I sat in the airport, leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes for a minute.  I'd just flown home from a week of working in Nashville.  Upon landing and checking my e-mails, I realized I had a deliverable that was urgent, so instead of driving home from the airport, I booted up the laptop and began to work.  It would be better to knock the work out now, rather than try to work after getting home.  My kids wouldn't handle it well after not seeing me for a week.  

But, before I began, I just needed to rest for a minute.

It was a rough week in Nashville.  Night of working until 10 p.m. at the office, followed by early mornings, were taking their toll.

I finished the deliverable, closed my laptop, and drove home.  I spent a few hours with my kids before I fell into bed and went to sleep.

Before I went to bed, I looked up at the ceiling.  "God, I don't feel like I enjoy my life anymore.  Please teach me how."

It was true.  As I thought back over my life, even without the current workload,  I'm not sure I could ever say I had mastered the art of truly enjoying my life.  So often, I felt as though I was just surviving until the next season.  I drifted off to sleep wondering how everyone else seemed to enjoy life so much, while the days felt so overwhelming to me.

The next morning, I received a text from my Bible study group.  We're working on a secret project for the upcoming retreat.  Can you please send us a photo off of your phone that brings you joy?

Timely.  I flipped through a few photos on my phone but found nothing suitable.  I knew it wasn't a problem with my photos, but a problem with me instead.  Perhaps I need a few days off, I thought, or maybe a spa day.  

As the Lord is always faithful, I shouldn't have been surprised when the message at church today was on - you guessed it - choosing life. 

Deuteronomy 30:19-20   This day I call the heavens and the earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live 20 and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the Lord is your life, and he will give you many years in the land he swore to give to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

According to this verse, choosing life (and enjoying life) means three things:

1.  Loving the Lord

2.  Obeying His Voice

3.  Holding fast to Him

Loving the Lord.  In my mind, there's no doubt that I love the Lord.  However, love is often an action.  When I am loving the Lord with all my mind (action), my thoughts are on Him.  I'm in a place of a grateful heart.  I am not seeking man's approval, but only God's approval.  I am joyful over the little things He does for me, such as a beautiful sunset.  I spend time with Him.  I study His Word.  I am focused on His holiness.  My thoughts are no longer centered around me and my problems, but instead around Him and His faithfulness.  

We suffer much agony because we try to get from people what only God can give us, which is a sense of worth and value - Joyce Meyer

Obeying His Voice.  There is no peace in life without obedience to God.  If I am going to be obedient to God on the big things, I have to start on the small things.  For me in particular, He's made it clear I need to take more breaks throughout the day.  Go for a walk.  Spend my lunchtime with Him.  These are small things, but even disobedience in small things reaps repercussions.  When God asks us to be obedient to Him, it is rarely something we've already planned into our day.  Instead, we have to be open to hearing His voice and obeying it even when it isn't convenient.

Do we really want to be interrupted in the middle of our busy lives to see God, hear God, and pursue God?  Yes, Jesus we do. -  Lysa TerKeurst 

Holding fast to Him.  Holding fast to God means hanging onto the hand of the Lord when I don't know what's going on in life.  It also means that I don't let go when I get distracted, or tempted, by the world.  There's an overwhelming amount of distraction in our world today.  Simply scrolling through our phones will show numerous options from YouTube to social media to numerous text messages.  None of these things should ever replace the security we have in Christ.  Its His hand I want to hold fast to, no one else's. 

We must stay so intently focused on the King of kings that when distractions come, we are not moved.  For when our eyes are fixed on Him, we exalt Him, and others will be drawn to Him. - Beth Moore (Voices of the Faithful)  

Rather than a day at the spa, I needed a day at church.  I needed to get back to an attitude of gratitude, since joy is a function of thankfulness.  I needed to shift my eyes to the One who is the source of my joy, instead of trying to find joy on my own effort, in the midst of my problems.  

I decided to attempt to find a joyful photo again.  I found a photo of a sunset on my phone and I submitted it to our Bible study leader with the following note:  

I love a beautiful sunset.  God's creativity brings me such joy.

The photo was there all along, I simply had to change my perspective.

I finished my green quilt this week.  My quilts take a long time to make, mostly because the quilter (that would be me) is slow and she takes forever to finish a project.

This quilt was special, though.  

A few years ago, our house caught fire and many of my sewing projects were destroyed in the fire.  This was probably a blessing in disguise, because I couldn't possibly finish all of them before I die.  But, there was one project in particular I was sick to lose.  My green quilt.  It was my prized project, full of fabrics in my favorite hues of greens and blues.  I envisioned how beautiful it would look when it was finished.  I'd personally never seen a quilt like it, and I couldn't wait to finish it.  

A few months ago, I finally had the courage to go through a few boxes in my storage room.  After divorce, its difficult to go through old things.  My storage room is full of old photos and memories, so I tend to avoid it because it can throw me back into some serious sadness.  But, on this particular day, I felt strong enough to go through a few things.

