Welcome to My Journal!

What began as a series of letters to my daughters—an attempt to pass on the wisdom I’ve gathered through years of mothering—has grown into something more. As others began asking to read these reflections, I thought it might be beneficial to share them more broadly—with you.

Please come along on the adventure of womanhood and mothering!

In the morning, LORD, You hear my voice;

in the morning I lay my requests before You

and wait expectantly. —Psalm 5:3

Dearest Daughters,

I want to write to you now—before some of you set out on the journey of marriage, and as others grow in the grace of motherhood. I want to share with you the lessons I’ve learned in the years God has given me. Lessons hard-won in the juggling of a very full life: as a mother, a minister’s wife, a teacher, a midwife, a friend. Through it all, I’ve sought to remain close to our Lord Jesus—to feel His love, to love Him back, to live in His peace, and to bear the fruits of His Spirit.

I’m not writing because I’ve done all this perfectly. I’m writing because I’ve been an overcomer. And I hope to keep being one, all my days. My failures have been faithful teachers, and I pray that some of what I’ve learned through them can become your foundation—so that you can build upon the stones I stumbled over. Like rocks in a river, these obstacles have shaped the flow of my life, made it stronger and deeper. And I trust they will do the same for you.

You will still have your own faltering steps. That is part of the journey. But I believe you’ll walk further down the road than I have, and in doing so, you’ll become part of that ancient journey of faith that began with Abraham and Sarah and, I pray, will continue through your children and grandchildren.

If there is one thing I could urge you never to neglect, it is this: cultivate the presence of God.

You know—you remember—that I was always the first to rise in the morning. In the quiet dark, I made space for peace and prayer. I stepped outside beneath the stars. I listened to music. I read my Bible. I wrote down my thoughts and prayers, my hopes and my repentances. I sought Him early, not just out of duty, but because I knew I needed to, because His presence became my inspiration, my strength, my source of love.

And then, throughout the day, I tried to stay there—to walk in that presence.

You’ve known it yourselves, haven’t you? That feeling in worship, when the music carries your spirit upward. That moment by the ocean, watching the waves stretch into eternity. That hush at the foot of a mountain. That radiant sunset that stops you in your tracks. The awe in your soul that whispers, God is big, and I am small, and still He loves me. That’s the place you must learn to stay.

From that place, every conversation—with your husband, with your children, with others—can become a dance. A quiet, holy dance within the circle of His arms. Sometimes it looks like laughing over a spelling test triumph and buying ice cream to celebrate. Sometimes it looks like calling a neighbor at just the right moment with just the right word. Sometimes it looks like making a beautiful meal and offering it with joy.

This dance isn’t only for Sunday mornings. It’s for the kitchen, the laundry room, the doctor’s visit, the backyard, the grocery aisle. We must learn the rhythm. We must learn the steps. We must listen for the music.

And so this letter—which has already grown into a series of letters I’ll be sending you—is really about that dance.

My prayer for each of you is simple:

That you may dance.

With all my love, until next time,

Mom

That You May Dance