As We Wait

I understand my last post was heavy, but the sun is shining again! Lydia has now fixed her language of explanation: “Mom and Dad are adopting me a sister or brother!” And she is also making an adoption plan for a toy that she’s saving up for. After she gets enough money, she is going to “adopt” a stuffed animal Chase from Paw Patrol to play with her stuffed animal Skye the same size. Be still my heart!

As we wait for our last trainings, we are reading a book called “Toddler Adoption: The Weaver’s Craft.” We are not very far into the book, but we realized that back when we started talking about adoption, we were thinking about an older child (but younger than Lydia). We have no idea the child God has in store for us, nor the age by time we welcome him or her into our family. But we are preparing for any child 0-5, because Lydia is currently 6. I didn’t fully understand all the trauma of an adopted toddler, and I still don’t completely comprehend. But one thing I did learn? The Chihuahua we adopted a year and a half ago is showing similar traits. I almost laughed, but I understand our dog so much more! The barking at the people she doesn’t trust, the clinging to those she completely does. The protecting of her “person” (that’s me, by the way…she’s never far off!).

We have decided to begin preparations for our new child. We have a spare bedroom – always meant for kid number two, in my book. Doug and I have been listing ideas how we can “toddler-proof” and clean out the current guest bedroom. The book encourages adoptive parents in their preparation, validating “nesting” before a new child and making it feel more real. I found this poem in the book, as well, and it spoke to my heart.

Song of the Waiting Mother

I’m pregnant, but my tummy isn’t growing,

And no one ever calls me ‘little mom.’

The public simply isn’t overflowing

With questions that I’d handle with aplomb.

There are no special clothes to mark my waiting.

Nobody stops and smiles as I pass by.

The absence of a due-date is frustrating

And looking at the nursery makes me cry.

When I’m overdue no one will worry.

The phone won’t ring and ring as friends check in.

I can’t induce my labor in a hurry,

My new life as a parent to begin.

Adoption is a worrisome endeavor,

And waiting all alone is not much fun.

To be ‘with child’ a year seems like forever.

Dear God, we’re ready! Please send us our son!

By Christine Futia, 1989

We have a little way to go before our home study even begins, and who knows how much longer until a match is made. It could be fast, or it could take years. The lack of a due-date is frustrating.

In the meantime, I wait. I wait and prepare myself. I wait and prepare Lydia. I wait, as patiently as I can (God help me!). Doug and I are learning. Preparing. And when God says it’s finally time, we’ll be ready.

Blessings, friends!


Grief and Waiting

Grief. It’s an odd thing. Dictionary dot com defines it as, “keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.” I’m a typically happy person. I was accused in college: “You can’t possibly be this happy all the time!” But I was. That was a season of discovering myself and growing in my relationship with Jesus in a way I hadn’t before. I know what can happen if I simmer in sadness and isolation, and I don’t want the anxiety or depression to get a grasp on me. I’ve had those seasons, too. It took a counselor in college telling me that it was okay to grieve the MS diagnosis. I think I am re-grieving the diagnosis, the progression, and toll it has taken on my body. When I became pregnant with Lydia, I started using a rollator walker. My spasticity was not good, but I was using it to walk. My spasticity is better now, though I am in a wheelchair all the time. We don’t know what another pregnancy would do to my body. I am stable now, on medication to help. DrH and I have always talked about adopting. Now done with training, we can together focus on doing an application. While doing trainings, it is talked about how adoptive parents may feel grief because they aren’t having the baby. “Not me,” I thought. I haven’t miscarried, nor do I struggle with infertility. But I was wrong about that grief.

I’m not much of a crier, but I was in tears last night. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from at first. DrH and I talked a long time. It’s not only the fact that I can’t have children. Even on birth control, I knew that God can do the impossible. It was a prayer in my heart that I would “accidently” get pregnant again. But God knows what’s best. He always does. And as we’re going through the process of applications, home study, and trainings to take home a child, I have felt a wave of sorrow wash over me. I will not experience the joy of pregnancy. Of keeping track of the growing being inside me. Even with all the hardships that come with pregnancy, there really is nothing like it.

