As a writer, there is nothing more beautiful than a blank page. It’s fresh, clean, and full of possibility. In this month I’ve dubbed “Makeup-Free May,” I’ve come to see my face as just that, a beautiful blank page, but it’s taken me every bit of the last thirty-one days to get here.

“Oh my gosh, Karey, are you dead?” I teased. She cackled. “Anne, I thought I was dying! Do you have any idea what a kidney stone feels like?” We chatted and laughed about the unexpected turn of events of that day. I told her to enjoy the special pain meds while she could and I’d see her back at the store bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning. That was the last conversation we ever had. I’m glad it was spent in laughter.

For me and my husband, the desert is reminding us we are more than just a pastor’ and pastor’s wife. We are being asked to reside and be still in the faith we’ve spoken of so frequently. We are well outside our comfort zone, struggling with our identity outside of church walls. But we know it was God’s voice that led us here, and it will be His voice that leads us out.

The reward is in the hugs, the high fives, and the “I made this for you" artwork. Teaching is so much more than pushing the curriculum and administering tests. Teaching is about relationships. Teaching is giving students a safe, trustworthy space not just to learn something, but to be something.

We’ve probably all heard this story before. Most of us know it as the story of the “prodigal” son, which by definition means he was the son who spent money recklessly and was wastefully extravagant, (and that’s fair because that’s exactly what he did). But while he certainly was selfish, impatient, and obscenely impetuous, those were all just symptoms of what he really was, and what he really was, was lost. 

There have been seasons in our marriage where I’ve needed to roll up my sleeves, cast off my selfish ways, put on my big girl pants, and embrace my job as a wife like my husband’s life depends on it, and this has been one of them. Along with motherhood, it is the greatest honor God has ever given me.

I had resigned myself to the fact that I would never know more than the few details my mother could give me about her biological daughter. All my questions, (Do we look alike? Does she know she was adopted? Is she healthy? Is she happy? Does she wonder if she has any other siblings out there? Does she have a family of her own?) would go unanswered. Until three years ago.

My first memory of science education is in the fourth grade. We were studying the parts and functions of the eye. If you ask me a thorough diagram would have sufficed, but apparently, a more “hands-on” approach was needed and every last one of us had to examine and dissect the eyeball of a cow. It was as ghastly as it sounds.

Red is not a good color on me. As in, the emotion. Although come to think of it red isn’t a good color on me period. My wardrobe contains zero pieces of red clothing. That’s symbolism if I ever saw it. If I avoided anger the way I do red sweaters I’d probably be a lot better off.

Do you pray for comfort? For healing? For guidance? For forgiveness? For a miracle? Ask for it in Jesus’ name. Believe in the power His name holds. Then watch what happens.

If like me, you are in a season of perpetual winter, I want to offer you hope. Winter doesn’t last forever, but we must be patient. When God moves, the clouds clear, sun breaks through, frost melts, and fresh hope springs up. Spring is coming. Just keep singing.

I love sprawling out on my couch or curling my legs underneath me in my favorite armchair. I love settling in knowing the entire day lies before me with nothing on the agenda but to just write.

We need to begin by admitting we don’t have enough to be everything to everyone, or to do it all. We can’t offload the weight we carry without first confessing we trust Him to carry it for us, because we’re just not capable on our own. Bottom line? We are not enough, not without God.

I’ve put a lot of distance between me and my regrets, and it wasn’t until I reached a certain mile marker that I was ready to see what had become of them all. I’m amazed at what I’ve found. God has done what only He can. He’s taken my regrets and He’s turned them into new dreams, new goals, new possibilities. God has breathed new life into my failures.

You may recall in last year’s letter I mentioned our neighbors planting an inflatable outhouse on their front lawn, with Santa peeking out from behind the door. What I wouldn’t give for those days. Now we have thirteen (that’s right, we counted) actual port-o-potties lining our street. It really sets the welcoming, southern hospitality vibe we were hoping for.

“A part of childhood we'll always remember. It is the summer of the soul in December. Yes, when you do your best for love it feels like Christmas. It is the season of the heart, a special time of caring, the ways of love made clear. It is the season of the spirit. The message, if we hear it, is make it last all year.” -The Muppets

It’s not the food itself though that makes the connection. It’s the company in which we share it with. I could come up with dozens of options for my last meal, but if I had to eat it alone, it wouldn’t matter much at all. Our chosen “comfort foods,” comfort us not with flavor, but with memories of home, of family, of happy times.

Sometimes the “good” part of our good news wears off and it dawns on us; there was a lot we hadn’t really considered. It’s funny how that works isn’t it? Soon after we get good news, fear sets in.

#8 Chop, stir, saute, baste and brine all the day long, trying to remember why I put myself through all this trouble just to show I’m “thankful.” Mutter things like, “I’ll be thankful when this day is over,” as I nurse my third hot oil burn of the day. Set my sights on the pumpkin pie and extra large tub of Cool Whip chilling in the fridge. Wonder what everyone else will eat for dessert.

Providence came home from school a week ago and turned over a note to me, written by a boy in her class. It said, “I like you. Do you like me, even though we just met?” (except without the proper spelling or punctuation, but I’m a writer and can’t leave it uncorrected even for the sake of accuracy, so just use your imagination). Sweet, right? Here’s the kicker. At the bottom of the note he’d made two check boxes, both labeled “No.” I stared, nonplussed.