and guilt hold us back from experiencing the depths of God’s love. We distract ourselves or fill our lives so that we have no time to sit with God and experience His love. We would never call ourselves, as John did, “the disciple whom Jesus love[s]” (John 13:23). This saddens our Father greatly. Our inability to receive God’s love and experience its fullness stunts our growth, keeps us from goodness, and limits our intimacy with God. Without intending to, we keep God at an arm’s length when we refuse to receive His love for us. On the contrary, something powerful happens when we know and understand (experientially, not just intellectually) how great the love of God is for us (on a personal level, not just universally). Paul asserts in Ephesians 3: “I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure with all the fullness of God” (v. 17-19). When we grasp the love of God for us, we will be “filled to the measure with all the fullness of God.” That means we will be so filled to overflowing with all that the Spirit has to offer us that there won’t be room for anything else - doubt, fear, wayward identities or sin. Being “filled to the measure with all the fullness of God” means that nothing unwanted can find its way in, and that the lies of the enemy will be forced out. How we need to grasp this inconceivable Love in greater measure! And we need to ask for His help in this - we need Him to reveal His love to us. We need Him to remind us of who He is. We need help to remember who we were and where we were heading before He intervened so that we can respond appropriately - like the woman who broke the alabaster jar at Jesus’ feet (Luke 7). We need Him to help us to stop resisting the love of God and start receiving it. Ephesians 3:17-19 is the passage I pray over my children every night. I believe it could change their lives (and all of our lives) if we were to more fully understand the love of the Father for us. I’m praying this passage over you today - may the Spirit make His love more real to you today, in the depths of your soul, as you seek Him.

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control." Galatians 5:22-23 I’m angry cleaning one afternoon last summer when it happens - this wake up call from the Holy Spirit (“angry cleaning” is characterized by stomping, vigorous scrubbing, and heavy sighs, if you’re unfamiliar with the term 😉). You see, these framed words below - the literal fruit of the Spirit - fell on my head as I shoved crumpled laundry into one of our age-old dresser drawers. This brought my cleaning frenzy to a halt and me to my knees. It's the deepest struggle of my motherhood journey: as much as I desire to produce good fruit as a mom and follower of Jesus…I can’t do it. I fall flat on my face again and again - spewing sin and fallen fruit. I can’t escape this reality of the flesh which fights against the Spirit (Galatians 5:17) - sin has this grip on me that’s too strong, too sinister, and it spirals too deep (and as much as I try telling myself, “I’ll be a better mom tomorrow…” it just doesn’t work). Jesus puts it this way: “Apart from Me, you can do nothing” (John 15:5). And although I try to scrape up something good from the depths of my soul - I keep coming up empty. My kids are the victim of this void: the gap between the flesh and the Spirit. The mom I long to be and the mom I really am. As I face the fallenness of my flesh, I’m frustrated. Confused. How can I possibly live out the fruit of the Spirit in this broken body, confined by sin and shame? I’m undone by this Truth that hits me on the head in the midst of my mess: I cannot live up to this list. It’s utterly impossible. My head hurts with hopelessness when Paul’s words come to mind: “Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me…What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:21, 24). He continues on in Romans 8:1: “Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death.” We have this freedom from the flesh and this Spirit who “brings about our adoption to sonship” (Romans 8:15). We are not defined by death or sin - the Spirit turns sinners into sons and daughters. Our situation is not hopeless but rather holy ground for the Spirit to move and plow and produce good things. He brings life from death - sanctifying the entirety of our souls over our lifetime as we submit our ways and wills to Him. And so I’m still holding my head but my heart feels lighter because, thankfully, we are not commanded to “produce good fruit” but rather to “remain in [Him]” (John 15:5). The fruit of the Spirit is not hidden within us, waiting to be unearthed. It grows only when we hide ourselves in Him - spending time in His presence and steeping ourselves in His Word. The fruit of the Spirit flourishes in the hiding and abiding - not the striving. And so we are like sunflowers, which follow the sun with their faces throughout the day to soak up as much sunlight as possible, so that they can be as fruitful as possible. In the same way, we turn our faces towards the Son, Jesus, in order to cultivate a place where good fruit can grow. We ourselves do not produce the fruit, but we position ourselves so that the Spirit can saturate the entirety of our beings and lives, and then allow God to grow good things in us. (This sunflower illustration is from this She Reads Truth podcast - not my own. The whole episode was great if you want more on the fruit of the Spirit!). It’s not my duty to produce the fruit, but rather my delight to bask in the light of the Son. What could this look like - “turning your face towards the Son”? This might look like waking up before your kids to spend time with Jesus (if they are finally sleeping through the night 🙌🏻). Going on a daily prayer walk. Accepting help with childcare. Taking a weekly nap (because sometimes the most holy thing you can do is take a nap…!!!). Getting yourself in Christian community. Attending church on Sundays. Starting a Bible reading plan. Getting help with a habitual sin. Listening to worship music in the car because if you’re anything like me, buckling kids into car seats sends your blood pressure sky-high. 