As a mom of two under two, I’m pretty much always tired, which means I pretty much always have a 'good' reason to not invest in my marriage. In fact, if there was ever a time where I felt like I had every right to reject my husband’s advances, it’s now.

But feelings do not determine truth, do they?

The reality is that God designed marriage to mirror his relationship with his church. And just like we can’t take a break from God without our spiritual health declining, we can’t take a break from our spouse without it impacting the health of our marriage.

Everything is from him, to him, and through him—even marital intimacy. So, the path to marital closeness is through the One who created it in the first place. Which makes sense, because another word for intimacy is closeness.

Sex becomes more beautiful with this in mind, offering a glimpse of the glorious oneness between Christ and his bride, a unity that comes from preferring the good of another over yourself.

When I don’t feel up to pursuing intimacy with my husband, I look to the One who came not to be served but to serve and give his life for many. When everything in me is exhausted, I turn to my humble, self-sacrificing King in prayer, knowing that his wisdom in marriage is trustworthy.

God promises to work in us both for his own good pleasure, which means he is my greatest ally in cultivating rich intimacy in my marriage.

The truth is we’re both exhausted. We look forward to days when it won’t take a week to get through a movie, when giving up sleep to be with each other doesn’t feel like such a hard sacrifice, but we’re also thankful for the way this season challenges, stretches, and grows our love for one another.

Our challenge is to steal moments to express that love in the marriage bed."

RM note: Sexual intimacy in marriage is a gift from God, but it's also a very sensitive topic. While many women relate to normal feelings of tiredness that make intimacy challenging, there are many struggling with deeper issues of sexual brokenness. If this post triggers deeper concerns, consider talking to an older couple, a biblical counselor, or a doctor for help.

Right before my second son was born, my husband had emergency back surgery. Following my c-section, neither of us could lift more than ten pounds which made things really interesting as we tried to care for a newborn and a 30-pound toddler.

I remember calling an older mom the day I found out my husband needed surgery and just weeping. How were we going do this?

Thinking back on that season, I smile (and tear up) remembering each mom that did good to us. Some of them I knew and others I only recognized from a polite smile at church, but God knit my heart to theirs because of their kindness.

That’s what God does—he uses our acts of love to bind us together in unity.

Trying to do good to other moms in our own strength is a recipe for disaster. Thankfully, God doesn’t expect us to do it alone. His word tells us that he is ‘able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work.’

It’s reassuring to know that we don’t have to come up with the grace on our own, isn’t it? He’ll give grace to you too, friend.

This week, mama, consider the opportunities that God has (or hasn’t) prepared for you, lean on his grace, and look forward to your reward in Heaven.

May he knit our hearts together as we do each other good.

“When my oldest was three, we had a small concrete pad poured to host our trash and recycling bins. Just as the workers were finishing up, she and my husband, David, went outside to check on the progress, see if they needed anything, and admire their work from a safe distance.

Five seconds of small talk later, the three-year-old looked up at him, looked up at the workers, and took off in a sprint. I need not tell you in which direction.

David reports she ran full-tilt and leaped, arms and fingers splayed, with the slow-mo perfect form angle of an Olympic long jumper, landing three-year-old feet, hands, and booty into freshly-poured concrete.

Now, it’s easy to tell David’s funny story here. It’s easy to laugh, because I wasn’t in it.

But the truth is I’m “in it” a hundred times in a normal day. And I’m rarely laughing. Because I can rarely see in the moment anything beyond the loads of laundry or how many Brawneys it’s going to take to clean this up or whether or not this is going to make us late for school.

Which is why I’m so thankful for my sisterfriends—the women who are also “in it” every day, who still take the time to remind me to laugh and lean into the crazy and not get swallowed up by it.

They remind me that God—not me—is responsible for setting concrete and growing babies, and perhaps I’m freer to laugh than I realized, particularly when my daughter reports she just successfully flushed the potty with her mouth.

