Campfire Conversations & Car Talks: Summer reflections on connection, chaos and the gift of just a little more time

It’s that time of summer where the rhythm is a little less structured and a little more sacred. The college kids are home, the high schooler’s got one foot in childhood and one in grown-up territory, and my kitchen feels more like a revolving door than a calm domestic haven.

There are days when it’s a lot—laundry everywhere, the fridge emptying faster than I can restock it, calendars overlapping with summer jobs, church activities, and the endless rhythm of “Who’s coming over? Who’s staying for dinner?” But as much as it boggles my brain, I’m learning to lean in.

Because this season? It’s fleeting.

During the in-between moments—those unscheduled evenings, late-night hangouts, and long car rides—I’m reminded of the gift it is to still be here. Not hovering, not fixing everything, but close enough to listen, to ask, and to simply be present.

These are the days of seeing them take big steps toward independence. Summer jobs aren’t just about staying busy—they’re funding pieces of their dreams: College tuition, a first car, travel plans, savings accounts. They’re learning responsibility, but they’re also learning about their own capabilities. And I get a front-row seat to witness it and cheer for each one.

There are spontaneous coffee runs, random driveway talks, and the golden moments when their friends pile into our living room and laughter fills the house. I’ve learned that making space for their friends—keeping the door open, snacks on hand, and letting the house be loud and full—is one of the most meaningful things I can do for them. Because when their friends feel safe here, my kids feel even more at home.

It’s not always convenient. Sometimes it’s exhausting. I’ve had days where I just want quiet, where I’d love a clean kitchen that stays clean, or a night without anyone asking, “What’s for dinner?” But I’m reminded again and again—this is temporary. This season of a full house, late nights, chaotic calendars, and a refrigerator that never stays closed… it won’t always be like this.

And while it can feel like I’m running a 24-hour diner, I know what I’m really doing is investing. Not just in meals and rides and folding towels, but in connection. In trust. In creating a space where my almost-grown kids can still land safely while they figure out who they’re becoming.

Sometimes the most important conversations happen without a plan—around a campfire, during a walk, or on a long road trip. I’ve learned to welcome the silence just as much as the moments when they open up, because both are valuable. Both are connection.

We’ve traded bedtime stories for conversations about internships, relationships, faith, and adulting. And they still need my voice—not to direct, but to encourage. To remind them they’re not alone. To remind myself that presence is enough.

So I’ll keep making space. I’ll keep offering time, open ears, and a revolving door that creaks from all the comings and goings. Because as much as they’re growing and going, they’re still mine. And I want them to know that home—real, grace-filled home—will always be here for them.

And that’s worth every dish, every late night, every moment of beautiful, midsummer chaos.

What Easter Has Taught Me About Motherhood

Motherhood has a way of bringing you to the end of yourself over and over again. That’s kind of where Easter begins too!

I used to think Easter was mostly about celebration—and it is—but it’s also about surrender, waiting and trusting God with the things you can’t fix or fully understand. Sound familiar, mom?

If I’m honest, I’ve had seasons in motherhood where it felt like something had to die for something new to be born. Not always in a dramatic way, more like a quiet surrender. A letting go. Sometimes it’s been my pride, or my need to be right. Other times, it’s been my expectations of how things “should” go, or how my kids “should” behave or respond. I’ve had to release dreams I had for them that no longer fit who they’re becoming, and all of that is hard.

Easter reminds me that even when it looks like everything’s over—when Friday feels final—a new morning is still coming. God is always at work in the unseen. I may not understand the path my kids are on, but He does. I can’t always see the outcome, but I can trust the One who’s writing their story.

One of the biggest things Easter has taught me is that my children are still becoming who God made them to be. And so am I. That gives me so much peace. I don’t have to be the perfect mom with the perfect plan. I just have to be faithful with what I’ve been given, one day at a time.

That includes making space for forgiveness. I’ve had to offer it more times than I expected—and I’ve had to ask for it, as well. I’ve snapped when I should have listened. I’ve tried to control when I should have trusted. And I’ve carried guilt longer than I needed to, forgetting that the same grace I offer to my kids is available to me too.

