Category Archives: Sacred Mundane

This weekend, on my birthday, we’re spending 3 days, 8am-5pm, in DHS foster/adoption training. Sounds like a blast, huh?! It will be a blast someday if we’re able to add another little lamb to our flock, but for today it doesn’t sound like much of a party. So, I thought we’d just throw a little online party here instead; and you’re invited!

I’ve always thought the best birthday parties are the ones where the guests get gifts. Last weekend we took the kids to one such party and the 18-year-old birthday girl gave sand-pails filled with toys to our kids! They spent the entire time happily playing with their toys so I actually got to hold hands with my husband and eat a massive chocolate cupcake by myself. Now that’s a good birthday party.

So, I thought for my birthday party we’d give you gifts. And since I’m a book-lover, the gifts are: books galore. And since I now have two 3s in my age, we’ll do this in 3s:

TODAY only, my three e-books are FREE!

• Plenty: 31 sips of joy for moms everywhere
• Let In Light: His truth every morning for 31 days
• Friendship: A gift to give

Plus, I still have some hardcover copies of Unfinished: Believing is only the beginning by Richard Stearns, president of World Vision. So click here to get your free e-books, and if you’d like a chance to win Unfinished, leave a comment and we’ll pick THREE winners tomorrow!

(And yes, you can download e-books even if you don’t own a Kindle, just click “Available on your PC” or “Available on your Mac” just above the “Give as Gift” button on the righthand side of the Amazon screen–and click the gift button to give as many copies as you like! Thanks for reading.)

Outside my bedroom window is a tall birch tree.

It stretches its white-barked arms high toward heaven. Right beside it stands a cherry tree. It dwarfs in comparison to the birch–only half its height–the dark branches bowing their humble heads. But the cherry tree is dazzling white with blossoms, the promise of summer’s bounty.  Below both of these trees is … dirt. The dirt isn’t doing much at all. No blossoms, no beautiful branches stretched high. But I’m sure glad the dirt is there!  And the dirt is doing exactly what it was made to do. Being dirt.

And praising God.

Psalm 148 tell us how everything brings God praise:

Praise the Lord.

Praise the Lord from the heavens;
praise him in the heights above.
Praise him, all his angels;
praise him, all his heavenly hosts.
Praise him, sun and moon;
praise him, all you shining stars.
Praise him, you highest heavens
and you waters above the skies.

Let them praise the name of the Lord,
for at his command they were created,
and he established them for ever and ever—
he issued a decree that will never pass away.

Praise the Lord from the earth,
you great sea creatures and all ocean depths,
lightning and hail, snow and clouds,
stormy winds that do his bidding,
you mountains and all hills,
fruit trees and all cedars,
wild animals and all cattle,
small creatures and flying birds,
kings of the earth and all nations,
you princes and all rulers on earth,
young men and women,
old men and children.

Let them praise the name of the Lord,
for his name alone is exalted;
his splendor is above the earth and the heavens.
And he has raised up for his people a horn,
the praise of all his faithful servants,
of Israel, the people close to his heart.

Praise the Lord.

The birch tree out my window is praising the Lord. The cherry tree is too, and so is the dirt. How? By being and doing exactly what God created it to be and do. Simple. No stress, no striving, no jealousy or competition. Just rest, life … praise. Could it be the same for us? 

You don’t have to be like her.

You don’t have to look like her.

You don’t have to have a ministry like hers.

You don’t have to have a house like hers.

You don’t have to have kids like hers.

You don’t have to take to your bed in sorrow when the world tells you you’re dirt.

Even dirt can praise God.

It brings God praise when we exult in, rest in, rejoice in, who He made us to be.  As He allows painful trials, it isn’t that He’s destroying us, He’s simply helping us become more of who He made us to be. More ourselves. More fully able to bring Him praise. 

Who are you? 

Today He created me to love one man and two little squirrels. To clean the bathroom, read books about bugs, and write a few words in between. That’s how I’ll bring Him praise today…

What about you? By simply being and doing what He created you to be and do, How will you bring Him praise today?