When you put your trust in his son Jesus, you find he’s had his arms wrapped around you all along. And just as we whisper into the ears of a tearful child, “I’ve got you,” God’s promises ring true in scripture to remind us of his sovereignty and grace in our lives.

God has us, even in the hard, even in the ridiculous.

So laugh, my friend. Laugh with the abandon of your head tossed back and loud enough for others to hear and with the delight of a daughter.”
 

I don’t need to tell you that motherhood is hard work. It’s physically grueling, emotionally exhausting, and intellectually numbing. But one hardship we often overlook as moms is the challenge it makes to our sense of purpose.

Through the consuming trials of motherhood, we lose many of the earthly ways we used to understand the purpose of our lives before—we may no longer work out of the home, our friendships may change, our relationships with our husbands may differ as we make room for the family, and so on.

Because the challenges of motherhood strip away our old identity markers, we are tempted to replace them by finding our purpose in godly motherhood.

Although godly motherhood is valuable, it is not our purpose. It is not our first calling, but the result of it.

Our purpose is first and foremost to love God more.

Therefore, we don’t wrap our purpose up in our children—or in any other relationship. Roles and relationships don’t define who we are and why we are here. Only one relationship defines us: our relationship with God.

Dear Mommies, we are so much more than the summation of our children. His purpose for your motherhood is that you would know him better, love him more, depend completely on his strength, and understand his faithfulness in a new way.

This is the second in a series of posts to demystify some of the most common gospel-isms we use in Christianity. What does it really mean to “remember the gospel” in your day-to-day life as a mom? Find out here.

In our own unique ways—with our giftings, interests, and resources—we can build a gospel culture in our homes and teach our children what it means to be a disciple of Christ.

Six years ago, I went to bed happily married and woke up a widow and single mom to seven.

In the dark hours of that Friday morning, I groggily woke to my husband’s breathing. I reached over with my eyes still closed to nudge him and wake him out of it. He didn’t respond and as I slowly became more aware of what was happening.

Dan was taken by ambulance to the ER and I ran upstairs to pray with my kids before heading to the hospital. Everything in me wanted to assure them it would be alright and Daddy would be okay.

But I couldn’t make that promise. And before the sun was fully up that morning, I walked back through the door from the hospital to tell them their dad had passed away.

Being a single mom was nowhere in the range of possible plans for me.

The stark reminders that I was now a single mom were everywhere. When I signed my kids up for camp or basketball or vacation Bible school, I put N/A in the space for spouse’s information. When my daughter graduated high school and my son was honored midfield for football, I stood with them alone.

But once I was stripped of those expectations, I could see what was really true. While my earthly identity as a wife has changed, my eternal identity as a child of God hasn’t.

Oh, how I miss the insight Dan always provided when we hit a parenting hurdle. But the source of all wisdom hasn’t changed. God promises that ‘if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him.’

While Dan is no longer here to work and bring home a salary for our family, the source of all provision hasn’t changed. God promises to meet our needs.

While I no longer have Dan’s prudence and experience to help me make decisions, the source of true guidance hasn’t changed.

God promises abundant life and joy, and that promise holds whether I am married or single; in the throes of raising kids or preening an empty nest; working outside the home or at home full time.

While the circumstances may have shifted, the source of abundance and the reason for joy hasn’t.

See miss, he’s not even looking up at me,’ the doctor bluntly observed. ‘All the signs of autism, and that is my diagnosis. I will go write this up.’ He shut the door behind him, and the numbness set in.

I was not surprised at his words—they were confirming something we had been fairly sure of for the better part of a year. But I also knew in the moment they left his mouth that everything was changing, and changing for the long haul.

So many mothers know this moment, when the paradoxes of walking with a perfect Savior in a far-from-perfect world set in. Everything changes and nothing changes. Your dreamed of future fades quickly out of sight for one that is impossible to picture, but your day-to-day life goes on as it always has—changing diapers and making dinners and folding clothes.

And then the hard questions come: ‘If God only does what is right, why would he allow something so wrong?’

Rest assured, mamas, that we are not the first to ask the hard questions.

