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This is new.

Baby finds her doll.

Baby picks up doll.

Baby puts thumb in mouth.

It happens every time.

And I fall for this little one even more.  Is that even possible?

I came across A Path Made Straight on one of those late night blog binges. You know what I mean. By the time I found it I had a running list of all the ways I could be a better mom-better art projects, dress the kids in cuter outfits, take up knitting. As I read her blog I didn’t find myself adding to the list.  Shoulders and neck loosening, the main words that came to mind, “Yes, exactly.” Her day sounded like my day, messy. And what I loved best was that even on the very far from perfect day, I could tell Mama Hooper still wanted to get up each morning and be with her kids, come what may.  She seemed to want what I wanted, a little more grace each day, transforming my heart to then transfuse it to my children.

Thanks for openly confessing that you’re an Imperfect Mama.

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It’s 11pm on February 23rd.

A year ago I was eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream and the knowledge that our family(and my body for that matter) would forever change the next day was both real(hence the pint of ice cream) and completely untouchable.

I’d done it three times before, the expecting, the laboring, the greeting.

I knew she was a girl and I knew that I would love her.

But I didn’t know yet her eyes, those life-giving eyes, holding mine.

My body knew her from the inside but soon we would join together skin to skin, warmth to warmth. Joy repeating that she was mine, still there, just waiting to be held each time I would lift her from her bed.

I didn’t know yet the liquid velvet of her skin as she lay beside me nursing or the fervent affection of her siblings that would follow me throughout the days.

In all the adjustment(chaos, sometimes tears, forever stretching) of adding a fourth child to our family, the one thing that’s been right the entire time is this baby girl.

You might say that I gave life to her one year ago, I’d say she’s given all of us life each day since.

She is enjoyed.

Eating ice cream that night, I didn’t know.  Tonight I do.

Who says the fourth child doesn’t get enough attention?

Around here, this little one has everyone fighting for her attention.

With only six days until her first birthday, she’s already been giving us a whole lot of love.

And we’ve been savoring every bit of it.

Today’s Guest post for the Imperfect Mama’s Club is from my friend Tiana. Mother of one sweet girl and imminently expecting a baby boy, she’s dared to share some of the more humbling aspects of motherhood to date.  I had to sneak in a few of comments she meant just for me, because they’re really too funny to keep just for myself.

From Tiana:

I have so many funny stories about how I can’t control my daughter one little bit. She’s such a strong-willed child that I just have to laugh at her or I might seriously go crazy.

Like the fact that I have a masters degree in nutrition and had great intentions of feeding her all home-made organic foods with lots of fruits and veggies, but instead I have a child who eats nothing but Wheat Thins and Goldfish crackers. And she’s now actually in feeding therapy once a week because of her refusal to eat.  Oh, the irony.

Or the fact that we usually put her to bed in a dark, quiet room at 7:30 or 8:00 pm, just like other parents, but she’ll lie in her bed and sing or talk or play until 11:30 at night, just because she doesn’t want to go to sleep.

We took her pacifier away when she turned 3. Everyone told me she would cry for a few days, but soon she would forget all about it and all would be fine. She screamed bloody murder for an entire month. She stopped taking naps altogether for that month, never went to sleep before midnight, woke up 3 or 4 times a night screaming, and asked for her pacifier at least a hundred times a day (not exaggerating, really). And she would get so upset when I wouldn’t give it to her that she would lie down on the floor and sob and scream so loud that I really thought I would lose my mind, multiple times a day.

She wears the same pink princess dress every single day, and every night over her pajamas, because she says every princess needs to wear a dress that goes all the way down to her feet.

She’s so funny. She’s a handful, but I love her like crazy!

And now a story….

I Am THAT Mom
(originally published on Tiana’s blog, April 2009)

We’ve all seen it before: You’re standing in line at the grocery store and the woman in front of you has a toddler who asks for a toy or a piece of candy. The mom says no, then the child throws a huge tantrum, screaming and crying and kicking. Everyone looks at them, the mom looks flustered and begs the child to settle down, and the oblivious child continues his tantrum. You know what everyone around you is thinking, and you find yourself thinking the same thing:

“Why can’t that woman control her child?? MY child would never act like that. I just must be a better mom than her!”

Yesterday I had the humbling privilege of being THAT mom.

