For the Mom Who Has a Complicated Relationship With Summer: 5 Lazy Tips to Keep You Sane and Happy

We finished school on June 1st. Yay! To celebrate, I’d planned to take the kids out for lunch to inaugurate Summer 2016, going so far as to shower, put on mascara, and wear non-yoga pants.

But within minutes of picking up the last child from school, they were already fighting about where to go for lunch. One child wanted a fro-yo extravaganza. Another wanted a kids meal. The third one wanted an array of lunch options, followed by dessert.

I just wanted some gratitude and a minivan sans strife.

After pulling into a random parking lot and facilitating peace negotiations, we decided on our local Chick-Fil-A where the line was as long as I’ve ever seen it. In the proceeding minutes, I made a number of idle threats to each of them while lamenting our less-than-ideal summer kickoff.

Food has a way of making people seem human again and within a few minutes, we were all laughing at our outside table, talking about plans for next couple of months.

The whole situation felt like a metaphor for summer — a rough transition, selfish clamoring, dashed ideals, and eventual {though short-lived} peace and goodwill.

Summer, you throw me for a loop every year.

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Here’s the thing about my mom self. Maybe you can relate. I crave order and routine but appreciate plenty of room for spontaneity. I need structure but don’t like too many rules. Over the years I’ve tried all sorts of list-y things to keep us sane during the summer. Few of them had any staying power, probably because I, as the resident grown-up, am required to enforce the standards I create and sometimes I choose to take a nap instead.

So consider this “The Lazy Mom’s Guide to Summer Sanity.” These are the loose ideas that have worked for us as well as a few things I’m hoping to try this year.

1. Incentives are your best friend.

For you and for them. Because I work and write from home, I’m planning to wake up early and get my stuff done during the morning hours, while also keeping kids busy-ish with a few jobs around the house, reading books, walking the dog, etc. {Even as I type this, it sounds a bit like a pipe dream but one can hope.}

If we all finish our work, we get to go swimming, watch movies, play video games, stop at QT for slushies, etc. Work before play helps establish a loose routine, gets the work done, and rewards all of us at the same time.

2. Don’t freak out about screen time.

My boys last summer, gathered ’round ye olde iPod, memorizing raps.

Your kids will not die or get considerably more stupid by having extra screen time during the summer months. I often wish I was raising kids in the days before screens existed but we don’t get to choose our moments in history. For better or for worse, it’s 2016.

At our house, we have TVs, Netflix, and a Playstation. And my older two have personal devices. Even though we try to limit their access, we still have screens aplenty and I’m sure their brains aren’t awesome for it. At the same time, I have fond childhood memories of watching the same movies over and over again, playing Frogger on our Atari 5200, and watching murder mysteries with my mom. I still love movies and TV dramas. Story, whether in book-form, audio-form, or screen-form, enriches my life and provides a much-needed timeout while I do laundry or take time to unwind. I daresay it does the same for my kids.

3. Let the summer lists do the bossing.

Years ago, I got tired of “Mom, I’m bored!” and “Mom, can I have a snack?” every 15 minutes. So I made lists and put them on the fridge. They took all of five minutes to make.

Let the Snack List Do the Bossing: The Lazy Mom’s Guide to Keeping Kids Fed

“Mom, What Can I Do?” The Lazy Mom’s Guide to Supervising Children

It wasn’t a perfect system but it helped. Obviously the details need revision each summer because my teenage kids are no longer interested in the things their 6-year-old selves enjoyed. Nor do they eat Go-gurts. It’s the concept that matters. Kids need helpful reminders and you need a break from “Mom!” every five minutes.

4. Make a SIMPLE Summer bucket list.

As in, each kid picks one or two realistic things. This gives you some loose goals without feeling like a failure by the end of the summer because you didn’t cross off all the things on your list. Some of ours are:

Visit a local fun park for mini-golf, go-karts, etc.
See Finding Dory together.
Tour a local historic / scenic place we’ve never visited.
{With my older two kids} Summer binge-watch a couple of Netflix series.

5. Keep a list of what you do.

A piece of notebook paper + a pen + a magnet + the front of your refrigerator = a written record of what you actually do this summer. Consider it a gift for your end-of-summer self, consolation that summer was better than it felt like on the days when the kids won’t stop fighting and it’s 1,000 degrees outside.

I’ve finished plenty of summers feeling like a loser mom who didn’t give my kids enough meaningful experiences / spend enough quality time with them. This summer I’m keeping a list and writing down everything from movies we watched and books we read to places we traveled and friends who visited.

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During the school year, summer always sounds like one extended vacation. But the truth is, our selfishness, idealism, and daily work don’t go on vacation. This means that summer can feel like a long hot season of dashed expectations.

I can’t solve all your summer probs or mine. But sometimes a few simple hacks or a change in mindset can go a long way in making things more realistically awesome for everyone involved.

Next week, we’ll talk about how to receive your own life this summer. Because sometimes it feels like everyone is vacationing in Belize while you’re stuck at home with a rubbermaid container as a swimming pool in your driveway.

What are your favorite summer sanity-savers?

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I’m all about helping you recapture the possibility of your right-now life.

If that sounds like something you need, sign up in the box below to receive fresh hope and possibility delivered to your inbox a couple of times a week.

{P.S. I’ll be hanging out on Instagram this summer. Join me?}

Weekend Links: Treat Yourself to Summer Awesomeness

Happy Summer, friends! It’s been a bit quiet on the blog this week but never fear. I’m storing up some fun summery goodies for you, rolled out at a leisurely pace in the coming weeks because that’s what summer should be.

In the meantime, the internet has rolled out some gifts of its own this week and I don’t want you to miss out on great reads, awesome showtime, and much-needed moments of stillness to reset our soul and spirit as we transition from hustle to a slower pace.

Enjoy this early summer weekend!

The Minimalist Summer Reading Guide from Anne Bogel at Modern Mrs. Darcy

Five carefully curated books in six wonderful categories. This is THE reading guide for “decision-haters.” {Hand raised!} I love Anne’s annual summer reading guide and this one may be my favorite, simply because she’s made it so easy for us

Introducing SHOW CLUB from Kendra Adachi at The Lazy Genius Collective

Kendra is my favorite lazy genius and she’s going to help us all get LOST this summer. Curious? You should be. Check it out.

7 Days of Still Moments from Emily P. Freeman

It’s like Emily surveyed my spinning mind and rapidly beating heart, took me by the hand, and said, “Oh sister, let me help you get your bearings during this time of change.” If you do nothing else today, do this. All you have to do is click. Emily does the rest and your soul will be the better for it.

a personal note:

It’s been a frantic and heavy two weeks for us. In the midst of typical end-of-school-year crazy, we attended / participated in two funerals over five days. Don’t worry, we’re okay. While death is always painful, these passings were, in a way, timely instead of tragic. After 73 years of marriage, my dear grandparents died just 5 days apart. We have grieved but we’re also grateful. In many ways we should all be so lucky.

