The Heart of Worship: Who Are We Really Worshiping?

Worship has looked different in every season of my life.

Sometimes it has been singing at the top of my lungs on Sunday morning with tears streaming down my face. Other times it has been whispered prayers while washing dishes, rocking a baby to sleep, or sitting in complete silence after my heart had been broken.

The beautiful thing about worship is that it doesn’t always look the same.

Some people worship with lifted hands. Others with bowed heads. Some worship through music, while others worship through serving, giving, teaching, encouraging, creating, or simply living faithfully in the ordinary moments of life.

God created each of us uniquely, so it’s only natural that our expressions of worship are unique too.

But there is one question that matters far more than how we worship.

Who are we worshiping?

It’s a question worth asking because sometimes it’s possible to be surrounded by worship while our hearts are fixed on something—or someone—else.

We can worship our comfort.
We can worship approval.
We can worship success.
We can worship our image.
We can even worship the experience of church more than the Savior of the church.

Jesus reminded us of this when He said:

“God is spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth.” — John 4:24

Notice that He doesn’t say worship should be impressive. He doesn’t say it should be emotional or polished. He says our worship must be rooted in spirit and truth.

True worship isn’t about creating a moment.

It’s about surrendering our hearts.

The heart of worship has never been about the songs we sing. It’s never been about the lights, the stage, the volume, or whether our favorite hymn or newest worship song was played.

The heart of worship has always been Jesus.

King David understood this well. He wrote:

“Ascribe to the Lord the glory due His name; worship the Lord in the splendor of His holiness.” — Psalm 29:2

The glory belongs to Him—not to us.

Sometimes we have to pause and ask ourselves difficult questions.

Am I worshiping because God is worthy?

Or because I enjoy how worship makes me feel?

Am I seeking His presence?

Or am I chasing an emotional experience?

Am I pointing people toward Jesus?

Or hoping they notice me?

Those questions can be uncomfortable, but they’re healthy because worship has never been about our performance. It has always been about His worthiness.

Paul writes in Romans:

“Therefore, brothers and sisters, in view of the mercies of God, I urge you to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God; this is your true worship.” — Romans 12:1

Did you catch that?

Our lives are worship.

The way we love our families.
The way we forgive.
The way we serve when no one is watching.
The way we speak to strangers.
The way we trust God in the valley just as much as on the mountaintop.

Every act of obedience becomes an offering.

Every faithful step says, “Jesus, You are worthy.”

One of my favorite reminders comes from the words of John the Baptist:

“He must increase, but I must decrease.” — John 3:30

Maybe that’s the simplest definition of the heart of worship.

Less of me.

More of Him.

So today, whether your worship looks like singing in a church pew, praying in your car, rocking a crying baby, serving someone who can’t repay you, studying God’s Word before sunrise, or quietly thanking Him for another day of grace, remember this:

The posture may look different.

The expression may sound different.

But the object of our worship never changes.

Jesus alone is worthy.

May our lives always point back to Him.

Because at the end of the day, the heart of worship isn’t about finding the perfect song.

It’s about having a heart that continually says,

“Lord, this has always been for You.”

Porch View Looking In.

There are certain memories that never lose their color. No matter how much time passes, they remain vivid—as if they happened yesterday.

For me, that’s the beginning of us.

We met through family while he was serving as a youth minister at their church. I still remember seeing him for the first time. People always joke that love at first sight isn’t real, but if you ask me, it absolutely can be.

He won my heart the minute I saw him.

He literally had me at “hello.”

If you know me, you know that’s saying something. Being left speechless is nothing short of a miracle. Yet there I stood, trying to find words while secretly hoping he’d keep talking just a little longer.

Our first weekend together meant I had to travel to see him, and looking back, I would make that drive a thousand more times. We spent the weekend doing the simplest things—bowling, watching a movie, drinking coffee, eating tacos, and talking about life.

But the moment that has stayed with me wasn’t any of those.

It was sitting beside him on a porch swing.

There wasn’t anything spectacular happening around us. No fireworks. No perfectly planned proposal. Just two people laughing, dreaming, and getting to know one another.

And somewhere between the laughter and the quiet moments, I looked over at him and realized something.

I could spend the rest of my life looking at that view…as long as he was sitting beside me.