Our world reels unless we rejoice. A song of thanks steadies everything.

-Ann Voskamp

Sometimes I feel as though my list of thanks just ends up being a highlight reel of the week. I don’t want that. And honestly, I don’t live a highlight reel life, I live a real life.  The secret to true thanks is giving thanks in all things. Not just the highlight reel. Sure, there were some high-points this week that nourished my soul, brought perspective, and lifted my heart, but the greatest gifts were inward ones.

Inward work of the Father. His love revealed in quiet ways. His whispers. Small gestures of kindness from a friend that would appear nothing but meant everything.

I was blessed by the kindness of a fellow mom I’d only met once before, treating us so generously to a field trip to OMSI. So blessed by watching the faces of my children, enraptured, joy-filled, exploring, learning, running, playing. So blessed by her gentle, humble presence. Her simple acceptance of me and my kids.

I was so blessed this week by finally sleeping through the night after 10 straight days of coughing myself silly. So grateful for health! For life! For sun! For green things growing and salads from the garden and fresh hand-made pasta from our housemate. I was so blessed this week by one simple email from a friend. She didn’t have to write it, but she did.   I was so blessed by truth, which brings light. By grace, which brings love. By hope, which brings comfort and joy.

I was so blessed by the light in Mary’s eyes as she played with Dutch & Heidi. I was so blessed by laughter. By tromping barefoot through wide-open fields of dirt, for side-splitting laughter as we went from, “This feels good,” to “the dirt-clods kind of hurt,” to “I have tears in my eyes” to “I think my feet are bleeding.” I was so blessed by a truck pulling up in the middle of the field (with my son in the cab!) to pick us up. I was so blessed by hand-made hamburgers and fresh blueberries and eating so much pineapple my mouth hurt. I was blessed by an enormous chocolate cupcake I should n’t haven’t eaten but I did.  

I was blessed by my man. He is calm and love and firm steady grace. He is others-focused and Christ-centered. He bears my moods patiently. Grateful for that.

I am blessed by open windows in the morning and coffee brewing early. By the smell of Heidi’s palms and Dutch’s breath. By inconveniences like both children crawling in our bed early. By lying there just stroking his cheek as he sleeps. I’m grateful for this week, with all its highs and lows, and for today–a new day full of mercy. Great is His faithfulness.

Thanks for reading. 

First confession: I haven’t “done school” in three months.

Second confession: It was during these three months that Jamie asked me to be a regular contributor here at Simple Homeschool (so excited for this!).

Final confession: My kids have learned more and I’ve learned more about them learning more (got that?) in these three months than ever before.

So the timing felt right, and that’s what I’m learning:

About feeling right and summer education.

See, during the three months we weren’t “doing school,” I was in the throes of my busiest season. I speak at women’s events and these are heavily concentrated in the fall and spring. At first this felt like a handicap for homeschooling.

The regular school times were my busiest seasons, which meant Mama’s brain was just plain tired. Sure, we spent time together each day adventuring and discovering, reading and exploring, but I just wasn’t up for cracking open the curriculum for concentrated school-time.

But then it dawned on me: We can set our own school schedule! And further, we can learn year-round without worrying about breaks or calendars at all. And more than that, I was amazed at how much my kids learned despite our lack of formal school. Could I really be this relaxed about it all?  {Read the rest here… thanks so much!}

The rain pounded hard in the darkness, and I rocked.

And rocked.

And rocked.

We were all sick, and she cried.

And cried.

And cried.

Unable to sleep, until we finally drug the rocking chair in from the front porch. It was cold and wet from outside. Jeff draped a blanket over the top, and I settled in for a long sit, her legs wrapped around my waist, her body against mine, her head on my shoulder.

And we rocked. And I waited for the warmth of the fleece blanket to envelop me.

But I just stayed cold, chilled to the bone. I waited for the warm romantic feelings to come; thoughts of how grateful I was for this Beautiful Waste, thoughts of how precious it was to rock my youngest child.

