idontbelieveingrammar

In my busiest season, we have decided to move. I have never been more stressed and my house has never been cleaner. The other day, Tess was asked what if some married couple wanted to buy our house and start a family.  I got more than a little misty and told her that was exactly who me and her dad were when we walked through those doors. When we signed our life away. It has been a weird process for me. The packing up. The moving on. The leaving things behind. I know it is time. But. Oh. My. Heart.  And let's be honest, it will just be a few miles down the road. It doesn’t help that I have been listening to Miranda Lambert’s, "The House That Built Me" on repeat for weeks now. I  know this isn't the house I grew up in, but it is in every way possible the house I have grown in. I knew things would be fast, and I honestly haven’t had much time to shop or think or do anything besides shove some winter clothes and a fondue set into the tower...

(confession - I posted this exactly three years ago and called it Losing Jesus. All of it still feels true) I think Mary got gypped. I mean she bore the Christ child. In a freaking stable. And I’m betting that the world’s only perfect man wasn’t the perfect toddler. Being without sin, doesn’t necessarily mean that he slept through the night or never went through the terrible twos. The bible never mentions how she rocked him to sleep, or kissed his scraped knees, read him Goodnight Moon until she had it memorized, made his favorite dinner, or got up with him a billion times a night when he had an ear infection.   As a matter of fact the only thing the bible mentions of her parenting (Or anything at all of Jesus’s life from age 1-33) is the not-so-flattering story in Luke where she literally leaves him in another town. "Every year Jesus’ parents went to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Passover.   When he was twelve years old, they went up to the festival, according to...