I’m fascinated by the mystery of two hearts linked together like that; it’s the stuff movies are made of. But for us, they were simply a real couple that we had the privilege of knowing and loving for so many years.

Their love story inspired this post, What “For Better or For Worse” Really Means.

Don’t worry, it won’t make you feel like you need to try harder in your own marriage. It’s simply an honest account of how their 73-year commitment has helped breathe life into my own weathered union. If you’re tired of feeling like marriage sometimes {or all the time} brings out your worst instead of your best, rest assured. You’re not alone.

coming up:

Next week I’ll share some sanity-saving thoughts for the mom who has a complicated relationship with summer. {Hand raised again.}

Let’s just say the Vischer house did not get off to the happiest of starts. I’ll tell you the story next week. Thankfully there’s always hope for a restart. It’s the first of several posts I’ll serve up in the coming weeks to make summer a bit more realistically awesome for you.

I’m all about helping you recapture the possibility of your right-now life. If that sounds like something you need, subscribe in the box below to have fresh hope delivered to your inbox once or twice a week.

{P.S. I’ll be hanging out on Instagram this summer. Join me?}

What “For Better or For Worse” Really Means

The story goes that when he finally came home from World War 2, she nearly knocked him over as she threw her long arms around him.

You couldn’t blame her. She’d prayed for his safe return as days turned into months that turned into years.

Worry hung like heavy fog across the whole world back then. But I think most about the worry of her own inner world that was spinning a mile a minute on a thin axis of hope. She spent nearly 1,000 days as a young wife without the certainty of her husband’s heartbeat. Can you imagine such a thing?

They went on to have three children, four grandchildren, and thirteen great-grandchildren. They served together in the home, in the church, in the public schools, and in the community. For seventy-three years they served together.

Last Friday around 3 am he peacefully went to be with Jesus. Five days later, also around 3 am, she joined him. It is surely one of the most bittersweet things I’ve ever witnessed.

The morning after her husband had passed, my dad went to see her straight away — to comfort his mother and to make sure she understood that her husband of all those years was gone. “Oh Lord,” she wept, “What am I going to do?”

Less than 48 hours later, she was unresponsive. We buried my grandfather, all of us emotional through the military honors as they handed my aunt the American flag. Two hours later we were at Gigi’s bedside, telling her goodbye and giving our blessing to fly on home.

After 73 years together, they left this earth just 5 days apart.

My daughter said she can’t imagine being married to someone for 73 years, that a couple would surely drive one another crazy and get “super annoying” after all that time. I told her I can’t imagine it either and I affirmed that indeed, you do drive one another crazy and it doesn’t take 73 years.

I can’t remember all the words of our conversation but I remember a few. I told her that marriage isn’t contingent on things like not getting on each other’s nerves and our ever-changing feelings. That those early, fiery emotions don’t quite burn with the same intensity forever.

“They don’t?!? You mean you don’t always feel that way? That’s terrible! I don’t know if I want to get married.”

“You begin to experience something deeper and more lasting than that,” I told her. “The fire gives way to a depth of love and devotion that’s hard to explain.”

It felt like a watershed moment for me, a moment where my own words stared me square in the face and dared me to believe what I’d just spoken out loud.

My grandparents’ story is a love story but not in the Hollywood sort of way. The truth is, they bickered with one another like the old married couple they were. She fussed at him because of what he ate and he fussed at her for fussing at him. They were opposites in every way, each with their own brand of willfulness. He was a boisterous extrovert who lived a very public life and rarely had an unspoken thought. She was more private and introverted. But she had a dry wit that we began to observe {and relish} as she got older. Usually she directed her well-timed barbs at my verbose grandfather, putting him in his place while the rest of us giggled. It always caught us by surprise.

Last summer, after she had moved in with my parents in order to receive the increasing care she needed, he came regularly to visit with her. The kids and I were over there often and Papa always greeted Gigi in the same way: “HELLOOOO SWEETHEART!”

Sometimes his overtures were well-received. Sometimes they weren’t. Perhaps dementia made her unpredictable; perhaps her own emotions made her unpredictable. She always came around eventually, but it was a reminder that marriage remains a complicated dance until the very end.

I’ve been married nearly 21 years. I keep waiting for it to be predictable and uncomplicated, to settle into a rhythm of ease and harmony. I don’t know whether it’s comforting or disconcerting that after 73 years, my grandparents didn’t feel like lovebirds all the time. {Or even most of the time?}

This week their 73-year commitment has breathed new life into my own weathered union, reminding me that it’s a precious gift to grow old together, especially when you’ve walked through the fires of real life to get there.

I know the intent of “for better for for worse” vows. Whether things are going well or going horribly, you stay together. But I’m learning to translate those words differently.

This person will see you at your best and at your worst. And this person will bring out both your best and your worst.

Marriage isn’t for the faint of heart because it is both humbling and humiliating. I only want to see my best! I only want others to see my best! I only want to be around people who bring out the best in me! I want to immerse myself in work that showcases my best!

Marriage doesn’t let you hide. And that may be the toughest thing about it.

Though death snuffs out life, it has a way of resurrecting perspective. This week I’ve thought a lot about real love, the kind of love that serves others. How it’s not the name we make for ourselves that matters but the life of sacrifice we pour out, the daily commitment that often goes unnoticed because it doesn’t garner “likes” or “retweets” or even a “thank you.”

My marital idealism flew the coop long ago. Our children already know that marriage isn’t easy and 100% romantic. We’ve been excellent role models in that way.

My hope is simple and singular — that my children will look at our life together and see the power of the Gospel of Grace through Jesus Christ.

I hope they will say,

My mom and dad saw the absolute worst of one another and chose love anyway. It was the love during their worst that somehow rescued their best, transforming each of them into a version of themselves that never would have been possible otherwise.

This is what Jesus has done for me — seen me at my worst and loved me anyway. This is what Jesus has done for my husband — seen him at his worst and loved him anyway. This is what Jesus has done for the world — seen it at its worst and loved it anyway. Only this kind of love can bring out the best.

Not a manufactured best or a self-improvement-book best or an only-showcase-your-strengths best —

Our truest best is only born out of being lovingly rescued from our truest worst.

I’m not sure why God chose marriage to be this most two-edged of mirrors but He did.

It’s easy to look at those 73 years together, wax on about commitment, and feel inspired to pull our best selves up by our bootstraps and go “live a legacy.” But willpower is no lasting match for two people who have pledged their lives to one another in wedded ~~ignorance~~ bliss. My grandfather survived the jungles of New Guinea and my grandmother survived the hot textile mills as a lonely war bride. But there were surely moments when they barely survived one another.

Thankfully, the sin and struggle didn’t get the last word. Love did.