But all I could think about was how much I wanted to sleep.

I tried slipping out of the rocker, tried sliding her back into her bed, but as soon as she was horizontal her congestion came back and she awoke, crying.

Back we went to rocking.

And I went back and forth, getting nowhere. 

The next day we were all still sick. I slept in, but woke to bickering. I drew a hot bath but the doorbell rang just as I stepped in the water. I made my favorite cold-remedy soup but all I could think about was how much I wanted chocolate-chip cookies instead.

What happened to joy?

Sure, there were sniffles and sneezes, but colds are nothing new, why was it that this one colored everything bleak?

The rain poured again the next day. And the next. Heidi’s cough barked, like croup. I kept sneezing, throat burning, ears aching, head pounding, eyes watering.

Playdates, dinner dates and discipleship dates were cancelled.

Dishes piled.

Crumbs collected.

Counters cluttered.

Shoes scattered.

“I work so hard and in two days of being sick all my work is undone,” I lamented to Jeff.

All my work is undone.

What is my work?

I had been thinking about building. Reading through Ezra and Nehemiah, and it’s almost summer and I have 4 straight months without a speaking commitment and my mind is on projects:

Finish the office. Read 20 books. Start the bathroom. Move the barkdust. Teach Heidi to read. Weed the front.

The day before we’d gotten sick I had cleaned the whole house top to bottom.

But in 48-hours it was a shambles again.

And I remember the opposition Nehemiah faced, as they set to building the wall in Jerusalem. How Sanballat and Tobiah mercilessly provoked and taunted and discouraged the faithful laborers.

But what’s the application? I understand opposition, but Who are my Sanballat and Tobiah?

And, more importantly, What am I trying to build? 

Judging by my reactions and frustrations, apparently I’m trying to build productivity. Build a clean house. Build an office, a bathroom, a weed-free yard. If those are my end-goal projects then things like children, messes, and colds will be the opposition. In fact, if those things are all that I’m trying to build, I can inadvertently make my most precious people into the enemies of my goal–

Dutch & Heidi = Sanballat & Tobiah?

Something’s wrong with this picture.

Let’s rethink this: While those things are great projects, what am I really needing to build today?

Joy.

Without joy, I am the sullen mommy barking orders at children and scowling at my husband.

Without joy, none of the simple pleasures “work.” Joy is the flame that sets all those things on fire. Baths, tea, hot soup, novels, snuggles, and warm, fleecy blankets are all wonderful candle-sticks, but joy is the flame that sets them on fire and allows them to glow and bring pleasure to our souls.

If the joy of the Lord is my goal–true, abiding, overflowing joy–then the enemies aren’t my children. The enemies are inside: Selfishness, ingratitude, impatience.

Sanballat & Tobiah live inside my heart. Who knew?

But there’s good news: They can be conquered. By selflessness, gratitude, patience, trust.

In a brief break in the rain, I go outside to weed. I’m determined. I bend, pull, and ask God for joy. And as I wait …

I get stung by a bee.

YOW!!! That’s not how the story’s supposed to go!

No one’s around to hear me or to care, so I limp into the house, grab an ice-pack, and drop onto the bed. I can feel the frustration rising as the sting site swells, reddens.

On the nightstand sits my Bible.

So I open it and begin to build.

And Sanballat and Tobiah take many forms within and without–sickness, rain, bee stings, filthy floors, seflishness, sleepless nights, ingratitude, bickering children–but Nehemiah’s confident response becomes my own:

“The God of heaven will make us prosper, and we His servants will arise and build” (Neh. 2:20).

Today, your goal: Arise, and build joy.

{Thanks so much for reading.}

 Sick this week. 🙁 Really, really, really needed to give thanks and forget not His benefits!

