The Baby Books We Make With Our Prayers {with printable prayers for our children}

We named her Hope and He tethered us with a name we couldn’t change.

She was birthed in Africa’s dirt and lived more life and death in her five years than some see in their thirty-five. She saw blood before it stained and talked of bodies, when breath had left them and the ground absorbed them, as casually as if it were a Sunday ceremony. The girl we’d named Hope was shackled by a story that spoke the opposite.

And He picked me, this one who’d made a habit out of fear, to mother her.

Her days wore the scars you’d expect from her history and I was called to restore them. Hugging and holding, looking directly into the eyes of the one you call Mommy, were unfamiliar to her street-wise skin. She knew how to snatch and to catch and hoard — but to receive?

She wailed when I found her, pen in hand and brand-new birthday baby doll, defaced. Her life’s inertia had never before been given pause and these new days in our home were allowing her to slow down to a new pace, where the  [continue reading over here, on Mothers of Daughters –>]

Pinterest
View All Posts

Recent Blog Posts

Finding The Hidden Ones On Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day was for hiding. Some years, it was behind my apron, fixing up a feast at home for my mother-in-law while Nate attended church. And other years it was underneath my covers, seeing this thin sheath between me and the world (which had what I wanted) as my greatest ally. Our church seemed unusually prolific, busting at the seams…
Continue

Tethering the Strings of the Heart

She slid up next to me, a sprig of a thing with her long, thin frame that will likely be taller than mine before the year closes. I was wiping down the counter — tasking — and she wrapped her arms around me and rested her head in the crook of my neck as if we were settling in for a…
Continue

Sometimes We Need to Pray With Our Eyes Closed

I was sixteen and every single one of my girlfriends owned a pair of Birkenstocks. Nine of us in khaki shorts, polo shirts and Birks, all lined up in a picture that I still have, hiding our secret thoughts and individual lives behind a safe uniformity. We had a shared understanding that no one was to diverge too much from…
Continue

When They Cannot Repay You

The day we pulled up into our driveway with the first two of our children that we’d adopted — into the home that had been full of empty bedrooms for years while we waited for them — we sat with the keys in the ignition while they, buckled into boosters in the back, slept off days of sleepless travel and…
Continue

On Tears (and Other Blessings)

It is the rare writer who invites you in, not only to their heart but yours, and through the back door — in such a way that words and story are subtly ushering you closer to the heartbeat of God. I read Christie Purifoy’s book last summer and I’ve counted down the months until it would be available in book stores, until I…
Continue