That porch swing became so much more than a piece of furniture. It became the place where God quietly whispered to my heart that I had found someone special.

Now, almost nine years later, I look back at that young couple with grateful eyes.

Life hasn’t always been easy.

There have been seasons filled with joy and seasons that felt impossibly heavy. There have been moments when I laughed until I cried and moments when I cried until I couldn’t find the words to pray.

Through every season, Buford has remained steady.

He has seen me at my deepest lows—the moments when I questioned everything, struggled to find hope, and simply needed someone to sit beside me.

He’s also been the loudest voice cheering me on during my highest moments, celebrating victories as if they were his own.

More than anything else, I thank God for the kind of husband he is.

A husband who doesn’t just say he’ll pray for me—but actually stops and prays with me.

A husband who seeks the Lord before making decisions.

A husband who leads our family with humility, faith, and unwavering love.

That kind of leadership isn’t loud. It isn’t flashy. It’s found in the everyday moments—in bedtime prayers, hard conversations, encouragement when I’m weary, and choosing Jesus over and over again.

Marriage isn’t built on perfect days. It’s built on thousands of ordinary moments where two people choose each other again and again.

Nine years later, I still thank God for that first “hello.”

And if I could go back to that porch swing one more time, I’d smile at the younger version of myself and whisper, “You have no idea how faithful God is about to be.”

Because after all these years, my favorite view still isn’t the scenery.

It’s the man sitting beside me.

Called to Serve: More Than Serving a Building

In many churches, when we hear the word serve, our minds often go straight to volunteering—holding babies in the nursery, greeting at the door, singing on stage, or helping with events. While these are beautiful ways to serve, true service to the Lord runs much deeper than simply filling a position inside a church building.

Serving isn’t just about what we do on Sundays. It’s about how we live every day.

The truth is, we are not ultimately serving people’s approval, ministry titles, or church programs—we are serving the Lord Himself.

“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men.”
— Colossians 3:23 (ESV)

That changes everything.

When we serve in children’s ministry and no one notices, we are serving the Lord.
When we cook dinner for our family after a long day, we are serving the Lord.
When we show kindness to a difficult coworker, offer encouragement to a weary friend, or choose patience with our children, we are serving the Lord.

Service is not confined to a platform.

Sometimes we can become so focused on serving inside the church that we forget our first calling is to simply belong to Jesus and obey Him wherever He places us.

Jesus Himself modeled what service truly looks like.

“For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.”
— Mark 10:45 (ESV)

The King of kings washed feet.

He sat with the overlooked.
He fed the hungry.
He touched the untouchable.
He loved sacrificially.

Biblical service is not glamorous. It is humble, often unseen, and deeply rooted in love.

Serving the Lord means surrendering our time, gifts, resources, and even our preferences for His glory.

“Serve the Lord with gladness! Come into his presence with singing!”
— Psalm 100:2 (ESV)

Notice it says with gladness.

Not resentment.
Not obligation.
Not because “someone has to do it.”

God is not after reluctant workers—He desires willing hearts.

Sometimes serving can become performance-based. We begin asking:

• Do people appreciate me?
• Does anyone notice how much I do?
• Why am I always the one helping?

But when our service is truly unto the Lord, those questions begin to fade.

Because our reward was never meant to come from people.

“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus.”
— Colossians 3:17 (NIV)

You may never hold a microphone.
You may never lead a ministry.
You may never be publicly recognized.

But if your heart is surrendered to Jesus, your life itself becomes an offering.

A mother rocking her baby at 2 a.m. can serve the Lord.
A father working honestly to provide can serve the Lord.
A student showing integrity can serve the Lord.
A believer praying quietly in their room can serve the Lord.

The building is not the mission.

The Church was never meant to stay inside four walls.

We are called to carry Christ wherever we go.

“As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace.”
— 1 Peter 4:10 (ESV)

Serving is simply this: using what God has given you to glorify Him and love others.

Not for applause.
Not for a title.
Not for recognition.

Just obedience.

So today, whether you’re serving in a church hallway, your workplace, your home, or your community—remember who you’re really serving.

Not the people in the building.

But the God who called you.

And there is no greater honor than that.

Trusting the Gardener

There is something peaceful about flowers.