This is our bent as humans: we want the answers. We want to know why God would allow us to carry hard things; we want the reason he feels far away, and we want someone or something to blame. But God does not always answer us with why.

He does, however, always remind us Who.

Jesus’ response to the limited perspective of his disciples introduces an entire new paradigm when it comes to disability. It’s as if Jesus is telling us to think about the circumstance differently. ‘Don’t look for the cause,’ he implies, ‘look for the future purpose.’

For a special needs mama, the parenting journey does look different, and in so many ways it is uniquely challenging. But God is completing his work for his perfect purposes so that his glory might be displayed in the broken vessels of an unqualified mom and a differently-abled child.

The most beautiful and honoring thing we can offer to a perfect Savior is not well-performing children but simply the acknowledgment that apart from Jesus, we can do nothing.

When we are at the end of ourselves, which is easily where special needs parenting—well, all parenting—can bring us, we are right where God wants us.”

About eight years ago, our family hit a tough spot financially. I was weeks from delivering our third child when my husband came to me with the numbers; there was simply no more stretching an already stretched budget. We ended up on food stamps and Medicaid.

At first, my faith didn’t waver.

But then things went from bad to worse. As the weeks turned into months and the months to years, I found our financial woes hitting me in a place I’d never expected: motherhood.

To be a ‘good’ mother, culture tells us, you must feed your child organic, locally sourced food. To be a ‘good’ mother, it whispers, you must book a professional photo shoot for each new stage (as well buy new matching outfits.) To be a ‘good’ mother, we hear, you must have the perfectly accessorized nursery. And then as they grow older, to be a ‘good’ mother you must be able to pay for dance, music, and art lessons.

What I remember most about our lean years was the sense of helplessness and guilt I felt While my story may be a bit of an outlier, the desire to care for our children is a universal one.

‘Which of you,’ Jesus asks in Matthew, ‘if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone?’ The heart of every loving parent is to provide good things for our children. So when we’re financially unable to give them ‘bread’, it can strike us to our very core.

As a Father himself, God knows and understands the weight of your mother heart. He knows how desperately you long to give your children good gifts and how much you despair when you can’t.

In the midst of our financial struggles, in the midst of my feelings of helplessness, God was feeding us and carrying my children in his arms. But more than caring for my children, God was also caring for me.

As I led them, he was gently leading me. And part of what he was gently leading me to was the understanding that he never intended for me to care for my children alone.

While I don’t know what the future holds, I do know this: The Lord is my Shepherd and so I shall not want. And because the Lord is my Shepherd, my children won’t want either. He will feed his flock. He will carry the lambs in his arms.

He will gently lead those that are with young.

I will never forget the first night I held my daughter in my arms.

After friends and family had come and gone, it was just the three of us—my husband, my daughter and me. In the dimly lit and quiet hospital room, I was lying in the bed studying the face of my swaddled baby girl. And then a thought almost took my breath away. How was I supposed to be the mother and teach this newborn baby the way through all of the decisions and storms of life?

Many of you have prayed a similar gospel-saturated prayer over your child … and many of you have also experienced the same fears and insecurities that I have in this journey of motherhood.

There are so many decisions we face in raising our children. We constantly assess what is good, better, and best for them—sleep training, feeding, disciplining, discipling them, developing their giftings, and schooling.

I have found that a helpful principle in my own decision-making process is to think through the lens of biblical stewardship while gazing closely at the mission of God. As parents, our children are some of the most precious gifts that we have been entrusted to steward and love, not use or keep for ourselves. 

We are asked to roll up our sleeves in love and humility and labor towards two hard tasks: (1) help them know and follow Christ, and (2) help to cultivate in them the God-given gifts that he wants to use.

Because we trust an unchanging and faithful God who is still on the Throne, we must find comfort in who he is and commit to do the hard work of planting our children to grow—whether that is in public school, private school, or homeschool—rather than burying them to keep them safe. 

As moms, we can find so much freedom in this.

