One step at a time.

pc: Penny Hayward









My darling two year old daughter is turning three next month… and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was turning fourteen. The sassiness is unending as she tries to declare herself independent — a “big girl”, and I can feel myself coming undone not only at the thought of her actually growing up (there’s nothing I can do to stop that, right?) but each time she pushes back at my gentle (and #truestory sometimes not so gentle…) guidance.

And just when I think I can’t handle one more blatant opposition to my asking her to put her shoes on so we can leave or go to the potty so she doesn’t have an accident she says it one. more. time.


What the heck, kid!? Seriously. Haven’t you learned by now that I’m your mom and I love you and I’m only here to help you learn and grow and not pee yourself? I feed you and love you and hug you and we laugh together and cry together and play together. You depend on me for EV. RY. THING. and yet you still oppose me on the simplest of instructions.

I know with my daughter that this is simply a milestone. One where she’s learning her independence and asserting herself. Learning boundaries, pushing them, pressing beyond them, and swinging back to center. Competencies, as a parent, I hope to both foster and help hone in her as she grows. Beautiful, wonderful, vital skills that will be used her whole life long.

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. That’s how God operates with me these days — hitting me over the head with bricks. That’s really the only way to get my attention right now since I’m constantly being pulled in approximately fourteen different directions by two small children, head spinning, mind racing, having to make decisions in a snap all day long to keep us all from physically and emotionally perishing. I know some of you feel me on that.

The brick came and fell fast and hard:

I don’t want to, either.

I don’t want to do what you’re asking me to do, God. I don’t want to.

I don’t want to be a writer, I don’t want to put myself out there. I don’t want to be vulnerable and share my words and be exposed — naked for the whole world to see and judge. I just don’t want it. It doesn’t feel safe.

Recently, God placed a new calling in my hands. One that feels uncomfortable and strange. It doesn’t feel like it quite fits me yet. It’s not something I wanted to do or asked to do or prayed for, but something I’m being trained up to do by obediently walking with Him. One step at a time.

He asked me to write. He gave me a gift and told me to use it and is opening doors and giving me space to do so. I don’t know what this is supposed to look like, but He continues to promise me that He will give me the words to say if only I will do my part by sticking by His side and putting pen to paper… or fingers to keyboard.

So, here goes, my friends. Here goes…