There was a season of my life when bedtime felt anything but restful.

I would crawl into bed exhausted after a long day, pull the covers up, turn off the lamp, and wait for sleep to come.

But it never worked that way.

The moment the lights went out, my thoughts turned on.

Suddenly, a massive list began scrolling through my mind like a teleprompter.

The things I had done.

The things I hadn’t done.

The phone call I forgot to make.

The email I needed to send.

The permission slip.

The appointment.

The groceries.

The thing I needed to tell one of my kids.

The conversation I wished I had handled differently.

The worry I hadn’t solved yet.

It was as if my brain had been quietly collecting unfinished business all day and decided bedtime was the perfect time to present it to me.

I used to think rest looked like a hammock on the beach.

The sound of waves rolling onto the shore.
A cool ocean breeze against my skin.
No responsibilities.
No schedules.
No one needing anything from me.

That, I thought, was rest.

Then reality set in.

You don’t have to see the whole path to take the next step.

When we approach life from a posture of prayer and surrender, God meets us there.

Sometimes while we are waiting, He is already working behind the scenes:
opening doors we cannot yet see,
closing doors we didn’t realize needed to close,
preparing hearts,
aligning circumstances,
and guiding us long before we recognize His hand at work.

Sometimes the roots beneath our relationships are not as healthy as we think they are.

Sometimes what looks like discernment is actually fear.
Sometimes what looks like wisdom is actually distance.
Sometimes what looks like righteousness is quietly rooted in pride, assumptions, or judgment.

And sometimes we do not recognize it until life places us on the other side of the table.

Have you ever looked in the mirror and only seen everything that is wrong with you?

Maybe when you see your reflection, you think of your mistakes.

Your regrets.

The moments you wish you could erase.

The moments you hope no one you love ever finds out about.

I remember a season in my life when I was held captive by my past. 

As I was considering what to write this week for Mother’s Day, I started thinking about the depth of my roots in my Christian faith. 

In the corners of my mind, I can remember sitting beside my great-grandmother, Lula, in a little church with red pews and red carpet. It was 1988. I look down and see her little black heels with a strap over the top of her feet and a tiny black button. She’s wearing a blue cotton dress, and her hair is puffy and white as snow. She has thick round glasses, and she didn't mind me sitting beside her and playing with the saggy skin on the top of her hands during prayer. The sound of the organ fills the air, and we begin singing the words to what would become one of my favorite hymns by George Bennard, “The Old Rugged Cross”– I was six years old. 

Her daughter, my grandmother, Odell, is where my faith foundation really begins– and most of my memories. 

I remember sitting in my counseling office. The lamp on my desk was the only light in the room.

It was a little after lunch, and I was starting my afternoon to-do list.

That list had been growing by the hour, and I knew I had to get started so I could leave work on time.

The last few evenings, I had been at the office well past 3:30 and 4:00 pm. My girls were tired of staying late at school.

My marriage was falling apart, and no one at work knew. 

My cousins and I sometimes say we cut our teeth on the church pews.

I really did spend a lot of time inside a church growing up.

I’m a writer. 

I have been for as long as I can remember. 

Rewind to Oak Grove Elementary, 1990.

I stood up from my chair as the worship band hit the first note of the invitation song. It was Easter Sunday morning. The gospel message was delivered beautifully, and I felt the move of the Holy Spirit all around me in the room.

While reading Israel's blessing over Joseph’s children in Genesis chapter 48, I specifically noticed a beautiful line in his blessing when Israel referred to God as “the God who has been my shepherd all my life long.”

I recently read an article by one of my favorite authors, Shauna Niequist.

Hurry up and wait. Ever heard this expression? I can think of several times in my life when I absolutely didn’t want to wait.

Like the reflection of your face on the water, looking back on the paths of the journey you’ve already forged can seem daunting or delightful depending on the lighting

The kitchen table is more than just a piece of furniture. It is a place of gathering.