And let’s be real—sometimes the “little deaths” of motherhood feel quiet and unseen. The letting go of the way things used to be. The slow fade of a role you once played. The ache of watching them grow more independent while you grow a little more invisible.

But Easter says that death is not the end. In God’s hands, it’s the doorway to something new and better. Something full of life. Something that looks like trust, hope, and love that never quits.

That’s what I’m holding onto. Even when I can’t see the full picture, I know God is working. He’s shaping my kids. He’s shaping me. And He’s doing it in His perfect timing.

So I’ll keep showing up. I’ll keep letting go. I’ll keep trusting Him with every unanswered question and unspoken prayer. Because love—real, steady, resurrection-kind-of-love—always wins in the end.

And that’s what Easter has taught me about motherhood.

The Lasting Joy of Gardening With Your Children

There’s something deeply special about sinking your hands into the soil alongside your children. Gardening is more than planting seeds and pulling weeds, it’s an unspoken language of love, a garden bed filled with quiet conversations, laughter and the tender touch of working the earth together. It’s about more than just flowers and veggies, it’s about roots - both in the soil and in the hearts of those we cherish.

The Bond That Blooms

Gardening offers a gentle rhythm of working together, celebrating small victories and embracing the beauty of each passing season. For young children, digging in the dirt and planting flowers is pure magic and opens their eyes to the wonder of nature. Kids learn patience as they water tiny seedlings, and then joy as they see their efforts transform into bursts of color. 

As they grow, the garden becomes a safe haven, a space where time slows down, even as life speeds up. Maybe your teenager won’t hold your hand anymore, but they’ll still kneel beside you in the soft earth, pressing zinnia seeds into the ground. These hardy, vibrant flowers stand tall and strong, much like the children who plant them. And just like the love poured into them, they keep blooming, a reminder of love that lingers even as seasons change.

One day, my son visiting from college told me, "Mom, when I'm on campus, I notice the flowers and think of you." His words were a reminder that the love we plant stays with them, blooming in unexpected moments, even when they are far from home.

Then comes adulthood, when the garden becomes more than a place, it becomes a memory of your sweet times together. A daughter, now grown, might plant nasturtiums in her own yard, remembering the way their peppery petals made her mother laugh as they tossed them into summer salads. A son, living miles away, might catch the scent of daffodils in the air and be transported back to a crisp autumn day, when small hands helped mom place bulbs into the earth.

The Healing Power of Nature

Beyond the bonds it builds, gardening is deeply healing. Life can be overwhelming and growing up is hard, parenting is hard, letting go is hard. But in the garden, there is peace. The gentle hum of bees, the warmth of the sun on tired shoulders, the cool embrace of soil beneath fingertips give us space to pause and savor the present moment. 

The garden is a place to pause, focus and attend to the rhythmic needs of plants and spaces. The noise and demands of life are turned down in the garden where only the simple tasks are necessary. 

For teenagers navigating the ups and downs of life, the garden offers a quiet escape. It is a place where the world slows, where hands are busy but minds can rest. It teaches them that growth takes time, that beauty emerges even after the coldest winters and that sometimes, all we need is a little light and time to bloom again.

Keep Planting, Keep Loving

Gardening with your children is a love story that never truly ends. It’s a quiet promise, sealed in the soil, carried in the wind, blooming long after hands have let go. So keep planting, keep growing, and cherish every moment spent in the garden together. Because long after the petals fade, the love you’ve sown will keep blooming - in the flowers, in their hearts and in the cherished memories that time can never take away.

Start Your Own Tradition

If you’re a young mom, wondering how to create something lasting with your children, start small. Grab a pack of zinnia or marigold seeds, and press them into the soil with tiny hands beside yours. Watch together as the green shoots break through, as the colors burst open like laughter. One day, when they’re grown, they’ll notice flowers on their own path and think of you. And in that quiet moment, love will bloom again, just as it was planted by you - season after season, heart to heart.