• Glad for a sunny Saturday and enough energy to run around!
• Walk with my girl, hand in hand, to the Revival Building to visit the boys.
• Finishing my little writing space. Praying for His hand on that little corner, for words that give life, courage, truth, and grace.
• Whole roasted chicken, devoured by four hungries.
• Watermelon sweet. (Thank you, Debra!)
• Emergen-C (Thank you, Debra!)
• Kefir.
• Salads all week from the garden!
• Nyquil.
• Stumptown coffee delivered to me on a tray with cream and honey. #lovethatman
• Littles with wet hair, in jammies.
• Kissing clean cheeks.
• Dinner outside.
• Compiling my summer reading list! (Excited to swap recommendations here!)
• Water, water, water. Thank you, Lord, for this miracle drink!
• Quiet.
• The sound of them, in their beds, turning pages.
• Sleep.
• A flexible lifestyle that allows for sickness and sleep. Thank you, Father!
• A good man.
• His good Word that sets me straight each day. Lost without it.
• Sweet friends sprinkling my day.
• The Story of God.
• Nourishing Traditions’ Chicken-broth, lemon-juice, coconut-milk, chili-pepper ginger soup. Perfect tasty remedy for a cold!
• Raw honey.
• Rest.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope (Rom. 15:13).  Thanks for reading.

We talked Wednesday about why it sometimes feels creepy to talk about Jesus, and we asked God to make us more bold, finding that place between creepy and cowardly. So, here’s what this looks like for me:

Jeff and I are headed back to the airport from a recent conference, and we happen (ha!) to arrive early for the shuttle, and strike up a conversation with another couple. They’re in their mid-40s, boyfriend and girlfriend. There are several clear indicators they are likely not Christ-followers at this point. As we’re headed to the airport, the guy mentions he’s from the city where my brother Kris lives, and I get this inward thought, “Get his number so Kris can connect with him and tell him about Jesus.”

Yeah. Right.

That’s creepy. You don’t just ask a random guy on a shuttle for his information because your brother might want to meet him. Way creepy. How on earth would I even say that? No. Nope. Can’t do that.

The feeling gets stronger. By now we’re pulling up at the airport. There isn’t time or space to even prep Jeff that I’m about to act like a weirdo. But I remember it: There’s a place somewhere between creepy and cowardly.

Ok, fine! I’ll open my mouth and trust that what I say doesn’t sound creepy.

“Hey, we’d love to get your info; maybe you and my brother could go snowboarding sometime!”

Ack! My weird-meter is going wild inside. BEEP BEEP BEEP! I sound so creepy!!!

“Hey, yeah, that’s cool. Ok.” Jeff takes it from there and gives the guy his business card as we step off the shuttle. The guy looks down at the business card and back up to Jeff.

“Are you really a pastor?”

I hold my breath. Now he knows we’re not just weird, we’re religious-weird. Way worse.

Long story short, Jeff says yes, and it’s time for us to catch our plane.

End of story, I thought.

The next day, he texts Jeff:

“If I have done horrible things is there any forgiveness or absolution?”

And so begins a several-day dialogue with a man who is convinced he should be dead, in hell, for all the horrible things he has done. And so begins a dialogue where Jeff is sharing the gospel. The hope. The truth. The life.

JESUS.

This man was (and is) on the brink.

And I was concerned about sounding creepy?

O Lord, have mercy. 

I’m writing this post, not because I’ve gotten oh-so-bold and am now knocking on doors left and right. I share because this is what God currently is ministering to my heart. I need accountability. I need to write it down so I can’t pretend He’s not saying it: Kari, at some point the gospel gets aggressive.

And it’s not as if we have to start strangely spouting about Jesus everywhere we go, but perhaps we need to  go one step further than what feels comfortable.

One step beyond what’s natural. Because boldness in proclaiming the gospel isn’t natural, it’s supernatural.

Meaning this: If we wait around for it to “naturally come up in conversation” we probably won’t get very many opportunities to talk about Jesus (which is exactly what some of us want, if we’re honest. Right?). If we just try to live a good life in front of people and hope that someday they will ask us about God, we might never get the chance. If we just try to be a silent witness but do not speak the name of Jesus we just simply are not living out our true identity–as loved, forgiven, set-free sons and daughters of God who are already approved and who have been given the honor of telling the rest of the world about the love, joy, forgiveness, and freedom of walking with the Creator of the universe. 