😂 These days, this fruit of the Spirit sign is hanging in my girls’ room - a sunny yellow backdrop framing this list of all I long to be. Thankfully, it hasn’t fallen on my head again. But it’s this reminder to turn my face towards the Son, and the fruit will come. To be intentional with my days and my gaze - inviting the Son to illuminate every part of my life and heart - and I’m trusting Him for a harvest of good fruit. My campus pastor, Pete, always referred to his wife, Amy, as “the fruit of the Spirit on legs.” And Amy IS that - loving and patient and kind and all of the things described in Galatians 5:22-23.What if…a few years down the road, your husband referred to you that way? “My wife is so wonderful - she is like the fruit of the Spirit on legs.” What if…when your kids are older (and realize all that you have done for them 🤪), they said: “My mom - she’s amazing. She is basically the fruit of the Spirit on legs.” I’m praying it over all of us - that He would bring forth an abundance of good fruit in our lives as we remain in Him - that we might grow more and more towards women who look like “the fruit of the Spirit on legs.” I’ll be sharing a monthly reflection on each fruit of the Spirit over the coming nine months. I’m looking forward to growing with you. 💕

My heart is not proud, LORD, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me. But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content. Israel, put your hope in the Lord both now and forevermore. Psalm 131 I’ve been that mom before - the one crying uncontrollably for no reason apparent to anybody but herself. 😂😭 (Please tell me I’m not alone in this…) For me, it was the releasing of the rocking chair - the one in which I nursed my first baby - in the process of weaning her. I’m going to blame my hysterical weeping on the hormones and the fact that I was five months pregnant with my second. 😉 (“The hormones” are usually a good excuse when needed.) Weaning can be a painful process. It can be emotional, uncomfortable, and even unwanted. But it is a non-negotiable to reach a new level of maturity - physically, emotionally, and in every sense. It may not be desired, but it is required. And we, as believers, must also undergo a weaning process as we mature in Christ. So often we are like a baby asking for “more” (more things, more people, more mountaintop moments) while God is there offering Himself. We love God for what He gives us rather than loving Him for who He is. And just as a baby will starve if she tries to survive on breastmilk forever, so will we starve spiritually if we fail to ever look up from God’s hand (what He provides) to His face (His presence). If we remain fixated on the gifts rather than the Giver, we will remain spiritual infants forever - shallow and self-indulgent. So although weaning is hard, it’s for our good. It’s for our sanctification, health, maturity, and fruitfulness. Weaning paves the way for peace, contentment, rest, and new depths of intimacy with God that could come no other way. And here’s where we turn to Psalm 131, which was called by Charles Spurgeon, “...one of the shortest psalms to read, but one of the longest to learn.” Because it’s our human nature to do the opposite of all that this psalm describes: to proudly desire all we see; to concern ourselves with all of the things; to refuse to be calm, quiet and content; and to put our hope in this world. How we need Jesus to wean us from these tendencies and usher us into a Psalm 131 type of existence: true contentment in Him. In the day when this psalm was written, weaning probably would’ve occurred around the age of three. You can just hear the protests and imagine the tantrums that took place - God bless those mamas (not to say anything about when you should wean your baby…but man, three-nagers can be tough to take on when they know what they want). And don’t we respond just the same way to weaning? We grasp so tightly to our comforts, it’s almost painful when God pries them from our fingers. We kick and scream when our idols are stripped from us and our crutches are exposed. We struggle against God and others. We are no different from the Israelites who got downright MEAN when they wanted their meat back (Exodus 16:1-3). They grumbled about their lack even as God provided faithfully for them morning by morning, raining down manna from heaven. God was weaning them from worldly things in the wilderness, and it was far from easy for them. I’ve found motherhood to be similar to what the Israelites experienced - this wilderness weaning process, stripping me of sleep, selfishness, free time, physical comforts…everything I was accustomed to in my pre-motherhood days. I’ve been weaned right alongside each of my babies, and even in my griping, He’s never failed to provide the manna I need for each day. Although it’s difficult, weaning is a kindness - it’s the whisper of our wise God: “Look up here at my eyes.” It’s what turns us to the Word instead of the world; the Father instead of the futile. It’s what reminds us: cling to Jesus tightly, hold everything else lightly. Because that IS the ultimate goal of weaning: that our hope would be in Jesus alone (Psalm 131:3). Anything that hinders our hope