I picked Clara Beth up from Mother’s Day Out and took her to a local toy store that has real live bunnies for Easter. We went last year and of course she loved it, so I knew we had to do it again. She had so much fun petting the bunnies and feeding them grass. Then we went to look for a birthday present for her little friend. While I was looking I found Dora and Boots dolls, which I’ve been trying to find for Clara for months. I handed them to Clara and of course she was ecstatic. She played with them the whole time we were in the store and even let Boots pet the bunnies.

When I told her it was time to go, she asked me very sweetly,

“Mommy, can I keep Dora and Boots?”

I said,

“Yes honey, I’m going to buy them for you as a special treat.”

She was so happy.

THEN, when we got up to the cash register, I told her we had to pay for Dora and Boots. That’s when it all began to fall apart…

Clara: “NO! I want to keep Dora and Boots!”

Me: “I know. You can keep them. We just have to pay for them.”

Clara: “NO! I don’t want to pay for them! I want to keep them!”

Me: “Clara, we just have to hand them to this lady and she will give them right back to you.”

Clara: “NOOOOOOO! I want to HAVE Dora and Boots!”

You get the idea.

By this time her scream has escalated to its highest pitched, bloody murder volume. Everyone in the whole store is staring at us and the line behind us is getting longer. The grandmotherly woman at the register was trying to be nice and telling Clara that she could still hold Dora and Boots, but she would just point her little red line at them and Clara wouldn’t have to give them to her. Clara starts screaming at the top of her lungs,

“I NEED TO GET SELF-CONTROL! I NEED A TIME-OUT!!”

(To her that means she needs to go sit by herself and have everyone leave her alone – not quite the idea I was going for.) The saleslady then starts giving me that disapproving look that secretly says,

“You need to discipline that child.”

Then she looks at Clara Beth and says,

“Oh my, aren’t you a drama queen?”

It was horrible.

Finally I just grabbed the dolls and let the lady scan them, gave them back to Clara, paid for the toys, and marched out in total mortification. When we got to the door I knelt down in front of Clara Beth and told her that her behavior was not acceptable and that she needs to obey Mommy. I told her it makes God happy when she obeys Mommy. She told me she was sorry for screaming and I told her I forgave her, but I wanted her to have a thankful heart when Mommy buys her a special treat. She cheerfully said,

“OK, Mommy,”

and forgot the whole incident.

Yikes! Anyone wanna tell me where I went wrong? I’m assuming that from now on I need to prepare her before we get to the cash register so she’ll know what to expect. She doesn’t like to be taken by surprise (she gets that from me…). But like I said, it was very humbling.

Next time I see another mom in that situation, I’ll smile at her and make sure my face doesn’t show that disapproving look that we all know so well…

Question: The image above is-

A) A lovely valentine hand-crafted by my 4 year old.

B)Treasures retrieved from outside when the snow melted today.

C) The items removed from 11-month old Sparkle’s mouth the past few days.

If you answered A or B, your faith in my role as a mother is appreciated.  The answer, however, is C.

Do you remember preparing your home for your first child?

Mr. Darcy and I studied the safety section in Expecting carefully, then researched the product companies through Consumer Reports.  Armed with data we headed to the baby superstore to try out the models in person before making our final selections.  Handing over large sums of money for the best monitor(we did stop short of the video screen, this one only detected the heart rate and breaths per minute), the firm, non-flammable mattress, and carseat complete with it’s own floatation device.  In addition were the boxes upon boxes of plastic paraphenalia to lock down the cabintry, seal the electric outlets, and baby-proof(and adult-proof) door handles.  Are we the only parents that applied these devices to areas taller than a 9 year old, while the in-utero child still had gills? We were prepared.

Our first child did not eat anything off the floor.  I remember observing a friend’s baby(3rd) work through a feast of leftovers on the linoleum as I shielded my Mookie’s eyes lest she learn learn the bad habit.  Noticing my concern, the friend explained casually, “The first child doesn’t eat anything off the floor, the second you wash it first, and with the third you skip the high chair and start on the floor.”  I left that day appalled and even more determined.  ”Yuck,” said little Mookie when she applied her pincher grasp to a spare crumb from the carpet. “Yuck, yuck.” Good girl.

Of course, with our first child, we had certain factors in our favor that aided her safety.  Aside from only age appropriate toys, we didn’t walk through the house dropping scissors and small air-blocking items on the floor. Mr. Darcy and I didn’t sit on the carpet munching popcorn kernels and making bead necklaces.