In an article I found on iMom dot com, it gave a list of dos and don’ts for when a woman you know has a miscarriage. The very first don’t on the list was something I do all the time: “Don’t try to solve her pain with platitudes or talking about the positives.” That is my go-to for many things in life. Probably not in the way the article is referring, but I try to bring positives to the light, even if someone doesn’t want to see it. (Yes. I am that highly annoying happy morning person.) That point continues, “Let her come to the bright side on her own.” But that’s hard for everyone. At least I didn’t have to suffer a miscarriage. At least my body is still stable. At least. At least. But I know that God has our next child picked out for us.

The waiting. Oh, the waiting. We can inactively wait, or we can intentionally wait. I found an article on iBelieve dot com that discussed the choice of being stuck in our suffering or intentionally waiting on God. The Bible has so many examples of both. Isaiah 40:31 says, “But those who trust in the Lord will renew their strength; they will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not become weary, they will walk and not faint.” We all know God can do anything. He can turn every situation around, as well. We just need to shift our focus. The article says, “If we can recognize that being stuck is a fragment of our anxious imagination, then we can shift our thinking to intentional waiting instead.” So while I wait, I think I’ll love on my daughter, while she is still the only kid in the house. While I wait, I am going to read my Bible more. While I wait, I’ll be intentional and never lose the hope that our God has for us.

Be blessed, my friends.


Adding to Our Family

“Mom and Dad are going to buy me a little sister!” Lydia said eagerly to some neighbors we hadn’t seen in a bit.

“Is that so?” they asked, looking at me with questions in their eyes.

“Adopting. And no, we haven’t matched yet. We’re still doing paperwork.”

And so, I sit in front of the computer screen trying to find a way to announce to my friends and family that we have begun the adoption journey. Since November, we have been applying to various agencies and various countries through them. Each country is pretty strict on the health of the adoptive parents. After getting no after no, we have begun the process through an agency in Minnesota to adopt domestically. As of typing this, we are on the second application, which is the meat of the paperwork and various online trainings.

There are so many unknowns. We have prayed (and still are!), applied, and continually received resistance. A wise friend told me, “God knows who your next child is, and where he or she is coming from. Maybe that’s just not how you’ll find them.”  

Mary wasn’t even expecting the child, but when an angel told her she would give birth to God’s Son, she was willing. If it was God’s Son, everything should work out how she wanted, right? I wonder if Mary and Joseph doubted God’s will when there was no room for them to stay. Surely, this can’t be right. But it was actually God’s will that His Son be born humbly, surrounded by animals in a barn.

I have heard heartbreaking stories of moms changing their minds at the last minute. Yet I have heard heartwarming stories of a baby coming to the adoptive family by what can only be God’s intervention. When we got married, I thought I would have kids close together, like my sisters and I. But God had other plans. He is using this unfortunate (in my eyes) disease that is prohibiting me from doing things I always dreamed of. Doug and I have met so many friends from all over the world, and we thought that God was calling us to adopt internationally. We feel confident as we work with this Minnesota agency. I certainly never wanted there to be much of an age gap. Lydia is already 6! Therefore, we continue on this journey, placing our hope in the One who knows the whole story (the end, too!).

Be blessed, friends!


Still a long ways to go,m but we have begun the adoption process!

On the Farm: Last Week, Yesterday, and Next Year

The little girl squealed in glee as a kitten hopped toward her. Ducking behind a haybale, she pretended to be surprised when found by her little friend. Sally, age 5, loved playing with the baby kittens up in the hayloft on the farm. The mama cats would put their kittens up there to keep away from the farm dog who might disturb the cuties. A hayloft had holes in the floor so that the hay could be tossed up into the hayloft for storage, or tossed back down when needed. Full of bales of hay, the hayloft was perfect for playing and having all sorts of adventures. As she was playing that day, Sally suddenly tumbled down one of the holes! Eyes squeezed shut, Sally landed in a soft bed of hay. Opening her eyes, she looked into the eyes of a cow, whose slobber she watched slowly fall onto her forehead.