As I send my precious girl into our nearby public school this fall, I know that I will be scared and choking back tears. If you’re in Ann Arbor and reading this, come find me at a local coffee shop and sit with me that morning. No matter the choice you or I make regarding schooling for our children this fall, we both need each other for encouragement and the grace of God to sustain us as we plant our children in the harvest fields of the Kingdom of God.

"Although we’ve had the same food expectations for all of our kids, their tastes and preferences vary wildly. Not long ago, we jokingly nicknamed our twins, “farm-to-table” and our oldest son, “Mickey” (in reference to his love of the McDonald’s cheeseburger). It was all fun and games … for awhile.
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After a couple of weeks it started affecting their behavior and excitement about different foods. Like when our firstborn pushed away his broccoli—not because he simply didn’t like it—but because he was “Mickey.”
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This goes to show that what we call ourselves has power.
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We don’t think of ourselves neutrally, but instead, we see ourselves through the lens of, 'Mary, the angry mom,' or 'Julie, the messy person,' or 'Kayla, the A-type overachiever.' The more we repeat these and believe these labels, the more we live up to them.
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The power of personal identity is one of main reasons why God spends so much of the Bible telling us who we were created to be, who we are apart from him, and who we are in Christ. These foundational truths are the dot from which all the lines of our life flow.
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In Genesis, he tells us that we are image bearers, created as males and females, equal in worth but still distinct. As image bearers, we deserve dignity, respect, love, and life. 
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But in Genesis, we also see that Adam and Eve sin. As sinners, we deserve guilt, condemnation, separation from God, and ultimately death. It feels normal for most of us (especially once we’ve heard and believed the gospel) to be horrified and ashamed about this sinful aspect of our identity. 
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If God left us like this—image bearers enslaved to sin—the narrative of our lives would be irredeemable.
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But he intervenes by sending his son, Jesus, to purchase us at an unimaginably high price so that we could part with our old identity and be raised with him, identified with Christ. Our new identity—in Christ—means that we are redeemed image bearers.
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From the basis of our new identity in Christ, we love well, we look out for the interests of others, we forgive, we submit, and we pursue peace.
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God tells us who we are in Christ, not because we have arrived today, but because we will arrive when we meet Christ. The more we believe that—remembering our identity in Christ today—the more we can cast off lies and walk in the way we’ll walk for eternity. 
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So, the next time you hear someone mention your identity in Christ, let it be a reminder that you are a new creation in Christ, which is definitely a label worth remembering."
 

He hurt my baby. In an effort to protect his beloved train from her intruding little fingers, the boy reached over and pushed my daughter headfirst into the pointed edge of another toy.

My heart raced with emotion as I swooped her up. Scenes like this are many in the world of children. And though maybe a bit more polished and professional, these interactions are not all that uncommon among the mommies of little ones, as well.

Created in God's image, we detect injustice acutely.

Injustice causes a gap. When a person wrongs us, intentionally or not, a breach in intimacy and connection occurs. Trust is severed. Security threatened.

Whether we discern the gap's existence or not, we sense innately that some act of justice must occur to overcome the divide.

Maybe you know the feeling. 

Maybe your husband doesn’t help as much as he should. Maybe your children sling mean words that pierce you with the feeling of rejection as a mother. Maybe another mom in your small group, or your mother-in-law, or your mom always offers you helpful suggestions on how to be a good mom, and you can never measure up to her standards.

Whether words and actions are simply inconsiderate or blatantly intentional, all of us know what it is to be wronged...

We lay down all our defenses because Jesus extends to us forgiveness undeserved.

Forgiveness that cancels our record of debt, our guilty standing, our condemnation. His blood reconciles us to God, inviting us into his presence. Jesus welcomes us when our experience is one of pain, ridicule, or shame. He hears our helpless cries when we choose not to defend ourselves. He whispers to us the most tender and comforting expression of one who's been there: I know.

We forsake giving others the power to stake claim on our identity, and we hide ourselves in this Savior, rather than use our own futile measures to defend our worth and dignity and thus widen the gap.