So how is it that Sparkles has gummed every known choking hazard that’s listed in red letters on the front of those handy pamphlets given out by the pediatrician?

In the rolling stage, I had a full-proof system.  An example:

10:01am: I work through math problems with the older girls, keeping an eye on baby.

10:03: Baby sees lego sailboat and begins roll maneuver.  I don’t move yet, at least two minutes until impact.

10:04: We finish measuring the perimeter of the rectangle, meanwhile baby has now reached the legos and makes a swiping grasp at the structure.  I’ve still got 30 full seconds to check copywork before the lego reaches target.

10:05: Finished with our assignment, lego still several inches from wet, spongy gums, I stop to fasten my 4 year old’s overalls, grab a sip of water, and reach Sparkles in plenty of time.

Sure, with baby number 1 and 2, there would have been no Lego.  With number 3, I might have checked the floor before putting her down to play.  But with Sparkles, I realize this type of monitored distraction can work in my favor, allowing me a few more productive moments, and besides, after 9 years my danger sensors are well oiled, my reflexes in top form, my confidence level high.

Then two weeks ago she started crawling.  The Locate and Insert Manuever tripled in speed.

She hides these things in her mouth quicker than a squirrel stores a nut, quicker than this mama can turn her head.

A button, bead, ponytail holder, bead necklace, rock(multiple), walnut(and almond), playmobile helmet(shield and horse bridal), sticker, lego, and yes, a marble.

Just to put you at ease, we do use a high chair and our electric outlets are (mostly)covered.

Look for our next guest post Thursday afternoon, keep sharing your stories.

Today’s guest post for the Imperfect Mamas Club is near and dear to me, written with honesty and encouragement from my best friend.  I miss you, Amy.

As I was standing in church today, singing with the congregation, worshipping the Lord, I was overcome with emotion because of the words I was singing.

“Let your mercy fall on me”,
“Our God is mighty to save”,
“Oh, how deeply he loves us”.

All of these phrases bring me back to the depth of my sin and the “deeper still” reaches of His grace. And no other place in my life is it more evident than in my mothering.

The days when I do have the appearance of having it “together” are only because of His grace. And the other, much more frequent days, when it is obvious that I am struggling, I can still give thanks to God for His forgiveness and new mercies every morning. I was struck in church this morning by a powerful lesson.

I remember the days when Sarah was a newborn baby and I would lay her on the changing table. As I looked over her and bent down to kiss her face, I was often overwhelmed with the strength of my love for her, to the point that tears would stream down my face and wash over her.  I know that this is something that many new mothers experience, and I had heard others talk about it, but nothing could prepare me for such a powerful emotion, the love that a mother has for her child. At that time, everything I was experiencing in regards to motherhood was good and pure. I couldn’t have imagined how much my sin would mess things up! Looking back, it is a testimony to my need of a Savior.

Not that long ago, I had a very powerful dream in which I met Jesus in the grocery store. He looked like any regular person. He actually looked like a guy that I went to high school with. But, when I saw him and He looked into my eyes, I knew that it was Jesus because I could feel that He was looking into my soul and seeing everything about me and my life. It was like He was staring into my mind as I was shuffling through the files of all of my sins. We stood there looking at each other, Him reading my files and me being overcome with shame. But each time I would think of something I had done that I was ashamed of (usually something related to yelling at my kids, punishing them out of my own anger/selfishness, etc.), Jesus would say,

“I died for that, Amy.”

I would think of something else (not say it, just think it) and He would say,

“I died for that, too.”

I can’t get this dream out of my head. Jesus died for all of those things. No matter how big or small!!

I know in my life, the biggest testimony of God’s hand is in the help that He gives me (and that I desperately need) in raising my children. And if I try to put on a mask that says, “I’m doing alright. I’ve got this mom thing down”, then I am losing out on an opportunity to share that testimony of Christ with others.

I recently moved to a different state and was faced with the challenge of forming a new group of friends. As I was thinking and praying about finding new friends, my biggest desire was that I would find women who are “real”, women who are not ashamed to share their struggles and who freely admit where they fall short. This is so important to me because I know that I need help! I need accountability. I need to be able to talk with other women about the joys and the pitfalls of being a mother. I need to know that they will not judge me, and I want them to feel the same from me. I want to offer help when I am going through a more peaceful period, and I want them to offer me help when I’m struggling. The only way for that kind of a relationship to be formed is with complete honesty.

