There are seasons when our prayers feel like they’re still being written.
This time last year I was a shell of myself. My body had become stuck in fight-or-flight mode. I couldn't sleep at all, could barely eat. It felt like my brain had broken and I had no idea how to get the pieces back together. After a trip to the ER, a psychiatrist appointment, counseling and deliverance sessions, and lots of support from my family and friends, I finally started to slowly exit my way off what I call the “hamster wheel,” the endless cycle of my OCD thinking. My brain had become locked in on sleep, obsessing over it to the point that I couldn’t rest. I couldn’t even really sit down. I was broken and I needed help. I cried out for deliverance. Every night, when my fear became the greatest, I would sit beside the Christmas tree with my Bible and journal. I would whisper and write prayers to God until I fell asleep in that chair. It was the only place I could rest for a while, right there in the arms of Jesus. So, I get it. If you’ve watched the clock tick and the calendar pages turn. You’ve carried longing in your chest like a stone, wondering whether God heard, whether “yes” is coming, or whether you’ll ever see the “yet.” And in that place—right in the middle of the incomplete, the undone, the still-becoming—you can still give thanks. Because gratitude isn’t an offering we present to God when everything’s tidy. Gratitude is a posture of the heart that whispers, “Even if …”
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I don’t know about you, but slowing down doesn’t come naturally to me. My default speed is “go.” Between motherhood, ministry, writing deadlines, and the ever-growing list of to-dos, I’ve often convinced myself that the faster I move, the more faithful I’m being. After all, productivity feels a lot like purpose—until it doesn’t.
Somewhere along the way, I realized that gratitude and hurry can’t coexist. One always chokes the other out… 
There’s a kind of gratitude that never makes it to Instagram.
Not because it isn’t beautiful, but because it’s quiet. Subtle. Hidden in the kind of moments no one claps for — the sock folding, the toddler tears, the seemingly ordinary Tuesday where dinner is chicken nuggets with a box of Annie’s mac and cheese and grace covers what energy can’t. As women, especially in a world that celebrates curated thankfulness — the handwritten pumpkin tags, the thanksgiving tablescapes, the picture perfect holiday family photo — it’s so easy to believe that gratitude is something to be performed rather than practiced. That we show our thankfulness by the way we present our lives, not by the posture we hold in the unseen corners of them. But the most transformative gratitude? Discipling during DinNER: 3 Practical Ways to Spiritually Connect To our Children at the Table10/14/2025  The kitchen has always been a sacred place for me. It’s the first place I wander to in the morning to make a steaming cup of coffee. For years, it’s been where I open my devotional and journal at the dining room table. It’s where our family gathers at the end of a busy day to share a meal, where friends lean their elbows on the island while I stir something on the stove, and where my husband turns on Johnnyswim, pulls me in close, and spins me around the floor. It’s where our kids dance barefoot to their favorite songs.
Our kitchens have hosted more birthdays, game nights, and holidays than I can count. There’s just something special about a kitchen, isn’t there? It’s both the place where we’re nourished and the space where we feel safe enough to make a mess. Maybe that’s why I believe the kitchen table is one of the best places to begin discipling our children… 
When I step away from the online world and back into real life, I don’t see people as opinions or political leanings. I just see a man and woman chatting in line at the coffee shop, a mom soothing her toddler at the grocery store, a teacher smiling as she opens the door for children to walk into school.
We live in a hyper-individualized culture, and social media only amplifies it. Platforms are curated for “Follow me. Like me. See me.” Me, me, me. But the Bible reveals a different way of living—one centered on community and interdependence. If we look at the first church gatherings, we see that they shared life together—including meals. The good news is this: when you decide to host a gathering, you don’t have to feel crushed under the pressure to provide it all. When everyone brings something, the table becomes a community space filled with dishes that reflect the uniqueness of each person. Maybe the way forward isn’t doing more, but sharing the table—and the load. Here’s what makes me ask… 
News feeds are full of fighting. Families are already split over politics, and group text threads are heavy with tension about who to avoid at upcoming holiday gatherings. Even in our neighborhoods, where we once waved and said, “Hey Bob, how are ya?”—now we avert our eyes, hurry to our cars, and escape into the next thing.