from hurtling straight to Jesus…we need to be weaned from it. No matter how good that thing might be (a relationship, a healthy habit, abundance of any form)… something needs to change if we are grasping that thing more tightly than Jesus. And here’s the situation in which we find ourselves in 2024: we have to contend for contentment - in this world of chaos and comforts and distractions, we will never stumble upon a Psalm 131 life by accident. This contentment has to be cultivated as we surrender our ways and wills and allow God to wean us. We must relinquish control instead of resisting - calming and quieting ourselves instead of asking countless questions. He’s reminding us: we’ll always be His children. He’s inviting us: we’ll never outgrow His lap or His love. He’s not handing us a coupon to contentment with an upcoming expiration date, but rather lifetime access to our Abba Father and all He has to offer. Why do we keep chasing and grasping and asking for more when He just wants us to come to Him? Why do we put our hope in products and promotions and podcasts all while He’s inviting us to climb onto His lap? Weaning makes way for what is best: connection and contentment (instead of consumption). God wants to give you soul manna - the bread of life. He wants you to be filled and satisfied by Him now and forever (John 6:47-51). May He give you the grace to undergo this weaning process that you might treasure His face all the more in your season.

“I lift my eyes up to the mountains, where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth” (Psalm 121:1) I’m twenty four years old when the reality of motherhood hits me hard, nursing my firstborn in a musty university basement bathroom stall. I had gathered the entirety of my baby gear to attend a Monday evening event (back in our campus ministry days) in my first attempt to return to “normalcy” post-baby (as if such a thing exists 🤣). But after searching in vain for any semi-private place to nurse, I resort to said bathroom where I sit down on an uncovered toilet in a dimly lit stall and nurse Eden through bleeding, cracked nipples. Disappointed and disheartened, the isolation of my new life washes over me. And here’s what surfaces in the spilling of tears that night: I feel utterly unseen. Just shy of three and a half years later, I’m rocking baby number three and wondering who in the world understands this sleepless struggle of motherhood that I’m barely surviving. And through stifled sobs I’m memorizing and reciting Psalm 121 alongside two toddlers and a newborn: “He will not let your foot slip - he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD watches over yo u - the LORD is your shade at your right hand… The LORD will keep you from all harm - he will watch over your life ; the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore” (v. 3-8). I draw eyes on colored construction paper in an attempt to help my kids understand: He’s watching over us (see photo below). I can’t escape His eyes - five times He repeats and reminds and reveals: His eyes are on me. And He’s not a Ring security camera or an exalted Elf on the Shelf. He’s not watching to condemn or heap guilt - He’s watching because He cares. His eyes are full of compassion. He’s always awake and always aware. Your heart, tears, sacrifices, desires, needs, fears: they are in full view. He sees you struggling and striving. Day and night, He graces your life with His gaze. But here’s where Psalm 121 finds me: fooled at different times into thinking that more eyes on me equates to greater significance and satisfaction. That being seen is the real goal of the good life. I wrestle with invisibility in this world of images; I struggle with feeling unseen in this world of followers and screens. These verses tilt my face towards this grace: a million eyes on me couldn’t make up for the eyes of the I Am looking at me and watching over me and seeing me - really seeing me. Sometimes He hides us intentionally: to heal us, to reveal things to us, to bring us to new heights of wholeness and holiness. He hides us and He holds us - He IS our hiding place (Psalm 32:7). He sees in the secret place as much as on the stage. The public and private have no bearing on His awareness. And because He’s looking, we can raise our eyes to meet His gaze and we can ask for His help. “I lift my eyes up to the mountains - where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth” (Psalm 121:1) I’m so often looking elsewhere for help: a screen. A human being. A break. An escape. I’m looking in all the wrong places - down here, too low - until in a moment of desperation, I finally look up to find His eyes. The Truth? He has been there all along - seeing me, searching me, offering Himself as Savior and Sustainer and Satisfier of all needs. He’s been holding out heavenly help while I’ve been scrounging around on the ground, making do with mud pies. I need to practice until it’s second nature: averting my gaze from this mortal mire, lifting my eyes up higher. I’m currently on the brink of thirty. If you’re wondering, I’m still spending way too much time in bathrooms these days between bath time and the wiping up of a whole slew of bodily fluids. 😂 And I’ve got these three little ones vying for my eyes: “Mom, watch me!” “Mama, look!” They’re desperate for my attention - for someone to see them, to really, truly see them. “Did you see that, Mom?” And aren’t they just the same as me? I smile at them: “I’m watching you! I see you!” And I know He is saying the same thing to me. I may be hidden from the world, but I am held and helped by God. I’m not unseen; I’m hidden in plain sight of the One whose eyes matter most.

