I would like to be free.

My ego would rather I not write tonight, because truthfully, what I most need to say is that I’m feeling tender and weak and a bit untethered. My ego has always hated the idea that someday, I might look in the mirror and feel compassion for the woman staring back at me, so it tries to keep me from ever looking for too long. My ego would rather I bow down to the gods of production and perfection and certainty.

Three years and a new chapter.

My dear girls,

This month marks three whole years of getting to love each other. A thousand days of crazy and imperfection, much of which was my own. No one else has seen my weakness quite the way that you have. No one has seen me more confused, more impatient, more angry, more fearful. I’ve known for awhile now that this chapter of us was winding down, and I have been searching everywhere for the just right words to say.


I learn to practice the spiritual discipline of saying no this week. We’ve been invited to spend the evening with friends, but Monday, we run like chickens with our heads cut off to finish the pressing errands, Tuesday is house church, and Thursday is already double booked. I haven’t picked up a book or a pen or gone to yoga in what feels like a month of Sundays. I admit to a friend that I don’t know if saying yes to another thing would be the best decision for my mental and emotional health—not this week, anyway.


Yesterday morning, the sun finally came out of hiding after what felt like 84 years of rainy blur. I volunteer to lead our little church’s peace passing rhythm, sharing what has been growing in me over the last few weeks: the beautiful truth that we who have been marked by Jesus may live freely and without accusation. I remember the story of a son who comes home and a dad who has been waiting for him, and I try to remember that this freedom is for me, too.