They don’t rush.
They don’t force themselves to bloom.
They simply grow where they are planted, reaching toward the light, trusting the process created by their Maker.

As I look at a garden full of flowers, I’m reminded that God often teaches us through His creation. Every petal, every bloom, every seed carries a lesson if we are willing to slow down enough to notice.

Consider the Flowers

Jesus Himself pointed us to flowers as an example of trust.

“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”
— Matthew 6:28-29

Flowers are not anxious about tomorrow.

They are not worried about whether they will have enough rain, enough sunlight, or enough nourishment. They simply receive what the Creator provides.

How often do we do the opposite?

We strive.
We overthink.
We worry ourselves weary trying to control what was never ours to carry.

But Jesus gently reminds us: Look at the flowers.

If God so carefully clothes the fields with beauty, how much more will He care for His children?

“But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.”
— Matthew 6:33

Blooming in Every Season

Not every flower blooms year-round.

Some bloom in spring.
Some flourish in summer.
Some spend long periods hidden beneath the soil before anyone sees growth.

Isn’t that true for us too?

Sometimes we compare our timeline to everyone else’s, wondering why someone else seems to be blooming while we still feel buried.

But buried is not the same as forgotten.

Seeds are hidden before they are seen.

Roots grow deep before blooms appear.

What feels like a quiet season may actually be God strengthening what no one else can see.

“And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.”
— Galatians 6:9

Your season will come.

Not late.
Not forgotten.
Right on time according to the Gardener.

Pruned with Purpose

A garden is not beautiful by accident.

There is pruning.
Cutting back.
Removing what is dead so new growth can come.

Sometimes God does this in our own lives.

He removes relationships, habits, comfort zones, and plans we thought we needed.

In the moment, pruning can feel painful.

But pruning is not punishment—it is preparation.

“Every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.”
— John 15:2

What God trims away is never to harm us, but to help us grow into what He has called us to become.

A Fragrance for the World

Flowers don’t bloom for themselves.

Their beauty blesses everyone around them.

Their fragrance fills spaces they may never even notice.

As believers, our lives are meant to do the same.

When we walk closely with Christ, our lives become a reflection of His goodness to others.

A kind word.
A patient heart.
A gentle spirit.
A faithful presence.

These things become a sweet fragrance in a world desperate for hope.

“For we are the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing.”
— 2 Corinthians 2:15

Final Thought

Maybe today you feel like a flower in a difficult season.

Maybe you feel unseen, buried, pruned, or slow to bloom.

But remember this:

The Gardener has not forgotten you.

He knows exactly what season you are in.
He knows what you need to grow.
And He is faithful to finish what He started.

So keep reaching for the Light.

Keep trusting the One who planted you.

Blooming is coming.

“He has made everything beautiful in its time.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:11

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Prayer:
Lord, help me trust You like the flowers trust the seasons. Teach me to rest in Your care, grow where You have planted me, and bloom in the timing You have chosen. Even when I feel hidden or pruned, remind me that You are still working. Amen.

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Who Sat at HIS table?

If you had been invited to sit at the table with Jesus, you may have been surprised by the guest list.

His table was not reserved for the religious elite, the polished, or the people who seemed to have everything together. Instead, Jesus consistently surrounded Himself with the overlooked, the broken, the doubted, and the sinner.

Tax collectors. Fishermen. Women with painful pasts. The sick. The outcast. The children. Even those society had written off completely.

This is the beauty of the Gospel: Jesus did not wait for people to become perfect before welcoming them. He welcomed them first.

A Table Full of Unexpected Guests

One of the clearest examples is found in Matthew 9:10-13:

“While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew’s house, many tax collectors and sinners came and ate with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, ‘Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?’
On hearing this, Jesus said, ‘It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.’” (NIV)

This moment was scandalous.

Tax collectors were despised in that culture. They were seen as dishonest, greedy, and traitorous. Yet Jesus didn’t avoid Matthew—He called him.

Not only did Jesus invite Matthew to follow Him, but He then sat in his home, shared a meal, and welcomed Matthew’s friends too.

Meals in biblical times symbolized relationship, belonging, and acceptance. Jesus wasn’t simply eating food; He was making a statement.

You belong here.

Jesus Loved the Sinner

Sometimes people confuse Jesus’ love with approval of sin. But Jesus never ignored sin—He simply loved people too much to leave them in it.