Blended Family Holidays: Experiencing the Joy

I’ll be honest—when I first stepped into the world of blended family holidays, I felt overwhelmed. The logistics alone were enough to make my head spin: juggling multiple schedules, coordinating traditions, and trying to make everyone feel included and loved. And then there were the emotions—the kids missing their other parent, the weight of expectations and the delicate dance of honoring old traditions while creating new ones.

It hasn’t always been smooth, but over the years, I’ve learned something important: the beauty of blended family holidays isn’t in getting it all right. It’s in showing up, loving deeply and finding joy in the messy, imperfect moments.

The Struggle Is Real, but So Is the Joy
One Christmas, we finally had all the kids under one roof (after they spent Christmas morning at other homes) and I wanted it to be magical—a picture-perfect holiday. But as the day unfolded, reality looked more like mismatched stockings, rejected recipes and a battle over who got to open the last gift.

At one point, I found myself standing in the kitchen, feeling defeated. But then I heard laughter from the living room—our children (biological and steps) were all together, playing a game and cracking up. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. And that was enough.

Later, in a quiet house because the kids had all departed to their other parents' home, I remembered something that calmed my heart: Christmas isn’t about perfection. It’s about the perfect gift of Christ Jesus. His birth brought light into a messy, broken world—and that light shines in our homes, even on the hardest days. The glow of the Christmas tree felt warm but my home felt empty. I had to shift my focus and knowing we had made sweet memories together let me keep my focus on the happy day just shared.

Letting Go of "Perfect"
As moms, we carry this weight of wanting everything to be just right for our families, especially during the holidays. But in a blended family, perfection isn’t just unrealistic—it’s exhausting.

What I’ve learned is that it’s okay to let go of what I think the holidays should look like. Instead, I’ve started asking myself, What really matters? For me, it’s connection. It’s making space for everyone to feel seen and loved. It’s finding the small, sacred moments amid the chaos.

Practical Steps for a Smoother Holiday Season
While no holiday season is stress-free, I’ve found that being proactive helps:

• Communicate early and often: Talk through schedules, expectations and emotions ahead of time—with your spouse, co-parents and even the kids.
• Be flexible: Plans may change, and that’s okay. The goal isn’t to stick to a rigid schedule; it’s to create meaningful moments.
• Focus on what unites your family: Whether it’s a shared meal, a game night or a service project, find something that brings everyone together.
• Start with scripture: It reminds us why we’re celebrating and sets the tone for the season and can be incorporated into advent calendars, meal times and worship. Calming my own heart helps me bring peace and comfort to those in my home.

Making Space for Hard Feelings
The holidays can bring up big emotions for everyone, especially kids. One of my children once confided that while he loved being with us, it was hard for him to leave his other parent behind during Christmas. That broke my heart—but it also reminded me how important it is to create a safe space for those feelings.

I’ve learned to ask gentle questions like, “How are you feeling about the holidays this year?” and to listen without trying to fix things. Sometimes, just acknowledging their emotions can make a world of difference. Being the safe place is the greatest gift you might be able to offer the kids in your family.

I’ve found that pointing our attention back to Jesus—the one who understands every hurt and heals every heart—can be a source of comfort for us all.

Building Something New
The beauty of a blended family holiday is that it’s a chance to build something new—a celebration that reflects all the unique pieces of who we are. In our family, we started our holiday celebrations more than a decade ago with two family trees. Now, we combine all our blended memories onto one tree. It’s a small thing, but it’s become a symbol of how we’re all part of something bigger now. We brought the memories from our separate trees into one that showcases the history of all of us.

A Holiday Full of Grace
If you’re in the thick of blended family holidays, I want you to know this: it doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. The burnt cookies, the scheduling mix-ups, the tears—they’re all part of the story. Even the ache of how this isn't the idea of what you thought your Christmas would be like is alright. If you're feeling it, likely your partner is, too, and that can be a bond you share. We can hold the hard things along with the wonderful moments.

This season, let’s give ourselves and our families the gift of grace. Let’s laugh at the mishaps, cherish the small wins and lean into the love that brought us together in the first place. Most importantly, let’s turn our eyes to Jesus—the reason we celebrate, the source of our peace, and the foundation of the joy we long for.