“‘Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.’ The LORD Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.'” Psalm 46:10-11 I come in like a frazzled mess on Saturday morning - smile forced, fists clenched. “Are you okay?” my husband asks, eyebrows raised. “Yes,” I hear my lips respond. But in my heart and mind and body, a “no” resounds. I have run myself ragged on the hamster wheel of my week, refusing to rest. I am overstimulated and exhausted, but I don’t even remember how to stop: the act of stepping off the treadmill of life feels foreign, intimidating, and uncomfortable. And although I hate to admit it, this is not an isolated event but rather a pattern I have noticed in myself throughout motherhood. Many days, I become “machine mom" - I am simultaneously listening to a podcast, making dinner, answering a text, watching one of my kids do something “amazing,” and getting somebody else a drink. Mom’s are great at multitasking, right? 😉 But in my flurry of “productivity,” I hardly look my children in the eyes. I swirl around them, but I do not truly see them. And on top of that, I hardly acknowledge Jesus or sit with Him. And although I try to convince myself that I am “getting things done,” in reality I am feigning control - idolizing myself as the god of my life and ignoring my innate need to stop and be still. I’m a tornado of to-do lists, but I am not a peaceful presence. This is a constant struggle, my addiction to activity. Instead of being still, I want to FILL. I want to fill the silence, fill my schedule, fill my stomach. It’s much easier to fill than to be still. And as I’m speeding around - leaving the stench of self in my wake instead of the aroma of Christ - I begin to forget: I forget who He is. I forget who I am. I forget that He is in control. I forget that He holds me. And the result? Fear. Fear that I will not get it all done. Fear of man. Fear of the future. Fear for my children and my family. The absence of stillness leaves me scurrying around, scared. I am a frenzied mess of fear and forgetfulness, filling my life with too many things. In my flesh, I want to go fast, get it all done and forgo His help. But the need for speed will never lead me to where I need to be: my knees. And so on this particular Saturday, I go on a walk at a nearby lake and force myself to sit down. It’s almost too much to bear - I cannot stand the silence. I get back up, pacing nervously…and then I try again - back to the bench - and I stay, I linger. I let myself be seen by God. And when I still, the dust of my soul settles. God slows me and shows me what I need to know. He speaks and steadies me. He strengthens me and helps make sense out of my life. He saves me from myself. Why do I resist so stubbornly when I find all that I need when I still myself with Him? Jesus reminds me what I keep forgetting, these truths echoing loud in Psalm 46: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever present help in trouble” (Psalm 46:1). “The LORD Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress” (Psalm 46:7). And from His own lips: “‘Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth” (v. 6). He helps me remember the Truth: He’s both omnipotent and intimate. He’s there - enthroned - and here - encircling me; over it all and within my very being. He is all-powerful and my “ever present” help. He has all authority AND He’s my Abba Father. What more do I need? What have I been running around for all this time, anyways? We must learn this skill of being still for the sake of ourselves and our marriages and our children. It will go against our wills and our world, but it is worth the fight because the stillness is where Jesus meets us. There is no substitute for being still - it might just be the most important thing we ever do. It’s the upside down way of the Kingdom: the filling comes in the stilling. We are only fully satisfied when we choose to abide. And so I stay on that bench by the lake, the longest I’ve sat down all week. The cotton swirls around me, the water stirs, the reeds sway, but I am still - He is reigning on high and within my heart, and all is well.