My prayer is that God would help me–us–to just be more brave in sharing His love, His truth, His name. That we’d overcome creepy. That we’d be willing to look weird. Perhaps even this weekend, as you recreate with friends and neighbors for Memorial Day: Remember Him. Speak of Him. Ask others about Him. Bring up the name of Jesus and embrace whatever awkwardness may come, to the glory of God. He is so good! He is worth it. Trusting Him for this, in my life and in yours. Bless you, sisters and brothers! Thanks for reading.

*PS Still waiting to see how this conversation will end up–it’s still ongoing. Trusting it will end in salvation and a redeemed life following Christ. Will you please pray for Darren? Thank you.

“At some point, the gospel gets aggressive.”

I looked up at him. There was that rush, that slight piercing feeling in my chest, that flip-flop in my stomach, that heart-beat quickening just a bit. You know that feeling, when you’re sitting in church and all of a sudden you feel as though the pastor is speaking only to you.

That’s the Holy Spirit.

That’s our cue to pay attention: This one’s for you.

I had just had a series of conversations that went something like this:

Person: “So, how do we get more people to come to church and like, love God and like, be disciples and stuff?”

Me: “Um … I don’t know.”

That pretty much sums it up. I probably said more than that, dropping buzzwords like “missional” and “outreach” and “organic,” and I probably said something really stupid like how we should really get a sign in front of our building. Surely that would help.

A sign will definitely get some serious disciple-making going on.

Gag.

See, here’s the deal. I’m friendly. Really friendly. I’m an introvert but I get the fact that people are what God cares about. Plus, I truly do like people.

And, I love Jesus.

And I’d really love for them to meet each other.

But apparently I’m terrible at introductions.

Anybody else?

Sometimes I forget that the whole point of this life-thing is to introduce Jesus to those who do not know Him. That’s why we’re here! I just read through Acts, and was struck anew by how simple Jesus’ mandate really was:

1. Pray and fast

2. Proclaim the gospel

3. Share all your stuff

4. Expect suffering

That about covers it.

I’ve made baby steps in prayer and fasting. I’m beginning to expect the suffering thing (not that I like it!). I’ve come a long way in sharing my stuff. But honestly:

I haven’t come very far in proclaiming the gospel.

Confession: It’s much easier for me to give away my stuff than it is to boldly talk to people about Jesus.

*Sigh*

Why? 

There are probably a lot of reasons, but one of them has to do with idols. (Idols of the heart are those false gods we live for, the hidden reason we do what we do.) Most people tend toward an idol of Power, Approval, Comfort, or Control.  I don’t mind not being in control and I don’t thirst much for power. I don’t struggle much with the idol of comfort–which means it’s much easier for me to give up my stuff, or money, or go without. (Not saying I’m immune to those things, just not as much.)

I struggle with the idol of approval.

So it’s way harder for me to bring up a subject that is bound to bring me a nice healthy dose of rejection.

Teaching at retreats? Sure. It’s easy to be bold there. Plus, let’s be honest–I get a nice dose of approval pretty regularly in those settings.

Telling lost people about Jesus? There’s a 99% chance of rejection at some level.

But, Acts has been messing with me because Paul didn’t give a rip what anybody thought. Except Jesus. Paul was stoned, imprisoned, rejected, ridiculed. You name it. But he maintained,

Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ. (Gal. 1:10)

Yeah … doesn’t get much clearer than that.

But here’s the thing: The idea of being bold in talking to people, and specifically about talking to people about Jesus can come across as being creepy. In our culture that’s a taboo topic in everyday conversation, so to bulldoze through that social norm is to enter into a serious creepy-zone.

But there is a place somewhere in between creepy and cowardly.

Sure, it’s obnoxious when people wear sandwich-boards on street-corners and scream about hell. It’s creepy to go up to random people and start preaching.