“You okay?” her dad asked softly.

“Yes,” Sally answered slowly, still watching the cow above her face.

“Don’t tell mom,” said her dad, as he again continued the chores he had been doing.

Sally Hibma grew up on a farm near Rushmore, MN. In the 1950s, each farm was an entity. That means that all the farms had crops, milk cows, and farrowing hogs. The oldest of four, Sally’s first job was to help “slop” the hogs. At age eight, she would drive a tractor to bring the food out to the hogs in the field. After pouring the yeasty-smelling “slop” for the pigs, she would go and come back with water. By the age of ten, she was rotary hoeing fields and raking hay when it was time to bale.

“I loved growing up on a farm,” she said. “There is a difference between kids that do and ones that don’t. Most have a certain discipline about them.”

Her father, J. Marion Lester, rented about 200 acres. His wife, Iris, had a huge garden, as did most farm wives. Nobody owned a thresher (or a combine) themselves. As a group, neighbors would go from field to field, harvesting as a team.

Sally never wanted to marry a farmer, although her sisters would have gladly. When Gary Hibma proposed, he asked her if she would be okay being a farm wife. She said she would, “but I don’t do chickens.” She also never liked gardening, so she did not include that in her job description as she and Gary raised a family and farmed. By the 1970s, there were fewer farmers, but they all had more land. Gary farmed about 1,000 acres and contract raised about 3,000 hogs. Sally stayed at home with her children Jim, Vicki, and David, until only one was not going to school yet. She would then take little David to ride in the tractor with her during the day. With his toys and a lunch packed, he would take turns playing and sleeping to the lull of the tractor.

When all the kids were in school, Gary once had Sally ride in the combine with him. He explained that he would get out, and she would drive to the end of the row. He would help her from there. All of a sudden, Sally realized she was already at the end of the row! Looking for her husband, she saw Gary outside the combine, waving at her! Even with the rocky start, she ran the combine from there on out. She never listened to the radio when she was in the combine. She listened to everything in the machine, knowing exactly what everything was supposed to sound like. One day, she was riding along, when suddenly, she heard a “CLUNK.” Not knowing what the sound was, she immediately stopped and shut everything down. Using the CBC radios that farmers used, she got ahold of Gary and waited to be rescued. When Gary came, he found that the sound his wife had heard was the last bolt coming out of the tire. The combine was balancing on the unattached tire!

“That’s Gary’s favorite story,” she shared. “Had anyone else been driving, listening to the radio, who knows what kind of damage would have been done! It was definitely a God thing.”

When their second child, Vicki, got older, she would ask mom what was for supper. Sally would tell her what to make and how to make it. Once a family friend laughed and told Sally that he now knew all of the family recipes and how to make them. If your CBC radio was on the same channel as a neighbor’s, you heard them, too.

As their kids grew up and went to live lives of their own, the Hibmas still farmed. It was David who wanted to farm of their three. He started farming with Gary, who had started farming with his own father. Most recently, David’s son, Lance, is the one who wants to take over the farm next. Gary and Sally now live on Cherrywood Lane in Worthington. It was Lance who bought the house when the couple moved. A few more years of Lance farming the land, and it will turn into a Century Farm.

What was once hogs is now calves. Gary still visits the farm abour once a week.

“You know, my earliest memory of the farm was my dad selling the work horses,” said Sally. “Nowadays, tractors don’t even have all the levers like they used to. They all have buttons and computers—autosteer,” she laughed. “If farming can change that much in 70 years, what will it be like in the next?”


My word for 2023 is intentional. Dictionary(dot)com defines intention as the “act or instance of determining mentally upon some action or result.” Basically, doing something on purpose. What are my intentions? Who do I aim to be? From a Christian standpoint, who does God call me to be? This year, I will try to base my doings off of one question: Am I being intentional? Am I intentionally loving my family? Hanging out with my daughter? This or that friend? Am I being intentional when I teach a little girl to read notes on a piano, able to connect the notes on the staff with keys below her fingers? Messaging a friend?