“The righteous will flourish like a palm tree, they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon; planted in the house of the Lord, they will flourish in the courts of our God. They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming, ‘The LORD is upright; he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in Him.’” Psalm 92:12-15 Snow days in Charlottesville, Virginia were the most glorious of days. During my college years there, we would often get a huge dumping of spring snow in February or March. We would pray for that email from our dean that would tell us…classes are canceled! And the celebration would begin. My housemates and I would enjoy popcorn and snow cream by the fire (how did I, a Minnesota girl, not know about snow cream until moving to Virginia?!?). Someone would pull out their guitar. We’d sing and tell stories. Homework became a distant memory as we read and rested and reveled in the beauty of the snow outside. Those days were marked by joy; they were like an escape from the duties of real life. Like a dream. What if I told you that God wants to give you a day like this EVERY SINGLE WEEK. He really does - God wants to give you the gift of Sabbath. I’ve struggled with Sabbath since becoming a mom. I’ve wrestled because…motherhood is so hard. Most days feel long, draining, and full of WORK of all kinds. There’s always something to do. If I take a day off, there will be more to do on the other side of that day. How could I possibly take a Sabbath? But there’s this beautiful Psalm - Psalm 92 - and it is a song for the Sabbath day (the ONLY psalm specific to the Sabbath). And it describes the JOY of this day - full of singing and celebrating and remembrance and worship. And it tells us why the Sabbath is not optional as we follow Jesus: the Sabbath brings forth flourishing. The psalmist compares the righteous to a palm tree 🌴 (just like in Psalm 1!): they will “flourish like a palm tree and grow like a cedar of Lebanon.” (the date-palm tree referenced here could grow to be 70 feet tall and live up to 200 years! The region to the north of Israel was known for their beautiful forests of towering cedar trees.) The righteous will also be “planted in the house of the LORD, they will flourish in the courts of our God.” They will be close to Him, in His courts - the Living Water, the Sustainer of life to the full. AND - “[the righteous] will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green.” As we walk in the way that God outlines in His Word, will have life to the full: flourishing, abundant life. The Sabbath is part of how God breathes life into our souls, helping to sustain us and enabling us to bear lasting fruit. Without the Sabbath we will shrivel up, the life sucked straight out of us. We will be like dry drooping plants in the desert: thirsty and unsatisfied. But God desires so much more for us! The funny thing is, we resist the Sabbath with every fiber of our beings. It’s like we are given this snow day, this weekly invitation to partake in Sabbath rest, and we force our way to work instead - shoveling our way out of the snow and ignoring the weather warnings. We refuse to stop, to savor, to receive, and to rest. We refuse God’s way and plow our own path. In doing so, we deny God’s blessings. We run ourselves ragged. Our bodies and minds experience the wear and tear of work without ceasing, and we eventually burn out. We do not flourish or experience all that God desires for His people. We are stubborn! We are going to have to fight to surrender our sense of control, hold out our hands, and receive the good gift of the Sabbath. I do want to be honest with you: It’s going to be hard to Sabbath as a mom. It is not always going to go perfectly, and it will definitely not always feel 100% amazingly restful. But I assure you, it’s still worth it to try. I hope my kids remember our Sabbaths together with as much joy as I remember snow days in Charlottesville. I hope they remember me being as relaxed as I ever was on Sundays. I hope they remember me resting and not always working, singing and smiling and not always stressed. I hope that my modeling of Sabbath gives them permission and a desire to also accept God’s invitation to rest, so that they can flourish and thrive all the days of their lives.

