Hearth and Homeschool

I didn’t love the way I looked in a bikini before I had children. I fretted over perceived imperfections, poured time and money into fixing them. I drank green juices, combined cardio with weights, and observed the scale intently for feedback about my efforts. I gave up sugar. I worked out daily, often twice a day. I sacrificed the joy of cooking hearty, delicious meals because comfort food doesn’t lead to a smaller waistline. And, as it always is with the paradox of perfectionism, the more “success” I had, the more consumed with my flaws I became. It was how they say it is with drugs; the little wins were no longer “ high” enough; I needed “more” to feel the same level of satisfaction. More pounds lost, more compliments, more heads glancing my way as I passed. 

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My daughter’s body is curled on my chest, hot with fever. She is 18 months old, just discovering the joy of running everywhere, but this week her little legs lay still. She opens her eyes some, vaguely aware that Dory is getting lost for the 18th time on the blue of the television screen. The dishes stay in the sink, the laundry goes unfolded, and someone else carries out my lesson plans at work. My most important job needs doing, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. 

How do we continue to give when we are just plain exhausted?

What’s it like to sit with Jesus in the dark moments of our lives?

Why is it so easy to put self-care last on the list — if at all?

How does silence help us better love our children?

Can washing dishes and folding laundry really be a path to holiness?

How do we lean into seasons of waiting?

Is it possible to taste God’s goodness, even in death?

What do we do when we just aren’t enough?