A few weeks ago, I told my therapist that I wanted to do something like bake cookies and deliver them to my friend’s front porches, but the

Jealousy. Lies. And the Truth.

My inconsistent January of 2019 meant that it was the last two days of the month before I determined what I will work on this year.

Thinking through the messages we send our children about worshiping God.

When Redmond had been home from the hospital for 10 short days, we found ourselves back in the ICU with him.

I was able to test out my healing from PTSD through an unexpected challenge recently.

Setting healthy boundaries may be the hardest relational thing we ever do, but it’s also one of the most loving things we do.

Plans. I’m beginning to wonder why I bother to make them at all.

When I was trying to wrap my mind around the words I’d been told about my newborn son, it was more than I could bear.

My Dad used to love to “tackle the waves” with me when I was a kid.

I knew there would be hard days, but I had no idea just how far beyond myself those days would take me.

I recently downloaded the audio version of “Girl, Wash Your Face” by Rachel Hollis.

My son has been the one in the hospital. But I've been the one breaking.

When I did my internship in 2005 with the women’s minister at a large, urban church, I asked her for some book recommendations.

Through those last few days of laboring to learn crisis care for a baby, I constantly reminded myself to breathe.

My goodness, do I have some scars today.

One year ago this week was the most terrifying and awful time in my life.

My son, Redmond, is 11-months old and thriving.

There’s a famous poem about Down syndrome called “Welcome to Holland.”

I never considered the possibility that a traumatic birth and subsequent stay in the NICU with my baby could lead to a diagnosis of PTSD.