Consider the woman caught in adultery in John 8:10-11:

“Jesus straightened up and asked her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’
‘No one, sir,’ she said.
‘Then neither do I condemn you,’ Jesus declared. ‘Go now and leave your life of sin.’”

Notice both parts of His response:

• Grace: “Neither do I condemn you.”
• Truth: “Go and leave your life of sin.”

Jesus offered compassion before condemnation and invitation before transformation.

He met people where they were, but He loved them enough not to leave them there.

An Example for Us Today

Imagine walking into church for the first time in years.

You’re carrying shame. Maybe you’ve made mistakes. Maybe your life looks nothing like you imagined. Maybe you feel like everyone around you has it together.

Then someone smiles, pulls out a chair, and says: “Sit with us.”

That simple act mirrors the heart of Jesus.

His table is not for those who have earned a seat.

It is for those willing to come.

Romans 5:8 reminds us:

“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

Not after we fixed ourselves.
Not after we got our act together.
While we were still sinners.

All Are Welcome Here

The invitation of Jesus is radically inclusive.

Not because sin doesn’t matter, but because grace is greater.

At His table, there is room for:

• the doubter
• the addict
• the anxious
• the divorced
• the grieving
• the lonely
• the prodigal
• the one who feels too far gone

Luke 19:10 says:

“For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”

That means no one is beyond His reach.

No past is too messy.
No heart is too hardened.
No story is too broken for redemption.

The table of Jesus has always been full of unexpected people.

And somehow, by grace, there is still room for one more.

All are welcome here.

Autism Through a Mother’s Eyes.

Learning Autism Through the Eyes of a Mom

Before motherhood handed me this journey, I thought I understood autism.

I worked in a classroom setting. I had training. Experience. Strategies. I knew the terminology, the accommodations, the behavior plans, the acronyms, and the meetings.

At least, I thought I did.

But nothing prepares you for when autism becomes personal.

Nothing prepares you for sitting in your own living room, watching your own child struggle, and realizing all the knowledge in the world feels suddenly small.

Because this is different. This isn’t a student I see for school hours and then send home with a note. This is my baby. My heart walking around outside my body.

And somehow, despite all my background, I still feel lost.

“He’s just misbehaving.”

If I had a dollar for every look, every comment, every raised eyebrow from people who assume my son is simply being difficult, I could fund his future therapy sessions myself.

“He just needs discipline.”

“You can’t let him act like that.”

“He knows better.”

But what people don’t see is what’s happening underneath the behavior.

They don’t see the sensory overload building like a thunderstorm in his mind.

They don’t see the frustration of wanting to communicate big feelings with a nervous system that feels constantly overwhelmed.

They don’t see the exhaustion that comes from trying to exist in a world that often feels too loud, too bright, too fast, too much.

What looks like defiance is often distress.

What looks like “bad behavior” is often a child whose body has hit its limit.

He is not giving me a hard time.

He is having a hard time.

Big emotions in a little body

My son feels everything deeply.

His emotions are enormous for his tiny frame.

A small disappointment can feel like devastation.

A change in routine can feel like the ground shifting beneath him.

A misunderstood interaction can spiral into heartbreak.

Sometimes it feels like his nervous system lives with the volume turned all the way up.

And while the outside world may only see a meltdown, I see a little boy learning how to survive emotions that feel bigger than he knows what to do with.

He is still learning.

Learning how to regulate.

Learning how to identify feelings.

Learning how to cope.

Learning how to trust that hard moments will pass.

And honestly? So am I.

“Nobody loves me.”

Those words cut deeper than almost anything else.

When he whispers, “Nobody loves me,” after a hard day, after being corrected, after feeling misunderstood—it feels like my heart physically cracks.

Because if only he could see what I see.

A child who is brave beyond words.

A child whose mind works beautifully, even if differently.

A child who is funny, observant, creative, and deeply feeling.

A child who is loved beyond measure.

Not because of perfect behavior.

Not because of easy days.

Not because he masks his struggles well enough to make others comfortable.

Simply because he is him.

Fully. Completely. Unconditionally.

The learning curve no one talks about

There is grief in this journey—but maybe not the kind people assume.

Not grief over who my child is.