When my Papa arrived at his true home last Friday, it was only right that Gigi didn’t wait long before she flew home too. I like to think that she gave it a few days just to make him sweat it out a little bit, one last playful jab as she finally got her turn to have the last word.

But without him by her side, there was no real point in sticking around. I think she held on for him, even through her own suffering, because hers was a love that waited and sacrificed for the ones she loved.

This time she was the one who returned home to him and I imagine that she nearly knocked him over for the second time, both of them overjoyed to be reunited.

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I’m all about helping you recapture the possibility of your right-now life.

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How I Became an Accidental Optimist

“You might be dangerously close to actually becoming an optimist.”

That’s what one of my friends told me recently. She’d received disheartening news about a project and we were trying to stay positive, attempting to see next steps through eyes of hope, wondering how we might repurpose what she had.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that statement. Me? Becoming an optimist?

I’m old enough to know by now that change doesn’t happen overnight, that our personalities and quirks are more entrenched than we’d like them to be. But I think my friend might be right, even if those closest to me are still skeptical.

I’m beginning to see the world through possibility-colored glasses.

I make myself sound so Disney. Don’t be fooled. I still worry and entertain fatalistic thoughts. I fuss at the people in my house and roll my eyes. But the tide within me is turning. I’m more determined than ever to look beyond how a situation appears and imagine potential in its place. Ever since my friend made that statement, I’ve wondered what’s brought about the change. Life hasn’t gotten any easier; the climb has actually felt steeper this last year as I’ve struggled with grief, exhaustion, confusion, and chronic setbacks.

Why the optimism?

Because I’ve been practicing without even knowing it.

Way back in the dark ages of blogging, an overwhelmed homeschool mom with three young children had said goodbye to a career she loved to focus full-time on raising and teaching her children. She was grateful to no longer be spinning so many plates but she did miss the intellectual stimulation and tangible productivity her work provided. She started a blog. What began as random posts slowly became coherent-ish pieces, everyday stories through which she was learning about failure and grace and everyday gifts she’d been too busy to appreciate.

Writing, whether in my journal or on the blog, became a way for me to process the complexities and frustrations of life. As I did, a serendipitous thing often happened: I found clarity and resolution, rest for my soul, perspective that I didn’t have when I began. It wasn’t always that tidy but the point is, writing helped me. Sometimes I shared what I’d written and it helped others feel less alone in their crazy and more hopeful about their mess.

Sunday I talked with a friend who told me that her daughter always needed to write in a journal before she turned out the light. She struggled to fall asleep if she hadn’t poured out her thoughts and emotions first.

My youngest child has a spiral notebook. He writes about all the reasons why Nike is awesome. Pages y’all, about shoes and socks and shorts and why he loves them. Apparently Nike swag is the overflow of his eight-year-old heart. I’m not going to stop him; this too is self-expression as he professes undying love and devotion to Elite socks and the latest Lebrons.

My younger brother, someone who hated writing during his growing-up years, recently re-launched his blog. Writing showed up as a form of therapy for him as an adult. When he writes, his honest but hopeful words meet others in their own places of doubt and depression.

We’re not all wired to write. But I do think that spilling our words is more therapeutic than many people realize, inviting us to access the deep places or even just the superficial chaos, pouring it out and feeling the exhale that results. Therapists often advise those who can’t sleep to keep a pen and journal beside the bed, writing down the anxious thoughts and to-do list tasks that keep us from rest.

In countless ways, writing can provide a guest house for the occupants that overcrowd your inner world. The occupants are still around but they’re not right there, smothering you with their heavy presence.

And when our inner world isn’t so clouded and crowded with all the things, we can finally see with eyes of hope.

I share my life with readers, those I know and those I don’t, because words are both my worship and my offering. As every writer eventually learns, we are first and foremost to write what we know. My life is what I know. The stories with which I am most intimately acquainted are my own. But I’m learning that we have so much more in common than not, that in telling you my story — both the epic and the everyday chapters — I speak into your story too, providing a place for you to pull up a chair around the table we all share.

Words continue to help me name an unspoken thing and lead me along an unexpected route to possibility. I can’t explain it. But every time I’m crowded and clouded on the inside, I try to write through the overwhelm in order to see what comes out on the other side. Something always does. I never know how those posts will end up. Ever. It’s always a surprise and it always points toward hope, even though I’m “not an optimist.” It feels like a miracle every time.

After all these years, I’m just now fully realizing that the practice of writing has also been the practice of possibility. Practice doesn’t make perfect but it does bring change. Over the years, writing has slowly begun to etch new grooves in my thought patterns, to kick the dirt over the well-worn path of pessimism and to instead forge a new path of possibility.

Writing has been my faithful companion, a friend with layers of resourcefulness that I’m only now beginning to appreciate. She has been both a gentle guide and an exhausting coach, at times soothing me with her easy rhythms and at other times pushing me to dig deeper, to write even though it hurt, to persevere through all the self-doubt.

I trusted that she knew the way home, even if I didn’t, that she would excavate the truth and beauty I couldn’t get to without her. And somewhere along the way, my despairing self began to change, began to relentlessly hope, began to speak words of undying Possibility into my own narrative and also into the narratives of others.

I’ve become an Accidental Optimist. And I have writing to thank.

If you’ve been around here the last week or so, you’ve heard me share about Hope*Writers, my favorite resource for writers.

This jam-packed site is full of everything from how to write a blog post or a book proposal to tech helps and writer interviews. There’s also a private Facebook group where you can connect with other writers just like you. #ihearthopewriters

Hope*Writers is for anyone who writes, who wants to write, or who might be curious about writing. And this week, you can be part of their FREE Hope*Writers Summit, an event that gives you access to 12 video interviews with authors / writers / editors at various stages of the journey.

One of those 12 interviews is mine, a writer who’s been blogging for years, juggles writing with a paid job and a family, and hopes to write actual books one day. It’s an honor to be included in this mix of writers who I love and respect. I have gleaned so much insight and encouragement from their interviews.

I sit down with one of my favorite authors, Emily Freeman, and we dish about everything from unfinished books proposals to “stewarding your story,” something I’ve learned to do as I’ve written my way through messy chapters of my own life. You’ll learn why I write on my blog and in a journal. You’ll also learn why my husband is my best editor, even though he’s not a writer.

Curious? CLICK HERE to learn more and join me this week for the summit. The first day was yesterday but it’s not too late to get in on the fun. Join us!

I’m all about helping you recapture the possibility of your right-now life.

If that sounds like something you need, sign up in the box below to receive fresh hope and possibility delivered to your inbox a couple of times a week.

*Affiliate Links: The Hope*Writer Summit is absolutely free but if you choose to join the Hope*Writers membership site, I receive a percentage at no extra cost to you. Affiliate links are one of the ways I’m able to cover costs and provide new content, year after year. So thanks for supporting my work!

