Confessions of a Writer-Mama



Girl-to-girl here? There are those days when I wonder if it hurts more to push through or to watch another night fall.

I’m in a unique season. A season of helping one precious to me while my own desires and dreams suspend mid-air. Days of rising {way} too early, cleaning behind little ears, and finding fun learning activities to entertain a hungry young mind—all while cloaking discipleship in the painting of rocks and baking of cookies.

Even with Jesus, it sounds as ridiculous to me as the pursuit sometimes feels.  I’m not this selfless.

I’m courting fifty years—a Nana, a writer with lofty dreams, yet my days are spent hands-on parenting my granddaughter while praying healing prayers for my own girl. Late at night I drop exhausted, but not before addressing mounds of laundry, piled high like seconds of last night’s whipped potatoes. {Why does everything make me want to eat nowadays?}

My self-care tapers to popping Lil Critters Gummy Vites and Omega 3s after wrestling Rapunzel for tub space. Meanwhile the days pass, evaporating like the water in yesterday’s forgotten pan—boiling dry, flooding the air for mere moments.

Will you read the rest with me over at inCourage , where I’m guest-posting today. . .

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