Never that.

But grief over how hard the world can be for him.

Grief over knowing others may misunderstand him before they know him.

Grief over wondering if I’m doing enough.

Grief over the moments I lose patience because I’m still learning too.

There’s no manual for parenting your own child through something you thought you academically understood.

Professional knowledge and maternal instinct don’t always meet neatly in the middle.

Sometimes I know exactly what strategy to use.

Sometimes I sit on the bathroom floor and cry because I feel like I’m failing.

Both can be true.

To the moms learning alongside their children

If you are walking this road too, I want you to know this:

You can have experience and still feel unprepared.

You can know the textbook version and still be overwhelmed by the real-life version.

You can deeply love your child and still feel exhausted by the constant advocacy, explaining, correcting assumptions, and emotional labor.

That doesn’t mean you’re failing.

It means this is real.

And hard.

And holy in its own way.

Our children are not broken.

They are learning how to navigate a world not always built with their needs in mind.

And we, their mothers, are learning how to help build safer spaces for them to land.

My son may struggle.

He may have meltdowns.

He may feel things bigger than his little body can currently hold.

But he is not less.

He is not too much.

He is not unlovable.

He is loved beyond measure.

And I will spend my life making sure he knows it.

The Sweet Gift of Time

There is something so special about ordinary days with my three boys.

Not the big vacations, expensive outings, or perfectly planned moments—but the simple, everyday memories we create together right at home. The kind of moments that may seem small now but will one day become the memories we hold closest.

Our days are often filled with little hands covered in paint, glue sticks left uncapped, paper scraps all over the table, and crafts that may not make it to Pinterest—but mean everything to me.

There’s something beautiful about sitting around the kitchen table together, creating something from almost nothing. Watching their minds work, seeing their personalities shine through every drawing, every color choice, and every silly idea reminds me how unique each one of them is. One may be focused and careful, another wildly creative and messy, and another simply there for the fun and snacks.

And then there is the laughter.

The kind of deep, belly laughter that comes from inside jokes no one else would understand. Laughing over silly voices, funny faces, made-up games, and moments that seem completely insignificant to the outside world—but are everything inside our home.

Sometimes I catch myself pausing just to soak it in.

Three boys laughing together.

Three different personalities, all filling our home with noise, life, and joy.

The floors may be messy, the laundry may be behind, and dinner may not always go as planned—but these are the moments I know I’ll miss one day.

Movie nights are another favorite in our house.

Piling onto the couch with blankets, snacks spread everywhere, and everyone trying to agree on what movie to watch (which, let’s be honest, can feel like an Olympic event). There is something comforting about slowing down together, turning off the distractions, and simply being present.

Sometimes the boys fall asleep halfway through, sprawled out beside me, and I think to myself: this is enough.

Not because life is perfect, but because these moments are.

Motherhood can feel busy, exhausting, and overwhelming at times. But spending intentional time with my boys reminds me what matters most.

Not perfection.

Not productivity.

Presence.

Children spell love T-I-M-E.

And I am learning that some of the greatest gifts I can give my boys aren’t things at all—but memories, attention, laughter, and a safe place to simply be themselves.

These are the days.

The loud days.
The sticky craft-table days.
The popcorn-on-the-floor movie nights.
The endless laughter.

And I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him.” — Psalm 127:3

I pray that years from now, when my boys think back on childhood, they won’t remember whether the house was spotless or whether every detail was perfect.

I hope they remember this:

Mom was there.

Laughing with us.
Creating with us.
Watching movies with us.
Loving us.

And honestly, that feels like a life well spent.

When Ministry Looks Like Home.

For a long time, I believed ministry had to look a certain way.

I thought it was found in the visible things—the serving, the leading, the encouraging words, the prayers over other people, the moments where God uses you publicly to pour into others. Ministry, in my mind, was always connected to doing. Doing more. Being more available. Showing up for everyone.

As a wife and mom involved in ministry, I carried this quiet pressure to constantly have something left to give. To my family. To my church. To the people who needed encouragement. To the endless responsibilities that seemed to pull from every direction.

But somewhere in the middle of all that giving, I started walking through my own battles.

Battles I didn’t always know how to name.