Treat Yourself / Weekend Links: On Creativity, Laughter, and Letting Go

This weekend, may you find the space to create, may you be surprised by all the hilarity that surrounds you, and may you receive the little ones in your life with humor and chill, even if they’re driving you bananas. Happy weekend!

The emotions that make us more creative.

There’s something about living life with passion and intensity, including the full depth of human experience, that is conducive to creativity.

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I want to know the funny people who thought of ancient Greek sculptures dressed up in Hipster clothing. This slays me.

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A writer never really knows which words will resonate with the world she serves. Apparently these words did, and it sort of surprised me.

For the Overwhelmed Mom of Little Kids: 8 Things I Wish I’d Known

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And finally, join me for the FREE Hope*Writers Summit!

My FAVORITE resource that encourages me in my writing is Hope*Writers. I’m so happy to tell you about the Hope*Writers Summit that you can receive for FREE, only from May 16th-19th! Hope*Writers Summit is offering everyone access to twelve interviews. {And mine is one of them. #gulp}

I talk with one of my favorite authors, Emily Freeman, about everything from unfinished books proposals to “stewarding your story,” something I’ve learned to do as I’ve written my way through messy chapters of my life. You’ll learn why I write on my blog and in a journal. You’ll also learn why my husband is my best editor, even though he’s not a writer.

Curious? CLICK HERE to learn more and to sign up!

Each one of these interviews shows me that we have a lot in common as writers, but the road proceeds differently for each of us. I love that. In a world that’s obsessed with formulas and algorithms, I’m encouraged by the surprise, serendipity, and setbacks of each writer’s story. There’s no one right way to do this.

If writing is part of your life at all {or if it’s not but you maybe want it to be}, I highly recommend this online space.

When I’m drowning in my right-now life and wondering if this writing thing is worth it, I read a post or listen to an interview and just like that, I’m inspired and back in the game. For real. Hope*Writers is that encouraging. I hope you’ll join us!

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I’m all about helping you recapture the possibility of your right-now life.

If that sounds like something you need, sign up in the box below to receive fresh hope and possibility delivered to your inbox a couple of times a week.

For the Overwhelmed Mom of Little Kids: 8 Things I Wish I’d Known

I’m not going to tell you to enjoy the little years because they pass so quickly. This is true. But it will not help you today when your toddler wails during lunchtime because you made the wrong shaped pasta. {My sister-in-law has three young boys and her Facebook page keeps me apprised of the latest trends in toddler rebellion.}

I will not tell you to seize the day and cherish all the things. Because you just can’t right now. You are living with tiny tyrants and they make daily life both hilarious and impossible. They wake up at night when the rest of the sane world is sleeping. They refuse to take naps when rest is exactly what they need. They think 4 am is a reasonable start time. They embarrass you in Target. Their volume control is very much in development. They shove peanuts up their nose because they have no sense.

We’ve been watching home movies lately from my big kids’ little years. This has wrecked me emotionally as I am terribly sentimental / wish I could go back in time and do it ALL differently. I can’t. But if I could, these are the pearls of wisdom I would go back and tell myself.

1. Your children are at the climax of cuteness right now.

Kiss them constantly and take videos that you won’t have to delete from your phone because the storage is full. Drag out the 2001 Sony Handy Cam and capture 20 glorious minutes of his third birthday. One day they will lose their chubby cheeks and baby teeth and silken toddler hair spun by angels. Their munchkin voice will not always be so munchkin-like.

Even these big kids of mine are grieving the loss of their own little years. “I loved being that age! I want to go back!”

Since watching the movies, my 6th-grade son keeps telling us he wishes we weren’t too old to have another kid, a statement that feels both precious and insulting.

My teenage daughter is all, “Mom! We were the cutest kids ever! We should have been models!” And I’m all, “You WERE the cutest kids ever! Why was I always frustrated? How could any mom be stressed when her kids are that adorable?”

Their right-now toddler cuteness is not just protection that keeps loving but exasperated parents from committing violent crimes; it will be a later-on reminder {when you’re watching home movies / weeping} that parenting is a privilege, that is goes by too dang fast, and that you really are #blessed.

The flashbacks to the cuteness of their little years has helped me see them differently this week, adolescent awkwardness and all. I’m reminded that even though they can take their own showers and fix their own food {glory!}, they are still needy and vulnerable. My job is far from done. One day I’ll look back on right now with the same thoughts — they are young and precious; simply try to enjoy them, glorious mess and all.

2. Laugh.

Babies and little kids are professional comedians. Their antics and ridiculous are effortless. Take every opportunity to see the humor in it all. If we can’t laugh, we’re missing out on comedy day every day. If your toddler is so not making you laugh right now, remind yourself that little kids are pretty much like tiny drunk adults. Or read the Honest Toddler whose Twitter feed should be required reading for any stressed-out parent of a little kid.

3. Their weird attachment won’t last forever.

My oldest son went through a phase where he slept with a desk chair in his bunk bed. A DESK CHAIR. There is no rational explanation. For some reason, I chose to fight this battle until I realized that the chair wasn’t a real problem; it was simply a strange thing to want in one’s bed.

Ask yourself these three questions: Is it hurting anyone? Is it a threat to someone’s sanity? Is it immoral?

If the answer is “no,” you’re probably okay.

My youngest took a bottle with him to bed for much too long. I finally got worried and cut a larger hole in the tip so that milk would drip onto his face. Naturally, it worked. Not that I’m recommending my crazy ways. Just keep things in perspective. I have yet to see a college student who leaves home and still needs a pacifier or demands to be rocked to sleep each night. {It’s a weird world though. I’m sure it’s happened.}

4. They’re learning to become independent.

This is the goal of parenting, right? Like baby chicks in the nest, we feed them and protect them and nurture them. But we also teach them how to fly and navigate this big world on their own.

Let’s be honest. Learning to fly is a disaster for everyone involved. If you don’t believe me, google some nature videos on baby birds learning to fly. It’s a flurry of feathers and squawking and panic and death-defying swoops.

But the babies will never learn to fly if the mamas don’t let them practice.

I wish I’d stood back and let my little ones exercise more independence when it was appropriate. I fought far too many unnecessary battles, all in the name of “teaching them to obey.” {Which they have to learn but I don’t believe it’s the chief end of parenting.}

And can we talk about battles for a moment? The very word implies fighting, bloodshed, and exhaustion. If you spend all your time battling your three-year-old who wants to wear a ridiculous outfit and fix her own hair, you’ll have nothing left when that same three-year-old bites her baby brother or throws her cup of milk in your face.

Save your energy for the battles that matter. She will not always wear 517 barrettes in her hair, nor will she always vehemently refuse your help. Let her practice doing things in her own way. One day, her courage and resilience will astound you.

