The day I was baptized was a cold day in December. It was five days before Christmas and nearly 17.75 years after my earthly entrance. My pastor helped me to keep the Fourth Commandment by honoring my father and mother’s wishes to have a “private” Baptism, with just close friends and family in attendance. My sponsors are my youth group leader and my friend’s mom. That day was all sorts of things, and I felt all sorts of feelings—but the biggest one was peace. Most people I sit with in the pew don’t remember their baptismal day, and my children won’t remember theirs either. Because I remember mine, I want each of you to remember and celebrate yours and your children’s. 

Ten years ago, my mom and I were tying pieces of silky purple ribbon to the top of dozens of lovely wedding bulletins. It was a few weeks before my wedding, and she and I had had so much fun getting everything ready for the big day. After all the months of planning, it was starting to all come together. 

It’s a tough season for my family. It’s not the toughest it could be. We’re all (mostly) healthy. We’re not looking to move or leave our jobs anytime soon. We’ve settled into a rhythm of sorts. And yet, we feel a bit more strapped and stressed than ever. If I’m being honest, I want a roadmap out of the tough. Maybe you can relate to this feeling?

“Everything will be okay.”

“Don’t worry. Be happy.”

“Hakuna matata.”

These feel-good yet frothy phrases center around an issue that is near and dear to my sinful heart: worry.

“I don’t want to pray right now,” my two-and-a-half-year-old says. I know that these words don’t actually mean she doesn’t want the comfort of prayer, but she doesn’t want to go to bed. She’s tucked into her soft pink blankets, her purple bunny (affectionately called Floppy) is tucked under her arm, and her head is on the pillow. My husband and I are always flustered when this happens, even though it’s practically become a nightly occurrence. But we value prayer and so we press her to find something she wants to pray for (right now, we often thank God for princess dresses). 

My three-year-old and one-year-old had just thrown F5-level meltdowns for the first fifteen minutes of church (some of it in the pew, some of it in the nursery, some outside … you get the picture). We somehow rallied and stumbled back to our tornado of a pew.

We long for deep community. We strive for healthy and helpful relationships with family members, church people, and neighbors. But if we’re honest with ourselves, especially as parents, we usually stay in that longing spot. We want the village, but we don’t feel like we can do anything about it.  

We are now entering the one time of year in our world that is focused on being generous, giving back, and serving our neighbors. Bell ringers at stores, social media posts of friends serving meals at soup kitchens, and mailouts requesting donations during the “season of giving” are everywhere. Good works seem to be very visible this time of year. 

Psalm 119:15–16 states, “I will meditate on your precepts and fix my eyes on your ways. I will delight in your statutes; I will not forget your word.” When I read this verse, I cannot help but feel just slightly guilty. You see, I definitely do not know Scripture as well as I would like. I feel like I have a pretty good excuse, I wasn’t raised with the Bible in my household. But at the end of the day, it’s an excuse. Psalm 119 not only reminds me of my desire to remember God’s Word but that I desire for my children to have the Word stored up in their hearts (see Psalm 119:11). 

“You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or his male servant, or his female servant, or his ox, or his donkey, or anything that is your neighbor’s” (Exodus 20:17).