Across America, people are dodging personal connection out of fear of conflict—yet at the same time, we dash to our phones to fire off opinionated comments at strangers on social media. In a world pulling apart, what if the Church led the way in pulling chairs closer? Remembering Connection Before ScreensBefore social media, I had to ask my parents or friends about everything. By the time dial-up internet connected, I could’ve already gotten an answer from my mom and hopped on my bike for a neighborhood ride. When my perspective was off, someone who loved me corrected me and steered me straight. Now, we carry lightning-fast computers in our pockets. Any question, any opinion—seconds away. Then we curate feeds that echo back what we already believe. Before long, we’ve built an entire worldview reinforced not by people who know us, but by algorithms. And here’s the problem… 
Sabbath is a concept I’ve never fully grasped.
So when a reader of this blog and a Miracle in the Mess podcast listener asked me, “How do we rest without feeling guilty?”—I felt it deep in my bones. Because if you’re anything like me, rest often feels… unproductive. It’s Saturday morning. I’m curled up on the couch with my family, cartoons on, pancakes on the table, but my mind is buzzing. I can see the mountain of laundry threatening to touch the ceiling. I can hear the dishes calling my name from the sink. Before I know it, I’m back on my feet, crossing things off my list, telling myself I’ll relax once it’s all done. Except—it’s never all done. Even when I do sit down, I pull out my phone “just to scroll for a minute,” and suddenly I’ve traded the soft morning light pouring through my windows for the harsh glow of blue light. My body is paused, but my soul? Still racing. One more task. One more minute. One more thing to do. Sound familiar? The world we live in makes us feel lazy when we slow down. There’s always something to clean, a notification to answer, a podcast to catch up on, or a new “must-do” tip from Instagram. Our culture celebrates hustle and productivity, but deep down, our souls ache for stillness. So what do we do? How do we Sabbath well in a culture that never stops moving?   This morning, coffee in hand, I found myself watching the Today Show—a rare Friday treat. One headline caught my attention: Bed, Bath & Beyond is reopening stores. Apparently, people are ready to step away from the “add to cart” life and get back to touching fabrics, smelling candles, and chatting with store clerks.
As I sat there in my pj’s, I realized… the Western Church feels the same way. The Return to In-Person Worship During the pandemic, many of us shifted to watching church online. Weeks turned into months… months into years. Now, in 2025, something is stirring. We want to walk through church doors again. We want to hear live music, see familiar faces, sip coffee poured from a giant thermos by a volunteer, and watch our kids play together after service. But here’s what I’m hearing from worship leaders, pastors, and people in the pews… 
I’m writing this on a rainy day from my back porch. Water is streaming off the gutters while little pools are forming in the garden soil around flower buds. This day seems like a reprieve from the spring spark, those early weeks of the new season where we all become as busy as bees sprung from their hives to flit around outside to do yard work, clean up our homes, and find restaurants to eat at with picnic tables.
The spring weather in the Carolinas flip flops. We experience almost summer-like weather. Then, bam! In will come a cool breeze, drop in the temperature, and a ton of rain. After living in the Carolinas most of my life, I’m prepared for this seasonal swing. The winter coats don’t go up in the attic until May. Rain boots stay by the front door for our entire family so the kids aren’t tempted to ruin their shoes in a mud puddle. A ball cap stays ready on my dresser when the humidity suddenly threatens to grow my hair into a frizz ball. Even if you don’t live in a climate that experiences weekly weather surprises in the spring, we have all experienced shocking change. Besides death (and taxes, ha!), change is one of the only things that are inevitable in life. It’s not these continual shifts in seasons that tend to rock us. What’s hard is when we aren’t prepared for them. When a huge life problem, financial hardship, or a soul wrenching senario slams into our lives like an unexpected April shower, it’s miserable. We are caught in a spring rain without a coat. About six months ago and seemingly out of nowhere, anxiety attacks and insomnia began to wreak havoc on my life. I was shocked and scared. I didn’t know what to do or how to find reprieve from the storm. Through that experience, here are a few ways I learned that we can always spiritually stay prepared for whatever life may throw at us… 
A few weekends ago, I scattered seeds in the planter boxes in my backyard. I’m a rudimentary gardener at best but I do put whatever skill that I have to work in a small garden our family has out back. Daily, the kids and I have checked the dirt for any signs that the seeds have sprung to life and this week they finally have! Tiny bright green leaves are promisingly breaking through the soil and opening toward the sun, budding into zinnias, herbs, squash, cucumbers, peppers, and tomato plants.
It’s so exciting to watch a garden grow but it also requires a ton of time and continuous effort. Yet, I plant and harvest again and again, year after year, because I don’t think God has used anything to teach me more about life. With my hands in the loam, He reveals to me His principals, character, and technique for allowing His creation to thrive. So, as we dive into April, I felt like this was the opportune time for us to talk about three of these lessons God has taught me on my knees before Him tending to a plant… |