And you may be surprised when things come full circle. That spirited three-year-old will quickly turn fifteen and have her first high school dance. You just might be the one she asks for help with her hair. {Minus the 517 barrettes.}

5. Let PLAY reign supreme.

This may be the only thing I feel like I did “right” and do you know why? Because I was tired. I couldn’t be the voice of Tika the baby elephant and carry on exhausting conversations with Barbie Island Princess.

“Mom, will you help me build a Lego zoo?”

“No thanks, I have an important nap to take. Get your sister to help you or read the instructions.”

“Oh, you can’t read yet? Okay, just pretend you can.”

My kids learned early that their mom was a lazy mom when it came to play. This meant toys everywhere and lots of art supplies to clean up. But it also meant free-range kids who loved to play outside and build a city where Polly Pockets and plastic animals could live in harmony. In God’s ironic and gracious providence, my slacker mom status resulted in kids who had vivid imaginations and enjoyed copious amounts of playtime. It’s the one thing I wouldn’t do any differently and it was sort of accidental. Being a tired introverted mom has its perks.

6. Don’t over-schedule the little years.

I see parents of young kids shuttling preschool children to ballet and Chinese lessons and piano and soccer and I’m like, “Why?” One day they will be teenagers and you will spend so many hours each week in your minivan, the driver’s seat will have a permanent imprint of your behind. Your Toyota Sienna will feel like an RV because you live in it. Pace yourself, dear parent.

7. Hang out with older moms.

It doesn’t mean you can’t hang out with your mom friends and their littles at the park. But here’s the thing. You are all in the same stage of parenting. No offense but you have zero perspective. An older mom who you love and respect will be balm to your striving soul. She will remind you of what matters and what doesn’t. She will tell you it’s going to be okay, and she will redefine what “okay” actually means.

I have several older moms in my life, women whose kids are grown or nearly grown. Their grace and perspective is priceless. Plus they’re crazy about my children and just seeing how much they love them reminds me of how lovable my kids really are. We all need to see our kids through the eyes of those who love them fiercely but aren’t their parents. {Grandparents can be awesome for this.}

8. You are more than your kids. You are more than your motherhood.

Even with all our supposed advancement as women, I feel like moms today are more obsessed than ever with being a “good mom.” We are drinking from the Fountain of Mommy Guilt like it’s free margarita night and have therefore lost our minds.

{This is the part where I put on my bossy pants.} Listen up Young Mom. You are more than your kids. You are more than how your kids turn out. You are more than how many times you volunteer at the school. You are more than your work / family balancing skills. You are more than your kids’ success and you are more than your kids’ failure.

Motherhood is a full-time job and it has nothing to do with whether you work or stay at home, whether you homeschool or send your kids to school. In the words of Elizabeth Stone,

Making the decision to have a child — it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.

These hearts of ours walking around outside our bodies? It means that a mother can’t ever truly rest. Not really. When is a mother ever not on call? When is she not worried about one thing or another regarding her kids?

In the midst of this full-time role as mother and this full-throttle culture of Professional Motherhood, don’t forget who you are. Don’t define yourself by false standards or others’ standards. Don’t lock up your former self for the next eighteen years.

I believe your kids need a mom who has endeavors that make her come alive, who knows that she was made to live art. Maybe you’ve stopped cooking the fancy meals you once whipped up with joy and passion. Perhaps you’ve put away the writing journals or the paint and canvases. Maybe you’ve stopped singing or given up on reading books that aren’t from the juvenile section of the library.

Maybe you should start again.

Just because motherhood is infinitely sacrificial doesn’t mean you die in every other aspect of your life. As you tend to the bodies and souls and talents of the ones in your care, don’t forget to tend to the body and soul and talents of the one who cares for them. A better you means a better mom.

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A fun announcement!

Join me for the FREE Hope*Writers Summit!

My FAVORITE resource that encourages me in my writing is Hope*Writers. I’m so happy to tell you about the Hope*Writers Summit that you can receive for FREE, only from May 16th-19th!

Hope*Writers Summit is offering everyone access to twelve interviews. {And mine is one of them. #gulp}

One of the things that makes me a better mom is giving myself permission to write. Though I’ve written in scattered journals since adolescence, I discovered blogging as my “escape hatch” when I was in the season of mothering / homeschooling my young kids. Though much has changed with school, work, home, and kids, writing has remained my faithful companion. I’m learning to create time to write even when it feels like I don’t have any to spare.

Curious? CLICK HERE to learn more and to sign up!

If writing is part of your life at all {or if it’s not but you maybe want it to be}, I highly recommend this online space.

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This post was featured on “Grace at Home” at Imparting Grace, a lovely online space hosted by Richella Parham.

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I’m all about helping you recapture the possibility of your right-now life.

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Affilliate links: The Hope*Writer Summit is absolutely free but if you choose to join the Hope*Writers membership site, I receive a percentage at no extra cost to you. Affiliate links are one of the ways I’m able to cover costs and provide free new content, year after year. So thanks for supporting my work!

Good Words for Your Mother’s Day Weekend

These reads are for the mothers — the ones struggling to find the good in their own defeat, the ones entering the season of bleacher-sitting instead of potty-training, the ones who long to speak life-giving words, the ones who want a guarantee and don’t have it.

When Motherhood Has You in the Valley of Defeat

One of my own favorite posts I return to over and over because I never stop needing it.

While I don’t feel I know much as a mother, I am 100% convinced that moralism and charts and systems may get the desired results on the outside, but they won’t begin to touch the inside.

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The Ministry of a Mini-Van by Kimberly Coyle

Like Kimberly, I’m in a new season. And no one told me how abruptly it would arrive and how fleeting the goldfish years really were. My own mini-van is dinged up but well loved, wearing the scars of her service much like I as a mother wear mine.

It is strange to think I’m no longer the mom wrangling three littles, or shuttling kids to elementary school…I’m the mom who cheers from the sidelines of their lives, while they run and run and run towards their future.

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One Thing Your Teenage Daughter Doesn’t Need You to Say by Emily Freeman

Because I do have a teenage daughter and I think about the truth of this post whenever I’m tempted to speak words that will only teach her to hide behind her good behavior.

And when she hears adults tell her to be an example, she thinks that means she can never mess up, can never have problems, can never just be a teenager with struggles like everyone else. She might then mature into a woman who believes being a Christian means having it all together, saying all the “right” things, staying a few steps above everyone else.

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Good Mom by Shannan Martin

An honest post for all of us. Raising kids isn’t about guarantees; it’s about receiving grace and letting it spill over. It’s about trusting the God who holds us and holds our kids, even if they want nothing to do with Him. This is how we learn what real grace and true love are all about.

I know our kids who look us straight in the eye and say they don’t want God might be the very people God uses to remind us of His unflagging affection and authority.

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Wherever you are on Mother’s Day weekend, may you be reminded of all the mothers who have held you, nurtured you, and loved you into the person you are today.

