How Time Passes

June 8, 2016


Over the weekend, I watched Molly play in a blow up pool and ride her bike around the cul-de-sac with her neighborhood friends. All the kids were barefoot, though their parents made a valiant effort to the contrary, standing up every so often from lawn chairs to holler, “Turn around!” “Too far!” “Car’s coming! Out of the street!”

We clipped and unclipped helmets. Kissed scraped knees. Applied and re-applied sunscreens in quick, uneven strokes.

And then as if the moment couldn’t absorb another inch of suburban nostalgia, the ice cream truck came slow-rolling through the neighborhood playing “Pop Goes the Wiesel” and all the kids lost their minds at the exact moment we were trying to shuffle them inside for dinner.

These days are so sweet.

Continue Reading…


What Surprised Me About Writing a Book

May 3, 2016


I woke up lighter last week, which is a remarkable statement coming from someone in the middle throes of pregnancy.

Last Wednesday I turned my book manuscript in to the publisher. Like, a draft of a book I wrote with my own two hands— the same hands that have wrung themselves out over the last year and half, that have held my face over the kitchen sink sobbing as I whispered to Mike, “I can’t do this. Who gave me a book deal? I mean I know NavPress is full of Christians, but could it be possible they are suffering from delusion?”

These hands have held steaming cups of coffee, one after another, as I studied Scripture, read books, jotted down notes in my journal, stared at a blank screen, pushed a stroller while frantically trying to organize my thoughts.

They have held a smartphone and scrolled, scrolled, scrolled through blog posts of other writers that are more eloquent, more clever, more famous, more wise.

I’ve felt unqualified 100% of the time. Still, I kept working.

Then last Wednesday these hands released that book.

Turning in a book felt like losing thirty pounds, like finding twenty dollars in your pocket, like hitting every green light for a mile.

Hitting ‘send’ to that submission email felt like crossing a finish line and being set free.

Continue Reading…