 “The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”
-Luke 1:28, NIV Did you know that Mary, the mother of Jesus, was a teenager? The Jewish tradition of that time was girls were married around 12 or 13 years old. It’s estimated by some scholars that Mary was probably between 13 and 14 when she gave birth to Jesus. Can you imagine God appearing to your teenage self?
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There are two kinds of thankfulness: the easy kind, and the kind that you offer in the midst of a fight.
The easy kind flows when life is peaceful, kids are getting along, your heart feels full, and everything goes as planned. Of course we’re thankful for these things! But the other kind — the battle-cry kind — is forged in the middle of anxiety, sleepless nights, unanswered prayers, and overwhelm. That kind is a sacrifice of thanksgiving. It’s worship…and warfare. As soon as it’s offered, it changes the atmosphere. The longer I walk with Jesus, the more I realize: Gratitude isn’t about being positive. It’s about being postured. It’s not a self-help, fluffy tool. It’s a weapon. It’s obedience. It’s faith… 
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 …” 
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? 
There’s something sacred about the table. It’s where stories surface, laughter spills, and sometimes—healing begins.
Around the table, we learn to ask questions that go beyond “How was your day?” We begin to ask, “How’s your heart?” As part of our “At the Table” series, I wanted to finish out our month strong by inviting you into a conversation that I was able to have with some incredible women at an event called Bloom in Charlotte, NC. As a part of a panel, I was asked a series of questions and wanted to share those responses here. Below you’ll find —a reflection on healing, identity, and what it means to walk with God through the long, slow process of becoming whole. If I were taking notes from what I shared at Bloom, this would be it. BUT if you want to listen to the full answers live, make sure you check out the Miracle in the Mess Podcast. May these questions and those at the very end of this blog spark your own At the Table conversations when you’re ready to share a little more heart and soul… 
Here’s my confession — I used to think I was an extrovert.
Mostly because I genuinely love people. I’ve always been up for a good party or hangout. For years, I worked as a camp counselor, followed by even more years in ministry. People are great! But then I got married to a true extrovert. After long stretches of social time, I’d feel the urge to disappear — to read a book, play music, or write alone. My husband, on the other hand, wanted to keep the evening going. “Should we invite someone else over? Grab dinner with friends?” he’d ask. His tank would be overflowing while mine was running on empty. Surprise! I’m actually pretty introverted — and I need quiet time to refuel. Still, I love hosting. Curating a cozy weekend hangout or cooking a meal for friends genuinely fills me with joy. Our home has an open-door feel, and our friends and neighbors know they’re welcome to pop in anytime. I’ve always loved Hebrews 13:2, which says: “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” Extrovert, introvert, or somewhere in between — we’re all called to show hospitality. If we ignore that call, we might miss out on angels… or the very answers to our prayers walking through our doors. So yes, we open our homes. But if you’re like me, there comes a point when you need to recharge from all that “people-ing.” With the holiday season approaching, how can we love others well and protect our own peace? Here are a few gentle, introvert-friendly ways to host without burning out: 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… |