It takes all of us, doesn’t it?

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“Never Stop Starting” & 4 Other Truths to Keep Your Hoped-for Work Alive in the Midst of Your Right-Now Life

On February 24, I sat down to write a tidy little post for those of us who feel like our right-now lives are keeping us from our hoped-for work. Eight posts and over two months later, I’m still learning how to live responsibly in the right-now while not letting go of the hoped-for. It’s continually relevant because it’s a tug-of-war we experience every day.

This “balance” is not for the faint-hearted. Not only do you battle the limitations of the right now, you battle the voices of the right now.

Do you actually think you’re a real writer, a real artist, a real counselor, a real photographer, a real teacher, a real leader, a real coach?
Aren’t you neglecting other things that could use your attention?
Wouldn’t it be easier for you to let go of this dream and settle for a normal life?

The answer is yes. To all of those questions.

And that’s why we need encouragement. Because making space for our hoped-for work when there are sheets to wash and kids to raise and a real job to show up for takes creative strategy and courage. Sometimes we’re convinced that the voices are right. We’re tempted to close the coffin lid on our hoped-for work, cry a few tears, and move on like a responsible grown-up.

I’m ~~mostly for~~ all for being a responsible grown-up. But I wrote this series because I don’t think the answers are as “all or nothing” as we assume. There’s hope in the messy middle. So today I give you one more pep talk in this final post of the series.

1. Honor the sacred rhythms of work and rest.

You are not a machine that can be programmed. You are a person who needs to be cared for. A person with limited brain space and finite energy. Rest sometimes feels lazy but it’s one of the most productive things we can do for our right-now work. Whether it’s a weekly one-day sabbath from all work or stepping away from the screen when you feel stuck, learn the rhythms of rest that are fruitful for you. This is how we maintain momentum, sanity, and perspective. Also, your work will be better. I promise.

2. Your right-now life and your hoped-for work may be more closely tied than you think.

While I blogged in the midst of marriage and motherhood and homeschooling and public schooling, I learned how to create content, how to market that content, how to run a self-hosted WordPress site, how to interpret Google Analytics, and how to create basic graphics for my posts. Unbeknownst to me, I was acquiring what smart people call “a skill set.”

A little over a year ago I ran into a friend on a rainy Friday. We chatted for a few minutes and she mentioned that the local non-profit she directs could use someone to help with their new website, manage social media, help create content, etc. She knew I could do these things because she’d been watching me do it on my blog.

All those years of making space for my hoped-for work in the midst of my right-then life? It had layers of purpose beyond what I could see.

Not giving up on writing in the midst of the messy everyday ended up earning me a steady paycheck for my right-now season. I still don’t make money blogging, but I do make money because I’ve been blogging.

My point? Keep showing up and doing the work. Be open to learning new skills that accompany the work. You never know how it may all be mixed up together in happy, surprising ways.

3. Don’t focus on numbers or popular support.

It’s okay to become successful but don’t let wishful outcomes mess with the heart of your hoped-for work. It’s a normal temptation, one that even Jesus dealt with as his own work was finding favor with the masses. I love how Tim Keller breaks down this pivotal moment in the life of Christ:

When Simon told him that there were huge crowds gathered to see him, Jesus said that they should immediately leave. Though he was riding a wave of popular support, Jesus left it behind. Why? He was much more interested in the quality of the people’s response to him than in the quantity of the crowd.
— Jesus the King: Understanding the Life and Death of the Son of God by Timothy Keller; passage referred to is Mark 1:35-38

We want to know that our hoped-for work will mean something in quantifiable terms. We want an “ROI,” a return on investment for all the blood, sweat, and tears we’ve poured into it. Too often, we assume that ROI means “big.” Sometimes it does. But I think we’re prone to measuring results in ways that are all wrong. Jesus wasn’t interested in how many people were in awe of his message. He didn’t come to be popular. He came to change hearts with his love and his truth, to call people to himself. He said the road would be narrow. {That’s code for “most people will reject what I offer.”}

From Jesus, we learn to be wise and even strategic, but not at the expense of faithfulness to our true work.

Jesus ascended to fame. But he just as quickly fell into disfavor, a disfavor that led to his death by the same crowds that had previously cheered him on. But life defeated death. And our hoped-for work bursting forth from the messy right-now reflects this same redemption. Friend, be faithful to the work. Keep showing up. You are an offering to your Maker and to the world he made. He can be trusted with the outcomes.

4. Never stop starting.

You may have awesome momentum for a solid month. And then everyone in your house gets the stomach virus and passes it around for two weeks. Momentum has packed her bags and hitchhiked to Montana. Motivation got tired of waiting for you and took off with Momentum.

It doesn’t take very much real life to yank us off the rails. That’s why you need this three-word mantra: “Never stop starting.”

Isn’t that what we do every day in so many ways, whether it’s exercise, parenting, spiritual disciplines, or sticking to a budget? Just last night I was fed up with schedules, fed up with my kids needing money, and fed up with the dailyness of dinner. I wanted to run away {which is always my default fantasy.} But this morning I woke up with an ounce of resilience and said to myself, “Okay. It’s a new day. We can do this.”

You’ll stop. And sometimes you feel like you’ve got no start left in you. You don’t need a lifetime’s worth of start. You only need enough for today.

5. You need reinforcement.

You’re pursuing who you are while living in a world that is trying to make you into someone else. This is war.

Like soldiers, we need reinforcement by way of fresh hope and steady encouragement and one another. On the days when you don’t feel like fighting and in the moments when you’ve stopped believing, return to this space and remember what you’ve forgotten in the daily grind of right now.

Share it with your friends, your family, your community. You may find some unexpected community in the process. And if you do? Link arms with likeminded others. We all need our someones.

When the right now feels extra messy and the hoped-for work is languishing in a corner, come on over to this place and find possibility again. I’ll have a link to the entire series in the right sidebar. It’s all yours.

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Though this is my last official post in series, next week I’ll have a list of ALL my favorite resources — links, books, and online spaces that keep me going and teach me useful things along the way. It’ll be fun.

I can’t thank y’all enough for showing up here. Your company has been a gift. I appreciate each and every word you’ve shared in response. You’ve encouraged me more than you know.

I’ve got some fresh content up my sleeve but I look forward to revisiting this topic of hoped-for work and entertaining your questions on the subject. Keep them coming! What are your greatest obstacles to pursuing your hoped-for work in the midst of your right-now life? What specific encouragement do you need for your own life?

