To Those who Understand

To Those who Understand: Thank you.

Thank you for not only caring, but for listening and responding with compassion. Thank you for taking the time to really see what is needed, instead of just offering a quick fix solution. Thank you for your mercy, for your grace, for your kindness. You will indeed be blessed for all your care.

Because you know what’s really lacking in the world today? People who care and who know how to show it.

I remember a time when someone shared with me their deepest pain and I absolutely cared, but completely lacked the wisdom in showing compassion. Their heart wrenching tears were met with my know-it-all, matter of fact advice, instead of with a listening ear. It came from a well-meaning heart, but it also came from an unwillingness to understand and feel along with people. Because most of the time, those of us who feel like we have all the answers to life are merely just turning a blind eye to others around us around us and their pain.

Pain that don’t fit with our point of view or theories.

Pain that uncomfortably questions our way of thinking.

So instead of digging deep for truth- biblical, loving truth – we brush these people off and give them scripted responses to their situation. And somethings are really too deep to try to figure out. Somethings are just too heartbreaking to try to reason and explain with logic.

Can you imagine someone going to a funeral of child and then approaching the Mother and trying to offer an explanation for why it happened?

That would be imaginable. We have names for people who would dare do such a thing:




You don’t go to a funeral and give logic to why it happened. You show emotion and you care.

Yet again and again we try to we fix people and logically deal with them in the midst of their pain and difficulties. We often jump the gun and try to solve the issues we see, before taking the time to listen and care.

And this was me…until it was my heart that broke into pieces. Until my pain was brushed aside by well meaning people. Until I was met with solutions instead of sympathy.

My challenge to all those reading this: Step outside your world and instead of pretending to be humble, BE humble. Don’t act like you have the answers when your friend just needs a shoulder to cry on. Don’t tell a person who is hurting that they are doing it all wrong, even if they are making tons of mistakes. Because the chances are that your cold-hearted, self-righteous attitude will cause more harm than good.

So gently, lovingly listen.

Keep your solutions to yourself…even when your advice is asked for, give it sparingly. For God can do more through our prayers than through a thousand know-it-all words.

If you disagree with me, and feel like God has called you to be someone else’s Holy Spirit, then I would ask you this one question: Is your faith actually in the powerful working of a Holy God, or is it in yourself?

To those who understand this: You didn’t learn this the easy way. I now understand.


Motherhood isn’t a Race, it’s a Marathon

In life, many things are a race.

In school it was always a race: who could get the highest grades? Who could be the fastest athlete? Who could be the student of the year? The most popular? The most likely to succeed?

In school, one could run their course, like a race. If they worked hard enough, studied harder, pushed a little bit more…if they had the strength and the speed, the drive, they could be the winner. And there was always only one winner. No one remembers the girl with the second highest grades.

Getting a job can have the same drive. Who can be at the top of the pyramid? Who can be the supervisor? The manager? The Boss. The one who leads them all? Only one person can be CEO…do you have what it takes?

And then comes Motherhood. We read all the books – certainly we will be the best parent EVER. Certainly we will stick out from the rest. And we quite literally waddle up to the starting line, expecting that this race will be like all the others.

And for some of us it starts of very much the same. We have all our ducks our in a row. The house is prepared. The nursery is finished. The work schedule is cleared for a year. The baby falls into our social schedule nicely. Check.

When our baby sleeps through the night first. Our house stays cleaner than those around us, we lift our heads a little higher. Other Mom’s fall behind and we scoff, because they obviously don’t know the secret to this race. Then comes along the second baby, wait, and what?!? A third! And slowly we begin to say, “Hey this race is no longer fair!! Of course THAT lady is winning, she only has one tiny newborn, who contendedly lays strapped to her mothers chest. Of course she looks more put together. Of course her house is cleaner!”

But still, it bothers you and you try to pick up speed. To keep up to who you once were. Except the problem is that there are three little ones crying around your knees. They’re too tired. The baby is hungry and needs a diaper change. The toddler is getting blisters on their tiny feet. The four year old just want you to read them a story.

And you scream: “NOT NOW!! Can’t you see? I have a race to win!!”

Their sorrowful cries are met with impatience: “Hurry up! Get your shoes back on! We had to keep up!”

Running at this speed, that once felt normal for life, is now downright impossible. And you wonder: Where did I go wrong?

What is wrong with me?

Why can’t I keep up?

You think to yourself: “Obviously, I just need a better stroller. I’ll get the two seater. Maybe a better set of runners for the kid. Maybe an iPad for the bored one.” So you get some new gear. And start running again. And it works!! NOW we’re talking!

Looking ahead, your jaw drops. An obstacle course?!? Who put that there? Obviously your new stroller can’t go around THAT! You contemplate leaving the kids behind, after all, if someone else could run with them and take care of them for you, the kiddos could catch up to you later!