The kind that don’t necessarily show up outwardly but slowly wear on your spirit—exhaustion, mental clutter, emotional fatigue, questioning your purpose, and wondering where exactly you fit in this current season.

There is something deeply lonely about needing to pour into others while also feeling empty yourself.

It’s a strange tension: praying for people while silently asking God to strengthen you too. Smiling through conversations while inwardly feeling stretched thin. Loving your calling while also feeling lost inside of it.

I found myself asking God, What is my purpose right now? Am I doing enough? Am I missing what You’ve called me to?

The truth is, sometimes we can become so focused on what we think ministry should look like that we overlook the ministry God has already placed in our hands.

My breaking point came in a moment that felt almost laughably small.

I was trying to take a shower—just a few quiet moments alone to reset my mind. Nothing extravagant, just a basic human need for space.

And my son kept opening the bathroom door asking me to open his Capri Sun.

Over and over.

At first, it seemed like such a small interruption. But internally, something in me snapped.

Not because of the Capri Sun.

Not even because of my son.

But because I realized how depleted I had become.

How desperately I had been craving just a few minutes to myself.

How thinly stretched I was trying to be for everyone around me.

In that moment, I felt the weight of it all. The expectations. The exhaustion. The mental load. The invisible labor of motherhood and marriage mixed with ministry responsibilities.

And I thought, God, I don’t know how to keep doing all of this.

But God has a way of meeting us, not just in mountaintop moments, but in ordinary breaking points.

Later that night, I looked at my son and caught the glimmer in his eyes.

Just this innocent, pure look of love and dependence.

And something shifted in me.

It was as if the Lord gently reminded me that maybe I had been searching for ministry in the wrong places.

Maybe my greatest assignment in this season isn’t what happens on a platform, in a meeting, or in serving everyone around me.

Maybe my ministry is right here.

In my home.

In my marriage.

In motherhood.

Scripture reminds us in Colossians 3:23, “Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men.”

Whatever you do.

Not just the visible things.

Not just the things people applaud.

Not just the church-related responsibilities.

Whatever you do.

That means the meals, the routines, the bedtime prayers, the laundry, the hard conversations, the emotional labor, the nurturing, the showing up again and again in love—it all matters to God.

None of it is wasted.

Sometimes we glamorize ministry so much that we forget Jesus Himself valued the hidden places.

He noticed the overlooked.

He honored faithfulness.

He spent time in homes, around tables, with families, in everyday moments.

And maybe that is what He is teaching me now.

That ministry is not always about expanding outward.

Sometimes it is about rooting deeper inward.

1 Thessalonians 4:11 says, “Aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands.”

There is holiness in a quiet life.

There is purpose in ordinary faithfulness.

There is ministry in simply being fully present where God has planted you.

As mothers and wives, it can be easy to believe our “real” purpose is somewhere beyond our current responsibilities. Somewhere bigger. Louder. More influential.

But what if this is the influence?

What if the way we love our families, steward our homes, and nurture the hearts entrusted to us is deeply spiritual work?

What if raising children in love, patience, prayer, and stability is Kingdom work?

What if being a present wife and mother is not a distraction from ministry—but ministry itself?

Proverbs 31:27 says, “She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.”

There is honor in tending to what God has entrusted to you.

Not because it is glamorous, but because it is sacred.

Last night, looking into my son’s eyes reminded me of something I desperately needed to remember: purpose is not always found in grand gestures.

Sometimes it looks like opening Capri Suns.

Sometimes it looks like interrupted showers.

Sometimes it looks like choosing patience when you feel overstimulated and exhausted.

Sometimes ministry looks less like a microphone and more like a mother being fully present.

And maybe that is exactly where God wants me right now.

Not striving.

Not chasing some version of purpose I’ve imagined in my head.

Just being faithful here.

Because in this season, I am realizing that my ministry may not be found in doing more—but in loving well what is already in front of me.

And maybe home is more than I ever realized.

“Her children rise up and call her blessed.” — Proverbs 31:28

Beauty in the Broken.

Motherhood is beautiful, but some days it feels unbearably heavy. As a mom of three little boys — ages 5, 2, and 1 — my days are loud, messy, exhausting, and full of constant motion. Toys cover the floors, laundry never ends, and someone always needs me. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, I found myself losing pieces of who I was.