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Here are the other posts in the series:

How to Embrace Your Right-Now Work Even if it’s Not Your Hoped-For Work

One Gift Your Right-Now Work Is Giving You, Even If You Smell Like Marinara Sauce

4 Simple Ways to Create Time When You Don’t Have Any to Spare

4 Reasons Why Your Right-Now Work Matters to Jesus {even if it doesn’t matter to you}

2 Ways to Give Your Hoped-For Work a Voice. Right Now.

3 Ways to Avoid Despair as You Pursue Your Hoped-For Work

“Never stop starting.” And 5 Other Truths to Keep Your Hoped-For Work Alive in the Midst of Your Right-Now Life

8 Favorite Resources to Help Make Your Hoped-for Work a Possibility in Your Right-Now Life

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3 Ways to Avoid Despair as You Pursue Your Hoped-For Work

This post right here? It’s a timely one. I’ve just come off a couple of weeks of working full-time hours for my part-time job. Even though it was expected and planned for, when I’m working overtime + making sure people get fed and clothed and picked up and cheered on from the bleachers and consoled, you can count on some ugly aftermath.

You can count on a house that looks like a Category 20 hurricane swept through it. You can count on a wife and mom who is tired and cranky. You can count on this same exhausted woman to do something completely irrational like paint the living room that has knotty pine walls and has thus far required three coats of primer and can she just pretend she never started this job?

And you can count on her wanting to abandon her hoped-for work because she hasn’t written in ten days and therefore no longer feels like a writer. She knows starting is the hardest part but ohmygosh, the starting doesn’t ever get easier.

I have cleaned the kitchen, scrubbed the toilets and walked the dog this morning. It’s called “productive procrastination.” It shows up every time I have lost the will to write and also before I need to pack for a trip.

I’m oddly thankful for these adverse circumstances. They remind me that pursuing our hoped-for work isn’t all writers’ conferences and art shows and a thousand likes on social media. It’s not all perfectly steamed lattes at the coffee shop and thoughtful contemplation and art that flows off fingertips.

Presently I’m writing on my porch while also spraying poison on a patch of ants that showed up out of nowhere. And I have a child with a fever on the sofa in the living room with half-primed walls.

Sometimes pursuing my hoped-for work looks like duct taping my pajama-clad self to the chair and writing already, even though I don’t feel like a writer and I ~~want~~ need to finish painting the living room and my kids have been sick and out of school a lot this year.

The most epic battles are often fought on everyday soil. Fighting for our hoped-for work in the midst of our messy right-now lives is no different.

Today I give you three ways to keep your perspective and fight despair when you’re barely hanging on to your hoped-for work:

1. Don’t envy another’s work life.

I struggle with this one in embarrassing ways, believing the lie that if only I had her circumstances or his capital, I could meet my goals and do my thing. I’ve believed this just today actually. And every time I find myself sliding into the pit of envy, I have a choice to make: surrender to resentment or receive my own life.

Ironically, the challenges of the everyday usually become my inspiration. Frustration is often the fuel that gets me writing in the first place. This entire series on work — it’s been born out of my own wrestling. I thought I needed a spacious writing life to be the writer I wanted to be. God is showing me otherwise. It’s messy. But the mess is my medium and God makes art out of it anyway.

There is freedom that comes in receiving your own life instead of envying someone else’s.

And don’t be fooled by the seemingly grand and spacious lives of others. There are unique struggles that come with each stage of success. Keep working at your own pace, on the canvas of your own life.

I will never stop needing this reminder from Henri Matisse:

Much of the beauty that arises in art comes from the struggle an artist wages with his limited medium.

2. Accept abrupt transitions.

When I was in college, I ran the 10,000 meter race in track. That’s 25 laps around a 400-meter track. Please don’t be impressed. I literally needed half of those laps to get warmed up. I was never a sprinter. It was true of my running life and it’s true of my writing life. Sure, I can hustle when I need to. I can crank out a product when I’m called on. But hurry comes at a cost because I’m a contemplative at heart. I’m a long-distance, slow-paced runner living in a world that spins a bit too fast for my liking.

I don’t have the personality where I can easily switch from task to task and embrace interruptions. I have the personality that might glare at you with violent eyes if you interrupt me while I’m in the middle of deep, thoughtful work or when more than one person is audibly asking for something at the same time.

This is why I live in a perpetual state of whiplash. My right-now life doesn’t accommodate my slow-paced taste and my need for long runways.

I try to get up early because, again, it takes me a long time to adjust to wakefulness. Plus it gives me time to align my spirit with the heart of God and embrace the day’s work before the rest of the house wakes up. Because when that happens, I’m jolted into the world of squabbling siblings and “Mom! Are you making oatmeal?” Then we stumble out the door and rush three kids to three different schools. By 8:15 in the a.m., I need a nap.

Each day is a mashup of paid work, housework, writing work, family work, kitchen work, and unexpected work. Stop times and start times are not always under my control. I may be deep in the writing zone and then pow! My littlest guy gets off the bus and I am quickly zapped into the world of Pokemon trades and after-school snacks.

Changing hats so abruptly throughout the day is not my jam. But it is my right-now life. And change hats I must.

Sometimes we can use abrupt transitions as an excuse. “Well I only have an hour so it’s not worth sitting down to write.” That hour is still an hour of hoped-for work. And while it may not be enough time to finish anything, it reminds you that this is what you do. It’s the daily discipline of reclaiming your identity and relaunching your hope. It keeps you in the game and serves as a deposit on deeper work that may show up later.

3. Tell someone.

The land of hoped-for work can be a lonely place. Too often, we dream our dreams in solitude and do our work in isolation. We languish and lose momentum and tell ourselves we’re crazy. It’s the rare person who doesn’t need some sort of accountability to stay the course.

Community, whether it’s two people or twelve, helps keep me going. I’ve dared to speak my hopes out loud and I’ve had the privilege of cradling the dreams of others. Part of the reason I sat down this morning is because I told my “someones” I would keep writing — my writing friend in New Jersey who I vox and e-mail with, a small community of creatives across different time zones that I talk to regularly {thank you technology}, my husband who gives me Saturdays to work on a writing project. And you.

Yes, you. You take time out of your busy life and meet me here. And sometimes you tell me that what I wrote made you feel normal instead of crazy. You allow me show up in your life and serve you. You remind me that this hoped-for work is my offering. You guys are my “someones.”

My next post will have a few more tips to keep you going. And then I’ll have a wrap-up post with my favorite resources to share!

Thanks for staying with me. Y’all sure know how to keep a sister going.

What are your greatest obstacles to pursuing your hoped-for work in the midst of your right-now life?

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If you’re new around here, we’ve been winding our way through a series on work. Here are the other posts in the series:

How to Embrace Your Right-Now Work Even if it’s Not Your Hoped-For Work

One Gift Your Right-Now Work Is Giving You, Even If You Smell Like Marinara Sauce

4 Simple Ways to Create Time When You Don’t Have Any to Spare

4 Reasons Why Your Right-Now Work Matters to Jesus {even if it doesn’t matter to you}

2 Ways to Give Your Hoped-For Work a Voice. Right Now.

3 Ways to Avoid Despair as You Pursue Your Hoped-For Work

“Never stop starting.” And 5 Other Truths to Keep Your Hoped-For Work Alive in the Midst of Your Right-Now Life

8 Favorite Resources to Help Make Your Hoped-for Work a Possibility in Your Right-Now Life

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Two Ways to Give Your Hoped-For Work a Voice. Right Now.