I will never forget the last time in my life when I tried to do it all on my own, be everything to everybody and keep a smile on my face through it all. That smile ended up in the gutter! And it was several weeks, several therapy sessions, many doses of medication, and many many acts of service and kindness from my “real women” friends before I felt joy again. I hope that I never forget what that felt like. I hope I never put myself there again. I’ve learned my lesson, and I will happily admit my limitations, ask for help when I need it, and ask for forgiveness when I fail, because I know that He died for that.

How did this conversation start? Go back to the beginning and join in.  If you have a story, essay, letter, rambling of the heart, serious or funny, email me at aimee@punctuate.net.  Welcome to the Imperfect Mamas Club.

For the past two weeks I’ve had a friend staying with me.  She’s recycled the laundry, cleared the dirty dishes from the sink and counter, kept her two eyes on baby Sparkles while her much less mobile 3 month old watched nearby. Not one to enjoy sharing my few, stolen, quiet moments in the day, I’ve actually enjoyed the company, an antidote to the midweek loneliness.

With two extra hands working on just one mama’s job, I’m finally more than adequate.  This is the answer to burn-out, the solution to the never-ending jobs like mountainous toys and the trash that fills up only slightly quicker than the towels on the bathroom floor.  I can devote my time to the gut of my job, I can finally meet the full needs of my children’s hearts. Patience is finally my virture, and we have extra time to pursue the divided dreams of our hearts.

Or I’m lying through my teeth.  Yes I’ve enjoyed the extra company and the additional two-hands,  but we both still go to bed exhausted, 3 weeks later the floor still needs to be mopped, and my 7 year old suffering from a a cold says to me,

“I think out of all the people, if Nana K were here she would give me the most time and comfort.”

Offended, the failure light glaring, I start,”But Jellybean-”.

She interrupts after a pitiful cough, “You’re just to busy with the baby.”

We have such exceedingly high expectations of ourselves that we let ourselves down every day.  And it’s not just our fault, because our society fosters the idea that a mother should naturally know how to do a her job(no training involved) and then that same finger turns on us with the message that even if we somehow get a passing grade, our role isn’t even that relelvant.  Did anyone else have a family member ask, “When are you getting a job?” after your first child. I did.

Michael Chabon, in his book of essays on manhood, remarks on how little a father has to do in order to get recognition as a “good dad”.  He speaks of a trip to the grocery store with his son when a woman remarked, “You’re such a good dad, I can tell.”

“I looked at my son.  He was chewing on the paper coating of a wire twist tie.  A choking hazard, without a doubt; the wire could have pierced his lip or tongue…His face was probably a tad on the smudgy side.  Dirty, even.  One might have been tempted to employ the word crust.”

He continues-

“I don’t know what a woman needs to do to impel a perfect stranger to inform her in the grocery store that she is a really good mom.  Perhaps perform an emergency tracheotomy with a Bic pen on her eldest child while simulotaneously nursing her infant …In a grocery store, no mother is good or bad; she is just a mother, shopping for her family.”

Husbands try to whisper support to their male friends after their wives achieve motherhood.  They can’t figure out why, when they’ve given their wives what they seemed to clearly want, they’re wives seem so-thrown. The same wife looks around at home and she’s confused.  Most likely she’s just recently moved into womanhood, still feeling like a paperdoll trying to find the appropriate outfit. Marriage, it turns out, takes constant effort and here’s another job that was just suppose to flow out of her, natural instinct delivered with the arrival of the wee thing at her breast.

So are we just very inadequate mothers or is there the slightest chance that the job of one mother is actually a job for a crowd.  Maybe if I invited for an extended stay a baker for breakfast, short-order cook for the latter two meals, tutor for academic learning, pastor for the heart training, psychologist for my guilt, housekeeper for the obvious, older mentor for the perspective, two extra arms for the snuggling, trainer to ensure we exercise, a clown to remind us to laugh, oh and then there is the chauffer, and the writer to work on my book while I sleep.

Except I don’t want any of those people in my house.  I just want to accept my limitations.  Scrape off the extra fluff that can’t fit in each day and make sure I keep my eyes on the crucial stuff, which can get tricky since each day brings it’s own variations.

