Twelve years ago, when I was preacher’s wife and a stay-at-home mom of five children, I had this idea. My family was my ministry but I had an itch that needed scratched. I needed an outlet for my faith that wasn’t animated or in silly songs. I needed to express my grown-up faith, form connections and build community.
This blog was born.
I chronicled the adventures and disasters of parenting. I shared the brokenness in my life. I thought my theological questions out loud. I exposed my journey into grief after the death of my son.
I wrote and wrote for the next nine years.
Then my pen grew still.
From the beginning, I promised God that I would say what he wanted me to say. When I sat at the keyboard trying to drag words out of my brain, I knew it wasn’t God. I was trying to force something that the Spirit wasn’t leading. So I quit.
Now, three years later, I see why. I’m not the same person I was before. I survived pandemic shut-downs and a church fracture. I lost the relationship with my best friend. I broke again.
I entered into a season of quietness, reflection and choices.
While my husband remained committed to ministry, I was done. I was despondent and depressed. I resented the life we had in ministry. If I could have run far away to the land of no mask and vaccinations, I would have.
Here’s where I have to pause to share where I went for help. Care for Pastors provided me with counseling and peers who got me without judging me. I heard things I needed to hear. I found friends I needed to find. God came for me when I didn’t have the energy to go to him.
I decided to stay. I stayed with Jesus. I stayed with ministry. I stayed with the church.
So, here I am. I am showing up. I’m ready to keep growing. I’m ready to go deeper into the heart of Christ.
I am ready to write.