If you were asked to give a, “How to” speech on a moment’s notice, what would you talk about? What special task or skill do you know how to do well? At 10 years old, I was the master of one thing: making Easy Doozits.

Jesus bucked every tradition, broke every rule and refused to conform. He was an outcast, a rebel, a fish swimming upstream. Where others condemned, He forgave. To whom others ignored, Jesus accepted. When others lashed out in anger, He remained quietly subdued, knowing He answered to no one but God. He wasn’t popular with the “cool kids.” He was betrayed by one of the few close friends He had, yet He didn’t retaliate. He was weird. We should be too.

Scream was the first and last horror movie I ever watched. For years the costume from the murderer in Scream was a wildly popular choice on Halloween. I made a point of crossing the street whenever I saw one. Okay fine, I still do. It’s been twenty-five years and that mask still strikes terror in my heart.

The accomplisher in me wanted nothing more than to work tirelessly for several straight weeks until our house had no projects left. I started to get invitations from new friends to join them for lunch, coffee, or an afternoon get together. I wrestled with thoughts of, “Maybe once I feel more settled, once my list is shorter, I’ll make time for new friends.” God wouldn’t hear of it.

God doesn’t just show His might in the intensity of the storm; His love packs an awful big punch too. He is no less there for the family who lost everything than for my family who lost nothing.

When my own words and abilities fall short, may my family know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God can be trusted and He will never leave them. They are never alone with Him on their side. With God, we can feel safe and secure. With God, we are always home.

We are so excited for what maybe waiting for us in Mississippi. We trust it will be good, even when it’s hard. Looking forward with eager and hopeful hearts doesn’t mean the leaving part is easy, but we are no strangers to closing chapters and starting new ones. We know from experience how beautifully God weaves relationships and experiences into our lives for very necessary seasons. As He calls us onward to new beginnings, He saves a space for us in the past, knowing we’ll need to turn back to it every now and then to gain strength, courage and comfort for what lies ahead.

We moved here seven years ago with the intention of putting down solid roots. We didn’t expect our plans to be upended, but we trust God’s ways are perfect. Closing this chapter and starting a new one is so very bittersweet. We are not moving on, only moving forward, and we are doing so with hearts overflowing with gratitude.

I grieve for the two men who live on in my kids. They have no idea what they’re missing. I grieve those lost relationships for my children. I grieve all the missing pieces to their past, their heritage, their flesh and blood. My grief is short lived though, because I look across my family room to my husband, the love of my life, nestled between our two beautiful children and I thank God he’s taken them from fatherless to “fatherfull.”

Dad, this one’s for you. It may be the least expensive thing I’ve ever given you but I hope it blesses you more than anything I could ever find at a store. I love you.

More often than not, being brave is about hanging in there when the going gets tough, standing your ground, and taking deep breaths when everything in you wants to take the easy way out. So if that’s the case, each one of us can look hard and close at our own lives and find the moments in which we’ve shown tremendous courage, however boring they may seem.

Tomorrow is the last day of school. We’ll kick off ten weeks of simpler, more carefree days. The days may feel long but the months are short. August will be here before I know it and the house will fall silent again. I refuse to wish it away. I can’t wait to bring back summer.

“A pastor’s kid who breaks the law. That’s the makings of a reality show isn’t it?” I asked. I wondered if this was how the preacher’s daughter in Footloose had started out, dabbling in petty theft before she donned her red boots and smoked joints with her abusive boyfriend. Lord, please be gracious.

To say I was a strong willed child is an understatement. My childhood is littered with examples that could easily be used as case studies in every parenting book. For maybe the first eight years of my life I lived on a steady diet of hot dogs, mac and cheese, and peanut butter jelly sandwiches. I refused to eat anything else.

To mothers still waiting, to mothers in mourning, to mothers who sacrificed, to mothers who are in the thick of raising littles or sitting in an empty nest, to mothers everywhere… You are seen.

My struggle with social anxiety sent me spiraling into some of the worst decisions of my life and burned some bridges I still haven’t rebuilt. So while I’ve been fully recovered and healed for over ten years, talking about it still brings up a great deal of discomfort.

A friend of mine recently asked me how old I was when I began writing, when I knew I really loved it. I paused and thought. “Since always,” I answered.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about our newlywed days, shaking my head in memory of all the things I didn’t know. I think back to our two bedroom apartment filled with furnishings of our parents’ cast offs, Ikea’s finest, a fridge full of his and hers soda (Pepsi for him, Diet Coke for me, because those were the kind of hills we were willing to die on back then and compromise was a thing of the future) and it feels like a whole other life.

My youngest child, my only son, turns 6 this week. I have so much I want to say to him. Happy Birthday, Justice Grant.

I’ve decided to stop nagging and let my kids take ownership of their own time. Instead of telling them what they should be doing, I simply tell them how much time they have until we need to be at the next thing, or until I start dinner prep and won’t be available to help them. How they choose to spend that time is entirely up to them. It’s been a big adjustment for all of us.