But I’d venture to say none of you are doing that. It’s more likely you’re something like me, comfortable meeting people, serving people, and maybe even inviting people to church, but really uncomfortable actually talking to people about Jesus.

Maybe you too are afraid of appearing creepy. And maybe we settle back a little too far.

Maybe back into cowardly.

On Friday I’ll share a fun story of taking a step, feeling creepy, and seeing how God came through (still waiting to see how the story ends). For today, let’s consider together how comfortable we are talking about Jesus.

Not church, not politics, not morals or virtues:

Jesus.  

There’s this crazy verse that keeps haunting me. And it’s sad to admit that as I’m writing this post I’m thinking to myself, “No one is gonna like this one. Definitely  not gonna get any positive comments here.” It’s sad that as I’m writing I’m thinking of whether or not I’ll be approved of or not. By you. Instead of just asking Jesus, “Is this what you want me to say about you?” That approval addiction runs deep, but this verse cuts to the heart:

“For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him will the Son of Man also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.” Mark 8:38

Chewing on this today, with you. What heart-idol to you tend toward? How do you feel about talking about Jesus with others? Is there someone specifically you want to name, asking God for boldness in talking to him or her about Jesus?  Father, change us and make us bold. We love You so much. {Thank you for reading.}

Last weekend, as we lay in bed, Jeff asked me how I felt.  I replied, “I feel like a rubber band that’s stretched out so tight it’s just about to snap.”  He knew enough to put his arm around me and just stay quiet after that. (love that man.)

Someone please tell me they’ve felt like that too?

My confession is this: I’ve been mad.  Not all the time, but more often than I like to admit, I’ve been struggling with just getting so angry with my Littles.  Sure, there’s a time to be mad, to get angry at sin and to be stern in discipline. But this was more of a subtle brewing beneath the surface that’s just a slight incident away from boiling over. The kind of mad.

Ironically enough, it was the morning of Mother’s Day that I felt most angry. And it was the afternoon of Mother’s Day that I realized why.

Thanks to a glass of strawberry lemonade. 

We don’t usually have juice in the house, but I knew it’d be almost 90 degrees that day, so I bought some lemonade. Jeff’s mom brought strawberries so I made a special pitcher of strawberry lemonade for the day. Yum!

In the afternoon, I went outside with the kids to play. I held in my hand a small, cold glass of icy strawberry lemonade. Of course as soon as they saw it, their eyes lit up and they asked to have some. It was the last glass, but they had asked politely and of course I wanted them to enjoy it too. So I lowered down and gave Dutch a drink. But of course his drink enthusiastically turned to gulp and when I tipped back the glass it was half gone. I turned to give Heidi a drink and she slurped away. When I held the glass back up for myself there was all of an inch left at the bottom. And then I realized…

That’s why I’m mad. 

What? I’m mad because my kids drank my strawberry lemonade? No.

I’m mad because I let them. 

All the time … in so many ways. 

It’s not about lemonade, obviously. See, here’s the thing. Love does not seek its own. I get that. And as moms, we’re celebrated for our selflessness (which is good!), and we’re to expected to lay down our lives for our children (which is good!), we’re supposed to say “yes!” as often as we can (which is good). But I also know that on Mother’s Day it is perfectly acceptable for a mom to have a glass of strawberry lemonade without giving the entire thing to her children. It’s good for them to learn that Mommy is honored and sometimes gets special things of her own. It’s good for Mommy to respect herself, and carry herself with dignity. Part of loving them is training them to not walk all over their mother. How they treat mommy is how they will treat others. See, we not only need clear boundaries in obedience and discipline, but also just in respecting Mommy as a person.

Do you see what I mean?

It’s beautiful for mommy to selflessly lay down her life for her kids. But that doesn’t mean she

… prepares snacks and meals at all hours of the day.  

… isn’t allowed to eat a meal sitting down.

… can’t take a shower by herself.

… must give up her quiet time in the Word.

You remember the instructions we’re always given when flying with children, right? Secure your own oxygen mask before your child’s.  In other words:

It won’t help your child if you’re passed out on the floor. 