In the bottom of a Rubbermaid container, there it was.  My green quilt!  I thought it had been destroyed in the fire.  I was so delighted!  I called out to my daughter, and showed her what I'd found.  She was surprised, too, and excited for me since she remembered all of the hours I'd put into this quilt.

It was only about half finished.  So, I immediately brought it upstairs into my sewing room.  I found the pattern with it, and within a few days, I was fervently working to complete it.

This weekend, I finally finished it.

I still can't believe it was in my storage room the entire time.

You know, God is in the business of restoring what once was lost.  He promises not to just repay, but to work wonders for us.  Look at these verses full of promise:

“I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten—

    the great locust and the young locust,

    the other locusts and the locust swarm[a]—

my great army that I sent among you.

 You will have plenty to eat, until you are full,

    and you will praise the name of the Lord your God,

    who has worked wonders for you;

never again will my people be shamed." Joel 2:25-26

He doesn't promise to give us back exactly what was lost, instead He promises to repay us by working wonders.  

I've seen this at work in my own life.  I recall the heartache of a miscarriage and the likelihood that we would never be able to have children.  After I lost one child, I gained two beautiful children who were sitting in an orphanage in Russia, waiting for us to take them home.

I spent ten years out of touch with my youngest brother.  After a terrible motorcycle accident (which he's healed from), he now lives less than an hour from me, and our relationship has been restored after ten years of absence.

After my divorce, my mind could not come out from underneath the depth of depression and anxiety.  However, two years later, my mind has come a long way towards healing and I am fully able to work again.  In fact, I'm in a job now that's better than any job I've ever had.

God really does work wonders to repay what was once lost.  I don't know why it was important to Him to save my quilt.  Its a little thing, but it was really special to me.  

I truly delight in the ways He surprises me, when I least expect it. 

I’ve known for a while that I needed a break.

But don’t we all? Aren’t most of us sprinting through the workweek, only to spend the weekend catching up on everything we didn’t get to Monday through Friday? In my case, I’d been working weekends too, which, if I’m being honest, had quietly turned into an entire month of weekends.

“Mom,” my daughter said one day, “you need some days off.”

“Mom,” my son added, “I’m going to physically pull you away from that computer on the weekends.”

Naturally, I responded with a generous helping of Mom guilt, reminding them that someone around here has to pay the bills. Sometimes, I explained, weekends aren’t optional.

That night, as I scrolled through my favorite podcasts before falling asleep, I landed on Joyce Meyer’s Talk It Out. The episode was about self-care and the importance of rest. Joyce shared how she once worked herself straight into serious health problems.

What a coincidence.

The very next day, I took a few hours off and went to church. The pastor taught on the true meaning of Sabbath, what it actually means to rest, and why it matters so much to God.

At this point, I started to feel like God was trying to tell me something.  I just couldn’t quite figure out what.

Two days later, I woke up at 3 a.m. with the unmistakable sense that something was very wrong. Let me clarify, seriously wrong. My stomach was in open rebellion, and then it hit me. Earlier that evening, I had eaten a salad that was possibly… definitely… past its expiration date.

I had full-blown, wish-I-was-dead, mama-please-save-me food poisoning.

I retched. I puked. I pulled muscles in my back from repeated hurling. Eventually, I grabbed a pillow and a blanket and decided that if I was going to die, it would be on the bathroom floor, next to the toilet, where I belonged. I imagined them finding me there, shaking their heads sadly, whispering, She never even liked salad.

At one point, I looked up and saw all four of my dogs staring down at me. They didn’t bark. They didn’t move. They just stared, deeply concerned and profoundly confused. I was not supposed to be sleeping on the bathroom floor, and they were unsure how to process this turn of events. (If you’re wondering why I have four dogs, that’s a separate story involving my complete lack of boundaries.)

As I lay there, I noticed a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling and made a mental note to clean it later. Then I wondered if there were more cobwebs I hadn’t noticed. And somewhere between nausea and delirium, a thought crossed my mind.

God, I can’t believe You gave me food poisoning just to force me to rest.

And immediately, gently, clearly, the answer came:

I didn’t give you food poisoning. But I do work all things for your good, and I will work this for your good.

Rest was officially on the agenda.

For the next twenty-four hours, rest wasn’t optional, it was mandatory. I could barely get out of bed. Anyone who texted me received the same response: I’m sick today. Can’t talk. Phone calls were completely off the table.

I drifted in and out of sleep, listening to sermons, podcasts, and a few ’90s music documentaries. My kids popped in now and then to tell me about their day. But mostly, I lay quietly in the dark, praying for healing and promising God I would learn how to slow down.

When I finally recovered, something had shifted.

I felt calmer. More peaceful. I realized that weeks of constant busyness had pushed self-care completely off my radar, and without it, I was running on fumes. I also recognized that my priorities had slipped out of alignment, affecting not just me, but how I was leading my family spiritually.

I would not wish food poisoning on anyone. Ever. Not even a little.

But I am grateful for the reminder, to slow down, to rest, and to take better care of myself.

That said…

It may be a very long time before I eat another salad. 🥗

Christmas last year was the hardest Christmas of my life.