Blended families may not fit the Hallmark mold, but that doesn’t make them any less magical. In fact, I’d argue it makes them even more so—because they’re a testament to resilience, forgiveness and the power of love to bring people together.

Here’s to finding joy in the chaos, beauty in the blending, and hope in the One who makes all things new. What’s one way your family creates connection during the holidays? I’d love to hear your stories—drop them in the comments below.

More of our Christmas stories can be found on Far From Flawless Life, my blog.

Turning The Page

Things are changing in my life, and that is never an easy space for me.  I feel it in the rhythms of a new job, another child moving to college, and even in the way my own body feels existing in a new decade of life. It's all so unfamiliar. I would love to be able to see around the bend to what this next season looks like, but I am only able to walk ahead with what I know for today.  

There have been tears, there have been smiles, and I wish I could name all the good that will happen. First I must simply live through the daily changes and navigate things one step at a time. Looking back, I must admit that my greatest growth and most significant joys have come through uncertainty. Letting go of control prompts resilience and wisdom as we grow through any struggle to identify who we are.

My dear husband reminds me that in the midst of what is changing, so much also remains consistent: our home, our family, and our commitment to one another along with our faith. It helps to remind myself that these things will be the same no matter what. These anchors provide stability in the winds of a new season. The values that ground me provide a foundation for curiosity and openness to something new and wonderful.

Some of the changes we face are brought by our choices, while others a decided by others. I recently chose to change my field of employment to an area where I feel great passion. I failed to anticipate the significant feeling of grief I would face in letting go. After almost twenty years of working for one company, it is more challenging than I anticipated to let go of the responsibility.

I have felt unsettled. Untethered. Unsure of myself. Uncertain. 

What if I fail? What if I don't find my way? What if this change brings more pain than joy? These fears, though powerful, are often rooted in our deep desire for stability and control.

I decided to leave and pursue a new opportunity where my passion and fulfillment took precedence. I'm so grateful for almost two decades with one boss, many familiar coworkers, and a very predictable schedule.  The decision stemmed from a deep realization that true satisfaction in life comes from doing what I love and feeling a sense of purpose in my work. While my former job provided stability, it served an industrial field more than people. In contrast, my new role aligns with my values and interests, offering a renewed sense of excitement and purpose.

Uncertainty is a feeling we all face at one point or another, so while it makes me uncomfortable I know it will not always feel this way. That sense of the unknown is the very path to new possibilities. Life is a path that takes us through so many transformations where we grow and change. Part of human existence is adjusting to what we encounter.

While my current season of transition is daunting, it is time to shift out of my comfort zone and into the fertile ground where I may flourish in a new and fulfilling way. Embracing changes and new seasons means embracing life itself, and that is my choice today!

No, You're Not Cool - But Being an Uncool Mom is Actually the Best Kind of Love

Do you feel like a fish out of water when you're around your teen and their friends? It's not you, it's reality. Most likely, they do not think you are cool.  They aren't imitating your fashion or looking to you for tech tips. Your idea of the best movie isn't going to be the one they will choose.  

In a world where social media bombards us with picture-perfect families, trendy moms who seem to have it all together, and kids who are always smiling in the latest fashion, it's easy to feel like you're falling short. Let me tell you a secret: I am not a cool mom. And you know what? I wouldn't trade it for the world.

The Myth of the Cool Mom

First, let’s debunk the myth of the cool mom. You know the type: always on top of the latest trends, effortlessly juggling a career, a spotless home, and kids who never misbehave. She hosts post-worthy parties and somehow has time for a social life that rivals a Hollywood celebrity. She’s on Instagram, showing off her flawless life, and you’re left wondering how she does it.

The truth is, she probably doesn’t. Behind the scenes, everyone has their struggles and imperfections. Trying to live up to an impossible standard can be exhausting and ultimately unfulfilling.