This past year has been one of the lowest seasons of my life. I struggled to find joy in things that once made me smile. The weight of motherhood, exhaustion, anxiety, and depression felt overwhelming. There were days I felt like I was barely surviving, quietly asking God where He was in all of it.

But even in the darkest moments, God never left.

Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” I held onto that verse tightly on the days I couldn’t see past the sadness. When I felt weak, God reminded me that I didn’t have to carry everything alone.

Motherhood has taught me that strength doesn’t always look like having it all together. Sometimes strength looks like whispering a prayer while folding laundry. Sometimes it looks like wiping tears before making dinner. Sometimes it’s simply getting out of bed and trusting God for one more day.

I’m learning that God meets us in the chaos — in the tantrums, sleepless nights, and exhausted tears. He doesn’t expect perfection from us. He simply asks us to come to Him.

Matthew 11:28 has become a comfort to my heart:
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

I still have hard days. I still struggle to find the highs sometimes. But I’m slowly learning that healing often happens quietly, one small moment at a time. Through sticky little hands, bedtime prayers, and the sound of my boys laughing, God keeps reminding me that there is still beauty here.

And maybe that’s what faith in motherhood really is — trusting that even in the middle of exhaustion and heartbreak, God is still writing something beautiful.

calling all to baggage claim.

Alright…I am going to paint you a picture so bare with me. 

Imagine yourself at an airport. You just came off the flight about to take on a new adventure. You stand there in baggage claim and wait for your luggage to come around on the conveyer belt. You see all the higher end pieces of luggage come around. (You know what I’m talking about…the Michael Khors, Kate Spade, Dooney and Burke, and etc.) You start to get a little embarrassed because you have the Target/ Walmart special. You quickly grab you luggage when it comes around hoping no one sees and book it to your transportation vehicle to get on your way. 

That’s a lot like how we feel about our past. We all have baggage. You may think some has better than others…oh but sister, you are SO wrong. 

I told this story to the youth this week. When I travel, I often find myself looking at the fancy luggage compared to what I have. That is just like my baggage compared to others. We go through trials and tribulations that make us a little uncomfortable. We may be embarrassed about what we went through, but don’t be. These are the things that God is using to mold us into the person He created us to be.

WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?

How often do we feel alone? How often do we feel forsaken? I often look back at my past and wonder, where was He? Truth is, God never left. He was always with me. He was with me every single sentence of that chapter. I was never alone. He was carrying my baggage even when I was way to embarrassed to ask. He has always been there.

Jesus doesn’t say, “Come all who are perfect” or “Come all who’ve made the best choices in life.” Instead, Jesus invites the tired and worn-out to come to Him … and He promises us rest.

That’s an amazing exchange. We get to drop our baggage, and Christ gives us rest. I don’t know how much baggage you’re dragging with you today, but I want you to know you don’t have to carry it for one more minute. Jesus is waiting in the quiet, with arms open wide to receive you. Give Jesus your baggage!

THIS IS MY FAULT.

Some of our baggage comes from something that someone has done to us. It wasn’t our fault at all. But because of what someone did we’re carrying around baggage and it’s weighing us down. It’s like they handed us, or forced a suitcase on us. Now, I need to reiterate, this isn’t/wasn’t your fault, but it’s still baggage that you’re carrying around. You need to acknowledge the truth that you have this baggage.

He wants your baggage…..the old, dusty baggage and the baggage that you are hiding behind the “perfect” persona. But let me be honest, “perfect” is impossible for you and it is time to let that go. In the song “To the Table” by Zach Williams, the words speak out for situations like this. Read them below:

He can see the weight you carry
The fears that hold your heart
But through the cross you’ve been forgiven
You’re accepted as you are

So bring it all to the table
There’s nothing He ain’t seen before
For all your trials, all your worries and your burdens
There’s a Savior and He calls
Bring it all to the table

So bring it all the table. Leave your burdens there for Him. He gave them to you so that you could give them back to him.

I had my youth write their baggage down on a piece of paper and leave it on the table for Jesus to take hold of it. I asked them,

Are you praying about it?

To be honest, if you aren’t praying about it, you apparently believe that you are strong enough to carry it all yourself but you aren’t. Give it all to Jesus and go to that alter. No matter how dusty your baggage is, He is still waiting for you.