There are many things that popped up in a Google search for intentional living. A lot of it had to do with goal-setting and trying to stick to a plan. Who is your intention to be? That is all fine and dandy, but I do believe that is a little above my head. I don’t need to have a goal of who I want to be in some distant future. What I do know is who I am: a wife, mother, daughter, sister. A music teacher and (not as often as I’d like) a blogger. I think I’d just like to be more. A little more of everything.

So, when my daughter comes in the house crying because it is way too cold (we moved to Minnesota this summer), I’ll warm her up and make her giggle. When I’m thinking about that friend of mine in Kentucky, I will message her and see how she is doing. I will pay attention. Why am I crabby? It is not my intention to blow up at my family. Let’s play scales on the piano. Lots of them, really loud. (A special thanks to my family who just leaves the room and waits for me to cool off.) I want to be more intentional this year. I’d like to keep blogging, too. Together, we will see where this year takes me!

Do you have a word for this year? What is it?

Be blessed, friends!


Poems and Books

I saw the woman in the chair; she was in church again today.

Someone said they’ve sold their house; they’re going to move away.

No! I cried, they cannot go; they cannot move away.

I didn’t get to know her; there’s something I need to say:

Please tell me your secret; I want to sit at your feet,

I need to know how you handle the pain that is your daily meat,

How do you keep on smiling when each day your health gets worse?

How do you keep depending on God when you’re living with a curse?

Every time I see her, her smile comes from deep within.

I know her fellowship with God isn’t scarred by the chair she’s in.

She admits her health is failing; she knows she’s fading away.

How can she remain so calm when I’m running away?

My friend, can you tell me how you can trust the Lord

How can you stay so gentle and sweet when He seems to wield a sword?

You are to me a promise even in the midst of pain

God is near and faithful if I will turn to him again.

Liz Hupp

When I heard the former poem, it became my prayer. But then this afternoon, Dr. H took my daughter to the park, so I played the piano for a while. I didn’t get through one song until my fingers became super tired. What was going on? My fingers might be out of shape, but when they are tired, I lose feeling and function. I grew frustrated, as my nap that day hadn’t gone well. So I wrote this next poem.

I am the woman in the chair; I go to church every week.

We’ve just moved again, so I’m new, but let me speak:

It’s true I lean on God for everything, and I’m strong because of Him.

I try to get involved, try and find friends in the community within.

But sometimes I want to cry, just cry.

“It’s not fair!” I yell. “Why me, Lord? Why?”

Why is my illness progressing? Why am I losing function?

Why am I the woman in the chair, the one receiving so many assumptions?

Why do I deal with chronic fatigue, amongst so much more?

It ruins my day, my motherhood, and even my simple chores.

But then His calming presence softly wraps around me.

“I’m still here,” He says. “It’s okay. Just be.”

I sigh as I let it all go. “It’s so hard,” I whisper into His shoulder.

I feel His embrace, and it somehow makes me boulder.

“How did you do it?” I ask. “When You walked the earth?”

“By leaning into My Father,” came the reply. “He’ll show you your worth.”

My eyes were suddenly opened to scripture, as I recalled His promises.

I am salt and light, adopted, and redeemed. I am justified, and I am His.

It doesn’t matter what comes next, because He always will be.

Things might be hard, but my God, He lives in me.

So I can be strong and praise Jesus with my everything.

It’s Him I trust, for health and for life. He is my King.

Anna E Meyer

I have heard people come up to me and tell me what an inspiration I am. I shrug, because I just do what I do, and I make do with what I have. But if someone is encouraged because I keep moving forward? Praise Jesus. Paul said, in Philippians 1, “For me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” I hope I can show Christ in my life. I know that one day I will walk and run again. I remember telling my two year old that same thing, so she stopped and prayed right then and there it would happen soon. My life is hard, but Jesus’ life was harder. So many of the early apostles were tortured and killed, all to the advancement of the church. Everyone knew about it and praised God that they were honored to share in Christ’s suffering. It’s hard to see it that way nowadays. Dr.H is reading a book and discussing it with me. “When Jesus Weeps: Why Our Sufferings Matter to the Almighty,” by Joni Eareckson Tada and Steven Estes (where I found the first poem). We are not but a third of the way through it, but boy, is it good. After playing a little piano this afternoon, I felt depressed and defeated. But the Lord speaks to me through my writing.