I have a small index card that I’ve lost and found again at least six time in the last couple of weeks. This tiny card boasts my scribbled out notes for what was to be my next post in the series on work. Notes in the form of bullet points that I hoped to flesh out later with real sentences. But life hasn’t allowed for real sentences, much less paragraphs-turned-blogged-posts lately.

Sometimes life only allows for bullet points.

I’ve been writing a series on work and I have loved it. The more I write, the more I realize I have to say about the subject. Last week I asked a question on the blog’s Facebook page and I was surprised by the quick and thoughtful responses. Your questions and frustrations only fueled the content I hope to share.

But my right-now life and my hoped-for work and not in sync at the moment. I can resent that. And I have. Or “I can see my limits as a gift instead of as a liability,” as my friend and fellow writer Emily Freeman puts it.

The truth is, my next post on work was supposed to go out a week ago. But I’ve had some limitations to reckon with. Time and space are in short supply. I’ve had several moments of external panic and many more moments of internal resentment over the whole thing. I’ve been tempted toward two opposite extremes:

1. Steamroll my way through my task list anyway, fueled mostly by fear and anxiety.

2. Give up.

I’ve done both of these in the past and am tempted to fall into either ditch even today. But on Monday morning a funny thing happened. My husband and I were talking about the upcoming couple of weeks and he could sense my edginess. And by edginess I mean the slamming of kitchen drawers and yelling for kids to get in the van already and “Where is my COFFEE?!?”

Thankfully he was a kinder soul than I was in that moment. He asked what I needed, what he could do for me during these next couple of weeks that are going to be extra hectic.

The morning school commute gave me time to sit with his generous question and to figure out what, exactly, I did need.

“I need time to write,” I said. “Writing makes me feel like my truest self and connects me to God.” I need to find the time and space to keep writing, even though it’s going to be crazy. I don’t want to lose my creative work and my momentum.”

I felt instantly better. There is power and freedom in voicing our needs and allowing someone we trust to help us carry both our burdens and our longings. But there was something else, something even more remarkable. My “art,” my writing, my hoped-for work — it stood up for itself with a voice I hardly recognized:

I matter. I am not merely a hobby or a selfish indulgence as she is prone to think. I am food for her soul. I am the thread that connects her most deeply with her Maker. I am the therapy that helps her sort through the rubble and clear out the cobwebs. I am her offering.

That was on Monday. Today is Wednesday. By the time you read this it’ll be days later. I knew I wouldn’t get to write until a couple of days after that conversation. But I was able to bear both the busy-ness and the lack with a bit more peace.

Why? Because my work had wedged her big ol’ audacious self into the space of that real conversation and said to my husband {and to me}:

Girfriend needs to write. Are you gonna give her a room up in this place or not?”

This week, my hoped-for work sounds a little bit like Madea and looks like an index card.

It doesn’t look like completed blog posts or a finished series on work or a lead magnet on my blog or a turned-in book proposal.

But it does look like promise and it feels like a priority. The bullet points matter. They serve as shorthand arrows that point to a deeper story.

Today, I searched through a pile in my office again for the holy grail index card and thought to myself, “There it is. My big important work scrawled in bullet-point form with smeary pencil + two different colors of ink.”

Sometimes our right-now life means our hoped-for work looks like bullet points instead of books.

My right-now life means that I run around a lot and write half-coherent thoughts on receipts that end up in the bottom of my purse with gum wrappers and sloshed coffee. It means I dump my favorite purse onto the kitchen counter and attempt to soak up the coffee from the leather while trying not to cuss in front of my kids as I salvage my precious thoughts. {True story. As in, this very thing just happened yesterday.}

Here’s what I’m trying to say.

My hoped-for work — the writing I do in the wee hours of the morning and in the last minutes of the day — it’s not exactly magical. It’s messy. It’s limited. It is literally sitting in scraps all around me waiting to be turned into something a bit more masterpiece-ish.

But those scraps are important because I’ve said so. I’ve cleared off my desk and put the junk on the floor.

The contents of my dumped-out purse are still on the kitchen counter. My e-mail can wait and so can the dishes. Why?

Because I need to sit down right here and tell you something:

Don’t give up on your hoped-for work just because your right-now life feels like a bully. Friends, we don’t have to be all or nothing about this.

Just because that guy has figured out a way to jump ship on his right-now in pursuit of his hoped-for doesn’t mean you have to put all your eggs in one basket like he did.

Just because she’s been blogging for less time than you and has a book deal and you still have two subscribers — one is you and the other one is your mom — doesn’t mean you quit writing.

Just because you have more ideas than your precious brain can hold and zero time for those ideas to come to life doesn’t mean the ideas aren’t worth scribbling down and dreaming about anyway.

Here are my two bossy takeaways:

1. Do what you can. Right now.

It begins with giving your work a voice so it can speak up for itself. This is another way of saying, “Prioritize.” Maybe your work’s voice sounds like deep and broody like Johnny Cash. Maybe it sounds British and bawdy like Adele. You already know that my work’s voice sounds like Madea because she is old-school, means business, and is funny. I need Madea on my shoulder because she tells all the other voices to “shut the _____ up.”

Your work has a voice. Listen up. {And you might want to share what you hear with someone else who loves you.}

2. Use what you have. Right now.

A notecard when you don’t have time for a blog post.
A piece of furniture from the thrift store even though you really want to have your own fixer-upper.
A friend you meet for coffee when you don’t yet have the courage or time to create the larger ministry you envision.
A children’s class at your church while you wait for a teaching degree.
A little league gig when your real dream is to coach for a living.
An iPhone camera in your diaper bag because your fancy Nikon can’t fit between the wipes and the sippy cups.

Sometimes we think our longings have to take a certain shape or they can’t take any shape at all. But that’s not true. Perfection is the enemy of Possibility. I 100% believe that there are right-now ways to practice our hoped-for work. Your ideas, your hopes, your dreams — they are still allowed to dance even if they haven’t received an invitation to the ball.

Your right-now life may feel like a lean and barren place. What could possibly grow there?

Anything. But new life always begins with a seed. And seeds tend to be tiny.

My bullet-point index card, my “Exhibit A” of “I have no time to write” — it turned into this post I hadn’t planned to write. I looked at it with discouragement and said to myself, “My creative work has been reduced to bullet points right now.”

Writing through this unexpected object lesson has been its own serendipitous consolation.

The bullet points testify that your right-now offering is enough. They serve as a deposit on what may one day grow into the vision that’s dancing about in your head.

But first? Take what you have right now and give it a voice.