Hi, friend!
Hi friend! I am so glad you have stopped by the site. We have such a wonderful community of moms here and we would LOVE for you to join us as we share life and learn together!
Hi friend! I am so glad you have stopped by the site. We have such a wonderful community of moms here and we would LOVE for you to join us as we share life and learn together!
All by Sara Hagerty
Comparison is the masqueraded thief of motherhood, attempting to turn my head from what He has to say to me, for me and for my family and for my children. Friends, we just don’t have time for the internal noise that the enemy brings us with comparison.....
Moms, when we are exhausted, our inspiration can run dry, and we often feel feeble in our attempts to create our homes, to love, and to celebrate. But even in those moments, especially in those moments, God's voice cuts through and leads us and blesses our children more than we could ever imagine.
I never wanted to play it safe.
In those rare minutes when the noise of life is quieter than His whisper against my insides, I welcome risk. I want adventure and a life-rush that might empty every last drop of me and dreams that keep my eyes open during otherwise-normal days. I'll take the threat of danger, if it means I get more of Him. I want unconventional, even when it's coupled with the prospect of clearing my bank account or my fuel tank or my carefully planned schedule.
Yes, even with my children in mind, when life is still and my pulse tells me He is near, I'm Caleb and the giants are small.
Death can provide an exclamation point on a life that was already expressing the glory of God.
My friend passed between that one-day-will-be-thin sheath of death and life and I tried to remember if I'd ever told her how much of an imprint she'd left upon me.
Claire and I shared a small city but couldn't have been more different, back then. She had six children. I had none. My womb was empty -- and sometimes I wore a suit to work. I was fumbling through my twenties, both unsure of myself and also overconfident and she had bigger concerns than her weekend plans. She'd earned her grey hair.
It's a radiant four pm. The counters are wiped, slick. The sink is empty and dinner is simmering next to my teapot, also humming. The children are willingly lost in the woods out back and the babe still asleep. I can't smell anyone's afternoon sweat and there's not a disparate sock in sight. The only smell in my house, aside from dinner, is the new candle I lit to memorialize afternoons like this one.
I sink into my chair, alone, with a book and my Bible and I'm ready to receive all that the next full hour of rest has for me.
This is you, too, right? "Once every three and a half months," you answer, if you're like me.
Except in my mind's eye.
If there is room for fantasy for a mother of five who moonlights as a writer, this would be my daily fantasy. Life ordered and quiet -- so that I can actually rest.