I’m the lady in the chair, and I think I’ve cooled down.

I’m a child of the Most High, so I’ll just adjust my crown.

I read scripture every night as I go to bed.

His Word is comforting, as I lay my head.

I write to my Lord and sing His praises every day.

I now understand that He’s the potter; I’m the clay.

Stealing lyrics, I’ll sing: Take my life and form it,

Take my mind, transform it. Take my will, and conform it

To Yours, to Yours, oh Lord.

I’ll stand with You and drawn sword.

 I don’t understand why I’ve got this disease,

But You work through Your children as You please.

Because of my life You’ve reached another,

And I don’t need to know reason any other.

Christ suffered while on earth, as well.

You understand and comfort as You tell

Of all the good things waiting for us in paradise.

You’ve made us Yours, You’ve paid the price.

All I can do is praise you today.

All I can write is how I love you always!

Anna E. Meyer

An hour or two after I wrote the first poem, I sat down to write the one above. I can be angry, and then the Lord swoops in somehow and makes me feel better. By reading scripture. Hearing a song, where the words just speak that day. More writing.  There are a lot of things that I, a mere human, don’t understand. My dad always said, “Ask God when you get to heaven.” My daughter, now 5, stops and prays right there that she can find out BEFORE she gets to heaven.

I do not even know how to end this blog post. Maybe I will start writing more. Whichever the case, be blessed, my friends!


A Narrative: Art

Anna’s fingers tapped the keys as she thought of what the post would be about. Her love of art. She smiled. Music was amazing. She loved it, had even majored in it in college, though the career path didn’t pan out. (How was she supposed to know she couldn’t handle entire classes of kids at once? Especially when they all had loud, unpracticed instruments in their hands?) Anna loved music, but she honestly wasn’t the greatest at it. She had to practice hard to keep up. Sight-reading? Not great. Remembering fingerings? Well, she remembered the keys, but refer to previous point. It gets all scrambled.

She smiled as she remembered the compliment she had received at church that morning on her Facebook album, “Bible Art Journaling.” She hadn’t done any Bible art for a while, but a new Facebook friend had recently discovered the album. She did love doing art in her journaling Bible, thinking deeply about the passage as she created its picture. It was fun to use various mediums as she created.

And words. Anna sure loved writing. She always had, really. Her spelling got better as she advanced in school, and currently, she cringes at misspelled words or grammatical errors. She loves writing dialogue. Music and sound are a strength of hers, after all. She is decent at writing the random blog post about one thing or another. But one of the hardest aspects that Anna struggles with is descriptions. If you’ve never met Anna, you don’t even know what she looks like, because I didn’t include that part of the description.

My lamp doesn’t stay up anymore cuz a little girl who lives with me kept pulling it

Anna made a face and hit “enter” too hard to start a new paragraph. She looked down at her hands on the keyboard. The ring on her left hand glimmered in the light of the lamp that was being cast that way. Shaking her head, Anna adjusted the lamp to get rid of the shadows on the left sides of her hands. Having a lamp was helpful, but it was even more so if it didn’t keep drooping too low.

“Hey, Doug,” she called out to her husband (who she refers to as DrH on her blog), “can you read this for me?” After he read what she had written (and laughed, of course), he started talking to her about her love of art. And it was what she needed to hear.

“Anna, before we were married, I didn’t know much about art,” he told her. “But, like this says, you love it. You know, you always ask what you have to give, because you have limitations. Art is something that you can give, and it helps you connect with people.”

Anna smiled as she felt his newly-shaved head of very short hair. “I love you,” she said. “And you’re right.”

