These days when hope seems so ephemeral and impossible, I need the reminder that when our hope is deferred, we choose to love.

Tonight at dinner, both the twins told me "thank you for the meal" without being prompted, there was actual conversation that consisted of more than "Please chew with your mouth closed", and everyone took second helpings of salad.

Today after a spontaneous and fun picnic lunch, both twins threw massive tantrums, there was a water spitting war, and I lost my temper with the entire family (myself included).

Let me begin by saying: this is not a book post. So if you are one of the habitual few who like to skip those (I will name no names--but I know who you are...), keep reading. It only starts with a book. I promise.

This was the chair I sat in at my parents' for meals. With a twin on either side, meals can sometimes be exciting, even with a hearty level of back up from the Man who was also overseeing the big boys.

There are a lot of great stories in the Bible (and a couple really creepy ones--let's be honest), but one of my all time favorites is found in the book of Judges, chapter 3 to be precise. It's the story of Ehud…

I hit a major goal on my bucket list this week. It was kind of a big deal for me, but also sometimes we need to remind others that there is life after kids.

Dear friend whose one year old has suddenly decided she wants to see Mommy multiple times a night,

Let me speak to you out of the wealth of my experience.

Somedays "adulting" comes more naturally than others. I try really hard to be a good adult, but I'll be honest: there are books, and they always kill my attempts.

I mentioned last week that we have a new catch phrase in our family: after later.

I transplanted some of the Little Man's vegetable plants today. I'd assiduously read the instructions that came with the little seed pods (because I am Type A and a rule follower), and it said to pull up the extras and throw them away, but I couldn't do the throwing away part.

I run intervals once a week at the track near our home. It's interesting running on a track with other people, going around and around the same circle, passing people and being passed.

Last week, Littles and I were reading Dickinson and ran up against her well known, "Hope is a thing with feathers..." and it got me thinking about hope again. This is nothing new. Overthinking the concept of hope is a continual source of mental gymnastics for me.

I never really understood the story of the persistent widow and the unjust judge in Luke 18. I'm not saying I didn't understand it on a surface level. Sure: God wants us to be persistent in our prayers. But I didn't get it get it. You know? It was head knowledge, not heart knowledge.