I Remember Me

This week, joy found me quietly.

I’ve written a lot this year about feeling heavy. But I’m realizing now—this heaviness isn’t despair. It’s transition. I am standing between who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is ending. Everything is realigning. And that realization alone has brought joy.

As my children grow into adulthood—even Kenya at nineteen—I find myself remembering me. Who I was. Who I’ve been becoming all along. The wisdom that was formed during those hands-on mothering years is not behind me; it’s now ready to be shared. I am uniquely qualified for this season because of everything that came before it.

My love of food has grown into deep knowledge about nutrition and care. My creativity is expanding beyond sermons and lesson plans. Even my home—my 100-year-old house—feels like a testimony of restoration. I’m rediscovering beauty, purpose, and confidence in new ways.

Yes, there is grief. My mother is in heaven. My father is changed. The constant, hands-on work of mothering is winding down. None of this is easy.

But Christ makes the difference.

He gives every stage of life meaning. He doesn’t waste seasons. He fills them with purpose and—yes—joy.

This Advent, I’m choosing to believe that what comes next is not smaller, just different. Deeper. Wider. Intentional.

This is not a season of loss.

This is a season of becoming.

And by God’s grace, I declare it:

Come what may, this shall be a season of joy.

Jesus joy.

#ReflectionsofAPrayingMother

#IRememberMe