Real Love in Uncool Moments

What does it mean to be an uncool mom? For starters, it means embracing the chaos. My house is often a mess, with used dishes strewn about and yesterday's laundry still in the washing machine. My fashion sense is more about comfort than couture. But amidst this chaos, there is love.

Being an uncool mom means showing up for my kids, not just in the picture-perfect moments, but in the messy, challenging ones too. It’s staying up late to help with a school project, even if it means looking like a zombie the next day. It’s choosing a family movie at home over a trendy night out, complete with crumbly popcorn and blankets piled high on the couch. It means finding one-on-one time with each kiddo sometime throughout the week.

Lessons in Authenticity

By not being a cool mom, I’m teaching my kids the value of authenticity. They see that it’s okay not to have everything figured out. They learn that love isn’t about perfection, but about presence. They witness firsthand that it’s okay to be different, to make mistakes, and to grow from them.

My kids know that they can come to me with their problems, not because I have all the answers, but because they trust I will listen without judgment. They see me struggle and sometimes fail, but they also see me get back up, try again, and keep going. This resilience is a powerful lesson that no Instagram feed can teach.

Building Real Connections

Some of the best moments with my kids are the uncool ones: The moments when real connections are built are far from the curated perfection of social media. It's trying on the prom dresses and navigating the insecurities together. It's talking about the first girlfriend with your son and providing a feminine perspective and guidance. It's riding to and from all the places and grabbing Sonic along the way. So much of life happens in the ordinary.

“That might sound boring, but I think the boring stuff is the stuff I remember the most.” — Russell (From the movie "UP.")

Celebrating the Uncool

So, to all the uncool moms out there, let’s celebrate our ability to be real. Let’s embrace the messy, the imperfect, and the authentic. Let’s show our kids that love is about showing up, being present, and being ourselves, flaws and all.

At the end of the day, our kids won’t remember how cool we were. They’ll remember the love, the laughter, and the times we were there for them, no matter what. And that, my friends, is the coolest thing of all.

Reflections from Mom at High School Graduation

My daughter is graduating from high school and it brings about such a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. This is not my first child to graduate, but I find I’m still surprised by the feelings that creep up in unpredictable patterns.

First of all, let me assure you that you get more than 18 summers and high school graduation is not the finish line. You will be the mama to your sons and daughters every single day of your life.  However, the role does indeed change and you get to step back a bit to witness your child become more independent and capable.  Most of the time, graduation from high school will mark a shift in the way you relate to one another. It is a significant milestone that brings deep pride and a tinge of sadness, along with an intense cause for celebration.

I find myself on memory lane and getting lost in the photos from years that have passed.  Memories of the milestones and the everyday moments are treasures to me. The stumbles and heartaches along with the accomplishments each hold meaning and significance.  I love the friends who have passed in and out of our circle and the community that joined us along with journey.  So much of my mom-life has revolved around the schools, activities and community of my child and I’m grateful for my identity as a mother.

I have learned so many of my own lessons through each season.  While my child was getting a diploma, I was also being educated in parenting. Every moment from the sleepless nights of infancy to the drama of dating and driving are a testament to the dedication that being an active, involved parent demands.  Parenting is more than guiding and nurturing your child, it’s also about learning and growing alongside them. I’ve learned patience, resilience, and the fierce meaning of unconditional love.  I’ve been challenged to understand beyond frustrations and strived to endure with grace more obstacles than I thought I was able to overcome.
As my graduate embarks on a new chapter, I am full of hope and excitement for the next chapter.  There is a hint of sadness and lots of nostalgia.  Sometimes I long for the days when she was little and my presence could heal every wound.  Now my job is to empower her own independence and provide support for her goals.

I know that this is the natural order – for my children to grow, find their own paths, and take their part in our vast and wonderful world. I’ve also seen how our relationship with one another doesn’t come to an end. In fact, though she may not need me in the same way she once did, I will always be the steady anchor my child needs in their ever-changing worlds.  We get to be friends and peers in a way that will bring a new kind of closeness.

No matter where life takes my dear graduate, she will be forever loved, cherished, and part of my heart.  Let the celebrations begin and may the future be as boundless as the sky, filled with possibilities!