Sarah Anne I Am

When I was a little girl, just old enough to have outgrown taking a nap each day, my mother began something called "quiet time." It was exactly what it sounds like- just a period of time each afternoon when I was to sit on my bed and be...quiet. My Mama would turn off the light and draw closed the curtains, close me bedroom door, and leave me so that SHE could have some quiet time as well. I was allowed to read or play on my bed, but it had to be done quietly. Well here I am, a mama myself. I am sitting in the car which is parked outside out apartment. We have been here for a half an hour or more. My sweet son, exhausted from a morning of hissy fits and meltdowns, is sleeping in this carseat on the backseat. So as not to disturb the nap that he is FINALLY taking, we sit here, quiet. I don't mind. I am loving this quiet moment myself, forcibly shut away from the dishes that need to be washed, the laundry that needs to be folded, and the dozen other things in my home th

I am lying awake in bed at 4am as I far too often do nowadays, and my mind is full. I found myself feeling torn about something I did not expect, and as I began to examine my heart and search out the root of this feeling, I found an unpleasant surprise. The culprit of my problem was not an unfamiliar one. Like so many things I have noticed in myself lately- and really, throughout my life- it was simply a matter of pride. My pride is an ugly beast. It rises up to greet me from dark corners of my heart that I wish did not exist. While I am a new creation, constantly being transformed, continually being sanctified...still, with sad frequency, I stumble. For me, that stumbling often looks like pride. I have no excuse. I am not pretending that this ugly beast overtakes me against my will. No, I have a choice in the matter. And I choose it. That is the truly tragic part - not only am I prideful, I CHOOSE to be prideful. I choose to give in to the temptation to think far too much of myself, t

   Our little family moved into this sweet, two-bedroom townhome two months ago, at the beginning of November. When we moved, my goal was to be all settled in by Thanksgiving. We were not. So my new goal was to be all settled in by Christmas. We weren't by then, either.   So my NEW new goal is this: I am going to pace myself. I will try to get a little done every day...and I will be satisfied with the little. Even if it takes me a month of Sundays to get one closet organized, I will not fret. I will not (anymore) go to bed stressed and overwhelmed by something as inconsequential as a closet, nor will I (again) stay up till four in the morning organizing that closet.   Progress is progress. Even if it is just a little progress, it is still progress. Even if that progress looks like things getting messier before they can get cleaner, it is still progress. ANY progress is progress!    There is a trick I discovered when I was 38 weeks pregnant. As I was eagerly (read: impatientl

  When I decided to start a new blog several nights ago as I lay awake in bed, I debated what to call it.   I used to use the name Turns Like The Ocean- I was young, and tumultuous, full of emotions and dreams. But I am not that girl anymore. I am more grown up, I have more self-control, I am more dependent on the Lord and less tossed about by the world.   My previous blog was called The Abstract of Me. A friend suggested it when I was fifteen, because I was really into abstract art, and really...well, weird. I was weird. And I loved it, I embraced it; I was proud of how unique and strange and unexpected I was. And while I am still proud of being unique, I am not so much that girl anymore, either. I am softer, gentler- maybe not soft or gentle, but not as bizarre as I once was.   So I began to think about who I am NOW. I have changed so much in the past three years that at times I hardly recognize myself. All of the change has been good, very good! Yet I feel I am getting to know my