“You are my Lord, apart from you I have no good thing…Lord, you alone are my portion and my cup; you make my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance. I will praise the Lord, who counsels me; even at night my heart instructs me. I keep my eyes always on the Lord. With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.” Psalm 16:2, 5-8 My youngest, Kinley (2 years old), has recently discovered her ability to climb out of her crib (oh, joy! 🙈). After putting her down for her nap or bedtime, we hear her crib creaking and hitting the wall as she thrusts herself up and over the side of it and sneaks to her door. She’ll peer out at us, thrilled by the “freedom” she is experiencing - alone in her room, unbound by crib bars. She feels “free” and like a “big girl” but in reality she is overtired, pushing against boundaries, and forcing her way out of the safe place prepared for her. I have found myself in a similar situation many times over the course of the past five years - butting up against the “boundary lines” God has placed around me in motherhood. Psalm 16 describes “boundary lines” related to God’s allocation of land to Israel, but boundaries as we experience them may concern a variety of things: finances, time, capacity, marriage, health, work, location, family needs, and seasons, among other things. We may find that we are limited in certain areas because of our specific life circumstances - these are the boundaries around us. Sometimes, I refuse to live within my boundaries - this has looked like over-scheduling myself or my children; wondering if I should be doing what I see another mom doing; ignoring my body’s need for rest; looking at my neighbor’s house and trying to convince my husband we should move two doors down (yes, I actually did this recently. No, we didn’t move 🤪). I’ve found myself looking over to the other side of the fence to see the grass looking greener on the other side, wondering why I am confined to my plot of land. When I am trying to push past the boundaries of my season, Psalm 16 brings me back to what is good and right and true: “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places, surely I have a delightful inheritance” (Psalm 16:5). It can feel easy to fixate on the boundaries around my life and grow in frustration towards them: Why can’t I do that in this season? Why don’t I have freedom in this area of my life? Why does she get to experience that now and I don’t? I fall so easily into the pit of comparison and the deception of discontentment, letting my mind and heart wander outside of the space God has assigned to me. What is actually true about boundaries: they are a blessing. God is not punishing you, but rather preserving good for you. God has lovingly given you these specific limits in this season for a reason. He did not accidentally allocate “your” land to the mom on the other side of the fence. He is not randomly restricting you or overlooking your life. Rather, he has assigned you to a specific space out of love and care for you, and accepting your limitations will allow you to enjoy your land. What if our boundaries are what bring us back to Jesus - binding us to the vine, and bringing us to our knees? What if we stopped despising our boundaries and started delighting in them? What if we refused to compare and started declaring: “Apart from You, I have no good thing” (Psalm 16:2)? May God give us the ability to see our boundaries as they are (a blessing!) and yield to them. May we continually fight to see the beauty within our boundaries. And may we live within our limits, trusting that God has so lovingly gifted us with a specific space in this season of life for a reason.

Many seasons in motherhood, it has felt difficult to pick up a Bible. Sometimes, it has felt almost impossible - have you been there before? Sleep-deprived, overwhelmed, pressed for time, and in need of a shower (which describes the majority of the last five years of my life 😂). In these times, I have reached for the psalms. They have brought me comfort, peace and hope. They have given me a firm place to stand in the midst of chaos and weakness, and have taught me to delight in God’s Word. The psalms have reminded me of God’s promises so that I won’t forget them (mom brain is real). They have tethered me to Jesus as I have struggled through the little years. I am grateful to God for the psalms, and this summer, I’ll share some thoughts on those that have impacted me deeply in the midst of motherhood. It was a chilly morning in February a few years back when my mother in law called us crying. A tornado had ripped through her neighborhood in North Carolina - damaging her home and leveling others to the ground. Lives were lost and the landscape of the neighborhood was transformed as the enormous pine trees that had once provided shade and beauty were toppled by the tornado. However, the force of the tornado was no rival for the palm trees - they remained standing strong, and continued to flourish despite the powerful storm they had faced. We saw it with our own eyes in March when we visited! This is what Psalm 1 is all about : how can we be like the palm trees rather than the pines? How can we remain steadfast despite the raging storms and struggles of life and motherhood? Psalm 1 describes the “righteous” - those whose “delight is in the law of the Lord, and who meditate on his law day and night” (v. 2) - and the psalmist calls them “blessed.” They are compared to a palm tree: “which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither - whatever they do prospers!” The palm trees mentioned here would have been planted by a source of water because the land did not receive adequate rainfall - proximity to a river or stream was vital, allowing them to thrive. The righteous dwell in the Word - meditating on it “day and night” - and they “delight” in the Word. They don’t just know the Word of God, but they rejoice over it and receive it and realize their desperate need for it. Their roots are dug deep in the Word. And this is the promise of God for the righteous: they will be sustained and satisfied as they root themselves in proximity to Him, just as the palm trees are sustained by their source. The righteous will flourish and bear good fruit, even in desert-like conditions! On the other hand, the wicked “are like chaff that the wind blows away” (v. 4) and they will come to destruction (v. 6). They will be like the pine trees - fragile and forgotten as the tornado whisked them away. Their shallow roots will fail them and the storms of life will shake them. It’s no accident that the Psalms begin here - reminding us to anchor ourselves in God and His Word alone. May this be the summer where we become more like the palm trees - planting ourselves as close to Jesus and His Word as possible so that we can THRIVE and flourish in the ways that God desires for us.