We moved to a new town the summer before I began fourth grade. A shy bookworm, I had stick-straight blonde hair down to my rear, 90s bangs, and an affinity for wearing a Mickey Mouse tunic and leggings. It was summer, so without school to help me meet other kids, I grabbed my trusty Huffy bike and took to the roads instead. Up and down the streets I rode, hair flying in the wind, as I learned my new home. One by one, I counted the blocks and memorized the streets. Sibley. Marshall. Holcombe. Each day, the map in my mind expanded.

It wasn't long before I was looking at Lisa's hamsters, or playing with Rachel from across the street, or buying slushies from Handi Stop and daring my friends and I to suck them down in Lauren's piping-hot attic until we could no longer stand the heat.

I didn't travel far, really, no more than a mile radius in all. But slowly as I learned the streets and the people who lived on them, and began to measure the distance to friends in city blocks, the town became home.

Later, when I moved from the south side of town to the north side, I fell into my old bike-riding routine. Sara was two blocks away, Shayna a short distance the other way, Kelsie up past the schools. Familiarity bred comfort, and that became home.

“So what are you going to do next?”

The question was posed innocently enough by a friend last night after I’d explained about just finishing up helping with a major women’s conference and meeting the final deadline for our book (yay!) last week. 


I immediately fumbled through some things I could be starting this week, when what I really wanted to say was, “I just need to catch my breath.”

But I didn’t. Instead I rattled off another list of things that needed to be done.

Why do I do that to myself? I pondered later, as I was alone. Why do I let my value be in the things I accomplish? It’s been my vice for as long as I can remember. Finding my worth in what I do, not in who I am.

I am a to-do list kinda girl and I feel worthwhile when I can check things off of my list.

And although, there may be nothing wrong with that—at least not on the surface— there is a deeper need, a drive in me, that says to be valuable, to make a mark on this world, to be seen and noticed and even sometimes loved, you must do. Being is simply not enough.

This past year we've covered so many topics from Advent Acts of Kindness to highlighting concerns around the world, to sharing honest stories of struggles and joys, friendship and harder relationships, along with some wonderful guest bloggers. Here is a look back at our most popular posts of 2015.

5. 10 Years Later...The Aftermath of Grief
I sit alone in my room. Kids are tucked into bed. Husband is downstairs watching a football game.

The soft glow of light shines from my bedside lamp. Snuggled against the pillows, this place is my safe haven. A place I find rest and peace from the busyness of each day.

I find a familiar episode of Gilmore Girls and settle in to watch, but more importantly, to remember. My sister Katrina loved this show. And it was one of the last things we did together. We’d sit on her bed, she too weak to get up, hunkered down with drinks or snacks or just each other to watch episodes together.

We’d laugh and cry, interspersing our own conversation against the replayed episodes we’d watched more than a few times.

“I wonder what your kids will be like?” she’d say. I’d smile and tell her my hopes for the future with my then-boyfriend-now-husband Kyle.

This past month as we’ve committed to perform a kind act each day leading up to Christmas, a lot of discussions have been had in our house about giving and receiving, needs of others and even some of the heartbreaking events that are happening around the world. We’ve prayed for refugees and
children without food, packed gifts and written notes to veterans who have been injured in war, and brought presents to women and children at a local shelter who’ve experienced domestic violence.

The past few weeks have been hard for all of us around the world—bombings, terrorism, shootings, and hate-filled words spewed by those who would do harm to others have left my heart and soul a little battered. I've had to shut down and unplug from any form of media for hours at a time.

I've been saddened by responses I've seen that would automatically exclude others from protection and care. I've heard a lot of me and mine above all else.

This morning I read Jesus' words, written in Matthew 25:

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’"

Last Friday night I was putting the final touches on a talk I would be giving the next morning to a group of ladies in my community. We’d be talking all about kindness and gratitude and what it can look like to live those things with our families.

I read through part of the scripture I’d be covering again where Jesus tells us, "Love your enemies. Bless those who persecute you" (Matthew 5:43). And suddenly, in light of the chaos of Paris (and around the world, really), my talk on kindness to others (including strangers and refugees) seemed so radical.

I went to bed praying for the people of Paris and unsure what to do with the rest so I just left it. I tabled the ideas and thoughts around what it would look like to love my enemies, because suddenly they felt very close and I was afraid. Afraid for my safety and my kids. Afraid for our country. Afraid for the world and where things could be headed, filled with ideas about worst-case scenarios of where we could go from here.

Love your enemies.

Do good to those who would persecute you.

“I know you want to give your son all the credit,” our child’s psychiatrist stated, “but you need to know that you deserve some credit for how well he’s doing too. Go home and tell your husband you’re both doing a really good job.”