The other day a friend remarked, “We were never meant to do this alone.  At one time, grandmothers lived with mothers, holding babies, helping with the daily tasks, families helped each other.”  I’ve been thinking about it this week. Not the expectation that a family member should come in and rescue me, but that God didn’t design this as a huge burden that we need to shoulder alone, keeping our bewilderment a shameful secret.  Maybe you have family helping you, maybe you’re at work for part or all of your week.  But we mamas can help each other.

Let’s stop measuring against one another. Let’s get on the same side.

How did this conversation start? Go back to the beginning and join in. If you have a story, essay, letter, rambling from your heart either serious or funny, email me at aimee@punctuate.net.  Welcome to the Imperfect Mamas Club.

You’ve begun to answer the call: the call as mamas to start telling the truth, that we’re all a mess and just giving it our best shot day by day.  Our first guest post is by a good friend, WordGirl.  I’ve known her in varying degrees of intimacy over the last 10 years and I can testify that she’s a mama you’d want know, sculpting her own mold for motherhood and making way a path for her three unique daughters. To see the original post and invitation to start talking, go here.

I’m as much of a perfectionist – maybe more – than the next mom.  As the first born female in my family, I was pretty much hard wired for perfectionism.  I’ve always wanted to please people and I’ve historically been unwilling to even try things that might lead to failure.  (Because if I don’t try, I can’t fail, right?!)  Motherhood has taught me many lessons, but perhaps the most lasting one will be that not only can I not attain perfection, it’s not even my goal.  Because ultimately, aiming for perfection in my own life will send the message that my daughters should, too.

I’ll never forget the phone call that was the first crack in my vision of who I should be as a mother.  I was standing in my dirty kitchen (who decided a black & white kitchen floor would be a good idea?), an infant in my arms, a two year old and four year old playing in the background, the sink piled high with dishes, the phone cradled between my ear and shoulder as I leaned against the countertop, my back to the mess that awaited my attention.  I was tired, drained, a tad overwhelmed.

On the phone was an older, wiser mom, whose four children were mostly grown.  We didn’t talk often.  She had called just to see how we were doing and to check in on me.  When she asked how things were going with baby girl number three, I replied weepily, “Well, it’s OK.  Kate’s sleeping pretty well and the bigger girls are great at playing together while I nurse her.  But I’m constantly telling Bekah – or Anna – or both – to wait while I do something else.  It’s hard.  I can’t meet all of their needs.”  And this voice of Godly wisdom said, “Honey, if you could meet all of their needs, they wouldn’t need Jesus.”

And I felt a whisper of release, a glimmer of hope, the inkling of an idea that would take a long time to germinate and take root in my soul:  I wasn’t failing my children with my imperfections, I was showing them that none of us can do it on our own.

If my three daughters never see me fail, if they never see cracks in the mask of the perfect mom, if they never see me cry over a mistake I’ve made and then get up and dust myself off, how will they feel when they inevitably fail?  If my family never sits down to less than a three course, organic, homemade meal, how will they feel the first time they feed their own children chicken nuggets and French fries?  If our home is never less than sparklingly clean, how will they feel when the laundry piles up as they sit on the sofa and nurse their newborn baby?  If their mother stays entirely within her comfort zone and never falls down from trying to do something important, will they be willing to stretch and reach towards their dreams?

So I try to pick my battles as a mom.  Some things are more important to me than others.  I like cooking new, yummy foods.  I don’t care if my shelves get dusty between cleanings.  I want our living room clutter-free, but it doesn’t bother me if my girls’ bedrooms are scattered with toys.  I try to let my daughters see me work on things that are important to me (like writing) and I try to let them see the discouragement I feel alongside the accomplishment.  Because they will surely experience both in their own lives.

Instead of seeing Being A Perfect Mom as my goal, I see my goal as being a mom who uses the gifts that she has to bless others.  By extension, I want to help my daughters find and use their gifts.  I like these goals because they do not require that we compare ourselves to others.  They only require that we do our best, that we seek to understand who God made each of us to be and that we rest in both the gifts and the limitations we each have.

I’m not sure what other moms think of me.  Maybe they see my failures – maybe they see my successes.  What I hope and pray is that they see BOTH.  Because I’m not a perfect mom by any standard.  I’m just a mom who is desperately trying to be the best mom I can to the wonderful daughters I have.