I might just write that last sentence on a poster and tape it to my wall.

Sister-friend, I don’t know where you are today. But could it be that a little dose of soul-care might be in order? By all means, keep loving those children sacrificially, but perhaps Mama needs a bath by herself? Or an hour away for a quiet cup of coffee? Or perhaps just …

…an icy glass of strawberry lemonade all to herself.

With love, thanks for reading,

Kari

*Remembering this story, from last year. Thankfully, now I’m really good at being a mean mommy and saying no to my kids. 🙂  Looking for more help/wisdom in this area? Check out Taking Care of the Me in Mommy, by Lisa Whelchel. A great, fun, practical guide. Read it while you’re sipping that lemonade…

We just walked in the door.

I have that eye-burning tired, clammy-body feel of spending hours in an airport.

We ate a bag of almonds and some orange juice for dinner.

I’m beat.

But it’s been so good.

A few days away with my man at the Acts 29 Preach the Word conference. A powerful time, together, to sit under the teaching of God’s Word and be equipped and encouraged to communicate His Word.

We walked everywhere, developed a humdinger of a blister, enjoyed Starbucks refills, were randomly picked up in a limo (!), and just soaked up every second of time together. It was two years ago when we last went away just the two of us. Since then we’ve moved twice and started this little itty-bitty thing called church-planting.

Needless to say, it was time for some time away together.

On the way there, I read One Big Thing. A great, quick, read about focusing your life on the One Big Thing God has called you to. That thing that makes you alive. It was challenging and encouraging all at once. It’s worth a read if you’re wondering what on earth you’re here for.

On the way back, I read most of Linda Dillow’s What’s It Like To Be Married To Me?: and other dangerous questions. The Kindle edition is even cheaper than my book (!), so if you’re married, it’s definitely worth a quick read and some healthy, challenging questions.

Here’s why it’s helpful:

Most of the time, I’m just in survival mode. We have house projects, homeschooling, church-planting; we have lots of relationships, we have schedules and chores and laundry and cooking and cleaning and hospitality. We have calendars to synch, plans to make, and honestly, I don’t have time to sit around and contemplate, I wonder what it’s like to be married to me… 

But this book starts there, and gives you some great questions to ask your husband, a starting place for hearing from him. 

I have to admit, although I loved the premise of the book, and I can easily assimilate and digest information, I was hesitant to actually ask Jeff the questions. In fact, if I’d been reading it alone I probably would have skipped that part and just contemplated what I thought he’d say.

Cheating!

But as it was, we were sitting on a plane together, him reading over my shoulder. I couldn’t not ask him when he was sitting right there. So I did. And you know what–the talk we had was incredibly instructive and helpful for us.

Just last week, a friend of mine suggested a similar thing. She shared Lysa TerKeurst’s idea of being a 3 Things Wife. The few of us who were chatting about it asked our husbands, “What 3 things really matter to you, that you would like me to be or do?”

I was sort of surprised at Jeff’s answer.

Here’s what this shows me: We’ll never actually be able to serve, honor, respect, and love our husbands if we haven’t asked them how they’d like us to do just that.

I think I know what my husband wants, but you know what? He can speak for himself.

Surprise!

And the good news is: His expectations are probably a lot simpler than we may think. 

Kari studying

In fact, the way he sees you may be more grace-filled and loving than the way you see yourself. My sweet husband took this picture of me, I had no idea he did, and it helped me understand how he sees me.

With FAR more grace than how I see myself.

Surprisingly enough, allowing ourselves to be vulnerable and seeing ourselves from his viewpoint, might even help us see how loved we really are.

And… right now he is standing behind me, waiting for me to finish typing this post since it’s past 10pm and we’re both beat! So I’ll sign off, but let me leave you with this:

What’s it like to be married to me? Give it some thought, then–when you’re brave enough!–ask your man. Then ask:

What three things would you like me to do? 

And, a blanket apology for incoherence and typos. I am so tired. Have a blessed Thursday and I’ll write again soon. Thanks for reading!