Fresh off a separation from my husband, the season felt forced from the start. I knew things wouldn’t feel the same, but knowing that didn’t stop me from trying. I decorated the house. I baked cookies. I played Christmas music and smiled through the tears, hoping that if I pretended long enough, joy might eventually catch up with me.

It didn’t.

“Fake it until you make it” failed spectacularly. And I certainly didn’t fool my kids.

With Christmas only days away, we made a decision that felt both drastic and necessary, we left. The kids and I packed our bags and escaped to a quiet condo overlooking a peaceful lake. Staying home felt unbearable, like staring straight at everything we had lost.

But pain has a way of traveling with you.

The separation alone would have been enough, but it wasn’t the only weight I was carrying. I was emotionally raw from a job that drained me, from a constant sense that I was failing my children, and from the exhausting effort of trying to keep everyone around me okay.

I think divorce does that to you.

There’s an unspoken pressure to become everything to everyone—to prove you’re still good, still capable, still whole. You want to care for everyone affected by the split. Not just support your children, but somehow heal them. And the harder I tried to do that, the worse I felt.

By the time January 1st arrived, I was empty.

That morning, in a condo far from home, I pulled a blank journal from my suitcase and stepped out onto the balcony while the world was still quiet. I asked God for a word for the new year. I didn’t ask casually. I begged. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and afraid. Everything in my life felt like it was spinning out of control, and I didn’t know how to stop it.

What follows are the words I wrote down that morning.

I’ve read them hundreds of times since. Every time, they steady me. They gently but firmly bring my focus back to where it belongs. Maybe they’ll speak to you, too.

January 1

Everything in life has its place.

You are trying to function in roles and relationships that are out of place.

With work, focus only on the tasks assigned to you. Let the responsibilities meant for others remain with them.

With relationships, you are called to offer guidance and wisdom, not to mend deep wounds or fix what is broken. Only I can do that, God.

You are trying to do everything. You cannot be everything to everyone. I did not design you for this. You must accept your limitations, or you will drown beneath a sea of expectations.

Your immediate family is your priority.

When you accept your limitations and take your rightful place, the other pieces will fall together as they are meant to.

Turn things over. Trust others to do their part. Most importantly, trust Me to do Mine.

Here, you will find freedom.

Welcome to your new chapter. I am excited to show it to you and walk through it with you. This season will bring some of the greatest growth, and the greatest peace, of your life.

Walk with Me.

Love,
God

I asked my seventeen-year-old son what he’d like for dinner on Sunday.

He was going to be gone most of the day, but I told him he could choose the meal.

“Beef Wellington,” he said, without hesitation. “And birthday fudge.”

I nodded slowly. This is what happens when you ask questions you aren’t fully prepared to answer.

He has never been a cheap kid to feed. He ordered lobster in restaurants when he was still in grade school. Now he’s taking a culinary class, and if a recipe sounds complicated, expensive, or slightly intimidating, it immediately earns his attention.

“Have you ever even tried Beef Wellington?” I asked.

“No,” he said cheerfully. “But I’ve always wanted to eat it.”

Challenge accepted.

I hunted down the right cut of meat. I ordered the correct mushrooms. I watched videos. I read instructions. I briefly convinced myself that Gordon Ramsay and I were about to collaborate on something extraordinary—if only he were available for moral support.

Three hours later, after two YouTube tutorials and a kitchen that felt about ten degrees hotter than normal, my daughter and I were beginning to believe we might actually pull this off.

At this point, we were sweaty, determined, and feeling dangerously confident.

“You know what we need?” I told her. “Funk music.”

So we turned on seventies disco—no judgment allowed—and kept moving. When we reached the most delicate part of the process, rolling out the puff pastry, I paused mid-roll and offered a very specific prayer.

“Lord, please bless this puff pastry. Let it roll onto the beef the way it’s supposed to.”

One small miracle later, the Wellington was in the oven.

“You know what would be perfect with this?” I said. “Potatoes from the garden.”

She agreed to peel them, which felt like a gift, until we realized how tiny they were. For reasons unknown to us, our potatoes never grew to full size.

“I hate peeling these little potatoes,” she said as one went flying across the kitchen, disco music still blaring. “They’re impossible to hold onto. My hand is going to be permanently stuck in a potato-peeling position.”

Still, she didn’t quit. Twenty minutes later, we had a respectable pile of peeled miniature potatoes and a shared sense of victory.

Dinner was worth it.

The Wellington turned out beautifully. The potatoes were perfect. As I sat at the table watching my son enjoy his meal, something quiet and deep settled in my chest—gratitude, pure and simple.

And then a thought came to me.

What would it have been like to have Jesus sit at your table?

He loved a good meal. He lingered at tables. He taught between bites and laughter. It must have been something extraordinary to sit there, listening to Him speak, surrounded by food and fellowship.

Would He have liked Beef Wellington? Birthday fudge?

What would I say to Him if He were here? What would I ask?

We cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen, the day winding down the way good days do. And I found myself quietly looking forward to the day I’ll sit at His table—face to face, no distractions, no rushing.

And who knows.

Maybe there will even be birthday fudge.