How did this conversation start? Go back to the beginning and join in.  If you have a story, essay, letter, rambling of the heart, serious or funny, email me at aimee@punctuate.net.  Welcome to the Imperfect Mamas Club.

Most of us mamas wake up with one pressing goal when we rise from our still warm beds.  No, it’s not getting the kids off to school on time, starting the laundry, or spending time with God . Our real goal is to keep it together, or atleast make sure we look like it to outside world.

We make sure our kid’s hair gets combed flat and the morning breakfast wiped from his face (because “what will the teacher think of me if my son arrives like that?”). We threaten and cajole our kids to behave in the grocery store in order to earn the approving glances and “Isn’t she so cute?” comments from the cashier.  We fix our hair, change out of the comfortable clothes so that we can tell ourselves we still fit into the pre-mom crowd that isn’t getting spit up on all day.  When friends come over, we yell at our kids to start cleaning up, our stress level rising with every toy and dirty sock we pick up, so that we can begin the charade of “this is how my house is all the time”.

An accomplice to this energy draining, confidence deflating goal is the pressing belief that there really are moms out there that aren’t just pretending, they really are the good moms, the perfect moms.  And we’re in another category, the always-trying-but-never-quite-making-the-cut club.

We’re completely convinced that every mom who’s running around to soccer, ballet, and girl scouts can deal better than we can.  As a brand new mom, we’re sure that no other mom has ever spent the day crying, wondering how in the world she’ll make it until 5pm.  Our naptime and late night blog runs reveal in black and white what we already knew-there are plenty of moms that can effortlessly train character into their 18 months old while leading a creative art project, cooking an organic dinner, and still seducing their husband as soon as the kids get the last lullaby.

When I see the mom that appears to have gotten dressed with her own personal stylist and kids who are obviously more gifted than mine, I don’t feel an admiration and a yearning to be that woman’s friend, I only feel like crap.

I do remember a few times in early motherhood when I didn’t feel like the loser mom.  A had one friend who invited me over a lot when our kids were very young and everytime I saw her laundry spilling over chairs and piled in the bathtub I felt my expectations(on myself) lighten momentarily.  One time, my mentor brought her family over and we babysat for them.  Her kids misbehaved. In my head, since we lived far apart, I had sketched her clearly as “all that I wasn’t”. When I saw one son teasing and bullying the other son, she didn’t lose merit as a mother or mentor in my eyes.  Instead I felt a little chip in The Perfect Mother, allowing a tiny room for grace. Or the day I stood in the yard with another Mama I admired  (I’d always wondered how she had brought about obedience, respect, and order in her 4 sons) and she said playfully with a quick reveal under her layers, “Some days I wish I drank.”  Because until then I would have never believed she was anything but perfectly content and skilled 24 hours a day.  Her comment didn’t lessen my opinion, it made her more fully 3 dimensional.  If only those moments had been more frequent, it wouldn’t have taken me almost 10 years to figure out I was doing okay.

I’m tired of the pressure I put on myself to put up the appearance of holding it together, and I’m bound to fail at it, again and again.  So how about a new scenario?

A mom sees me with my miraculously well-groomed four children tagging behind me as she struggles with her first child and she says,

“I don’t know how you do it.”

I stop turn to her and say, “Some days I do it well, but some days(and weeks) are hard all day long.   I couldn’t do it without the Lord’s help.  Parenting is hard, you’re doing a great job.”

Hey, this is something I can’t fail at-being honest.

Let’s stop trying to earn admission into the Secret Society of Mothers who Never Make Mistakes.  I’m starting the not-so-secret, Imperfect Mamas Club.  If you’re a mom, you’re already a member-no trying involved.

Let’s start telling our stories.  I’m not inviting us to a pity party.  I love my kids and in moments of clarity I’m awe-struck by the privilege I have to be with my kids every day and to be such a big influence on their vulnerable hearts. But it’s time for mothers to start helping other moms redefine “good mom”, normal mom, and happy mom.

This isn’t a chance to list off all of the difficult things about your job in order to get sympathy and to feel worse and even more determined that you should have never been a mom.  It’s a chance to share the good and the bad, in order give balm to the hurt, to feel less alone, to accept the hard and savor the great.

I’m going to be exploring these thoughts for a little while here at Abundant Life and I’d love your voice to join mine.  If you have a story, essay, letter, rambling from your heart either serious or funny, email me at aimee@punctuate.net