“Before I met you,” he continued, “you were good at music and writing, but even since our marriage, you’ve learned so much about other kinds of art. Like painting.”

Anna looked around her living room, at all the signs that were hung on the wall, even though none of them went together. The pictures next to the Bible verse handwritten in chalk. The wood cross given to her by her dad, and the purple signs she requested of her aunt Pam before she even got married. The picture on canvas created by both her husband and daughter next to the fish. The other many Bible verses in different colors and different fonts on different signs. I’m getting totally distracted, she chided herself. Then, a comment from her dear sister floated through her head: “Anna, your house is like a novel, and it makes me tired.”

Lydia painted a horse but wanted a unicorn. DrH touched up and added a nice background.

Sternly shaking her head, Anna thought about her move this summer and the better decorating she’d probably do. But, she thought with a shrug, I do like my signs.

THIS NARRATIVE IS NOT DESCRIPTIVE! Anna looked helplessly at her husband, who is busy listing out the items in the house they’d be moving. Uff da, thought the Minnesota-native. My next attempt. Will hopefully tell you about a little more than what’s going on in my head!?

Until next time,


God’s Hand Amid Our Life Update

DrH and I started praying last year that God would lead us to the right job. Back when DrH applied for med school, he went to a bunch of interviews. After he interviewed at KYCOM (Kentucky College of Osteopathic Medicine), he turned down his remaining interviews. He just knew that KYCOM felt like home. When med school was coming to an end, he did away rotations to get a feel for the different residencies he was going to apply for. SIU Med (Southen Illinois University) was rated second on his list. After he matched to SIU, he realized that it was indeed a better fit than his first choice would have been. We’ve been seeing God move through our whole journey! DrH attended a recruiting event or two, and had two interviews. Avera in Worthington felt like KYCOM and SIU did when we got there. It felt like home.

Last fall, we started praying that God would find us a house. We started looking at the housing market after DrH signed his contract in December (but housing markets aren’t very good in the winter…). We found a realtor and toured a LOT of homes. The problem is, it had to be made handicap accessible. We were planning on remodeling whatever needed to be changed so that I would have access to every room in the house. A handicap bathroom, especially. It was February, maybe? When we discovered a subdivision that was being built in Worthington of condos/duplexes. These houses are one level and have wide hallways and doorways (as our builder said, “Baby Boomers love them!”). They keep building them, because people keep buying them. So we bought our house just before they finished up with the outside. We were forwarded the floor plan, and asked, “What changes would you like before we start putting up walls?” So we are treating this house like we’re building it! We picked out the flooring and paint colors, we helped design the cabinets, and I get a handicap bathroom! We own everything from the glass in, and we just need to okay it with the local home owner’s association to put something in our yard. That also means we don’t have to worry about lawn care or snow removal! All our neighbors will be at least 30 years older than us, but I am so excited!

When I pray about something as much as we’ve prayed for this job and this house, I think it’s easier to see God’s hand. We actually toured (virtually) one of our future neighbor’s houses, as Jean is in a wheelchair, too. I am excited to get to know my neighbors, and I am also excited to go back to Southwest Minnesota! We’ll only have to make a bigger trip to visit one side of the family, so it’ll be easier to plan and make time.

Until next time friends, be blessed!


Life Update and Getting Back to Myself

LIFE UPDATE: We are moving to Worthington, MN, where DrH signed a contract to work as a pediatrician! When we got married almost 8 years ago, we went right to our new house in Pikeville, KY, so he could start med school. And now, eight years later, DrH will finally be done with training (DWT)! No more will we get stipends disguised as paychecks to live off of. (Seriously. Residents provide cheap doctor labor.) THREE MONTHS. Three months until DrH is a licensed physician! Three months until we move (again). Three months to finish all I wanted to do in Springfield when we moved here for residency. I’m only here for three more months. But, I realized I’m HERE for three more months! Planning ahead is great, but let’s make the most of now!

A couple weeks ago, I attended a women’s conference here in town. I listened for God to speak to me. I hear Him more clearly when I’m writing. I heard a few things. The biggest: I have been neglecting so many things that I used to love to do. That were part of me. So in these next three months, I am going to get myself back. A huge part of me had always been writing. I started journaling in 2004 (soon after I was diagnosed with MS). It is a great way to comprehend everything and work through it. In 2010, I turned my journals into “Jesus Journals,” and started writing during my quiet times. Instead of telling my journal what was up, I told Jesus. This is also when I started to learn to listen for God’s voice (it takes time and practice!). Shortly after we moved to Springfield, I stopped journaling. I don’t know why, I just did. I haven’t been journaling daily, but a lot more often than I was a month ago!

Another huge part of my life was fellowship with other women. It’s always easier for them to come to me, and I love hosting! I am also part of our local MOPS chapter here in Springfield. We’ve been trying to meet, even if by Zoom, since the pandemic hit. Our last meeting, I shared part of my testimony. And after, I was talking with some other ladies about this or that. I am finally hitting that try-every-coffee-shop-in-town item off my bucket list! Playdates at my house! Coffee dates without kids! I am a born encourager, and I find so much joy in doing so!

Toward the beginning of the school year, I missed serving at church. I Pikeville, I played keys for the band. I have so missed being a part of something like that. I don’t play much anymore. For a couple years in college, I played drum set for Cru (campus ministry). I sure can’t do that anymore. Anyhoo, I digress. I began running lyrics! So every month or so, I am the lyrics operator during church. I love being there as the band is practicing. The stage is only accessible by stairs, but I have asked the worship pastor if he could build a ramp so I could get up there, too. It is so much easier said than done. I want to sing!

I have three months to pack up everything in the house. Three months to write. To build friendships. To encourage. I have no idea what the next chapter in my life may hold, but I can live out the next few pages now with boldness and purpose!

Be blessed, my friends!


Devotionals and Reading

It has been a long while since I’ve written anything here. Life happens, we all get busy. Today, I wanna talk devotions. I love a good devotional. I am always reading (at least) one all the time! It is such a good exercise to get into the Word of God daily. I used to not be so good at doing so, but the YouVersion Bible app has helped a ton. I also sign up for the occasional Bible study on Lifeway with a friend or read a devo separate from either. I want to share with you two awesome devo’s I’ve read, the second one recent. The narrative is AWESOME. Each of the books is supposed to be 40 days, but I think I finished each in a week or two. What are these devotionals I’m talking about?

My author friend, Joanna Alonzo, wrote these journeys of the heart that seek the Lord with yearning. I read the first book, “Woman in the Wilderness,” a few years ago. Each day has a narrative of a woman, followed by scripture and author’s reflections. If you are in or have been in a wilderness season, this book will speak to you. The description of the book says, “Every Christian in serious and ardent pursuit of Love Divine has, at some point, been the Woman in the Wilderness.” The woman who seeks her Beloved is you! It’s me! I was blown away by this devotional; it resonated with me, though I was not in a current wilderness season

The second book is a sequel, entitled “The Kingdom Child.” This is the book I’m so excited about finishing, I had to share it! The woman has just come from her wilderness journey, and she has now become part of His Kingdom. As in the first book, each narrative, or story, of the kingdom child is followed by scripture and reflections. The Kingdom Child is about growing in God’s kingdom and “exploring [His] heart for His children – in all our uniqueness and differences.” I loved meeting the other characters that the kingdom child interacts with throughout the story. It’s difficult to get along with, work with, or even love your neighbor – even if they are a child of the King, too! Even though I feel like I’m not in the growing season with the kingdom, I loved this book. Who am I kidding? We’re always growing, even if we don’t feel like it!

I love that YouVersion has a streak of days it tracks for you. It’s definitely better motivating to open up the app everyday. I also like to see how many Bible plans I’ve gone through and stuff like that. I’m definitely motivated by keeping track of things like that. I love reading Christian fiction that makes me think, as well.

Do you struggle to read God’s Word everyday? What helps you?

Be blessed, friends!