You’ll never win at this pace!

But then you see their tiny, tear streaked faces and you stop. Because something in your heart cries out: They just need YOU!

So you pick them up, now carrying two in your arms. Wow, this is hard. The four year old trips and begins to cry. And you slam to the ground, discouraged and downcast.

It’s no use. You can not win this race.

Weeping in despair you sit in the dust, but then, what happens next amazes you. The four year old crawls on to your lap and gently pats your face. Then he hands you the book he’s been begging you to read. You look at him for the first time, and his eyes shine back. And you truly look at the others. They stretch out their hands to you.

On the ground suddenly things look different and you see much further ahead. You see that the woman who was in first place has fainted and lies motionless from exhaustion. And that Mother you passed at the beginning of the race, she slowly walks up to you, now caught up, and gives you a knowing smile.

It was never a race, you whisper to yourself watching with pity the others who don’t yet realize this. For their children all have the same sad eyes. They have the same yearning look: Please Mom, just stop!

This wasn’t race. It was a marathon. And it wasn’t about being first, at all. It was about sticking together, through it all. It was about taking breaks and getting back up to go a few steps more. It was about stopping to admire the beauty around you. It was about reading that book, over and over again.

You begin to enjoy this race, this Motherhood thing, but then you look up and you see the finish line approaching. The kids are now older, and they begin to race towards it at an alarming speed. You cry out: “Wait!!! Slow down! It’s not a rush!” But all too soon they cross that finish line. Tears stream, because it took much longer than you had first pictured, but, oh, it all went by too soon.

The sweat, the pain, the frustration and exhaustion is forgotten. You smile and let them go to begin their own races. If only, you think with a sad smile, you had know this from the very beginning: Motherhood isn’t a race, it’s a marathon.

Don’t Forget the Good

I mentioned a few posts back that I’ve been sifting through old journal entries. A lot of the entries focus on my frustrations, my failures, my kids failures. But then there was one, a complete gem, that made me vow to start keeping track of the good as well. This entry was so touching that it had me crying and smiling all at once:

Date: Aug 16, 2012

Yesterday my children put me to shame. I heard of an orphanage being built in Ethiopia that would house abandoned babies. It is already being built in faith that the needed funds will come in. But until the house is completed they are by law unable to take in any of the babies that are left in the wilderness to die. The government has strict rules on this so they need the money desperately – lives are at stake. Innocent lives. I had already had it in my mind to give $500, which is already $200 more than we usually give every month. As I wrote out a check, my eldest son, Isaiah, asked me what it was for. I told him the story of these babies and he ran to his room to get his piggy bank. He pulls out EVERY bill, toonie and loonie, only keeping a few cents for himself. It came to $75 – his entire life savings. Then, my next child (Bella) saw this and pulled out her piggy bank and the next child (Jonas), giving over half of their own money. Together, out of their own will, they gave all the money they have been saving from their birthdays, Christmas’ and other earnings. It came to $105. And here I am sitting on a big savings account. God, bless the tender, giving hearts of my children! It will take them years to save this money again! Isaiah is only 6, Bella 4, and Jonas 3…and already they are being generous for you. I wrote out a new check to cover their balance and have it in my mind to secretly put their money into the bank for them. Thank you for kids, who continue to teach me lessons that completely amaze me.

Often I just see the things that need to be changed in my kids lives, and quite honestly, the lists of behaviours and irresponsibilities they have completely overwhelm me. But then, I read this and step back to actually see my children through the Father’s eyes. And the truth overwhelms me: In many ways they are FAR more sweet, pure, forgiving, compassionate and gentle than I am. And I am instructing them??

I shared this journal entry with them instead of devotions one morning last week, weeping and asking for forgiveness. For too often focusing on the bad. For too often overlooking the good. When they are GOOD kids. They are often sweet and unselfish, and I often feel the opposite about them because I get stuck on teaching what needs improvement, but I forget that the most important thing in a teacher is the ability to see the good in their students and call it out. In doing this, we don’t try to make our children become something they aren’t, rather they begin to see who they are and flourish into a mature version of that. When I am told I am good at something, it pushes me to try even harder, to learn even more. But when I am told I’m terrible, or a failure, it makes me want to give up and not try at all. Teaching my children, has taught me this in a very sobering way.

I think God has a sense of humour, because I see myself as their teacher, but quite often they are mine. 

Finding Peace in Anxiety

Something I share very little about is how severely I’ve dealt with anxiety in these last few years. I really don’t like talking about it, partly because I’m embarrassed about it…it makes me feel weak, and taunts me that if I was a better person, a better Christian, I wouldn’t struggle with such things. But another reason I resist talking about it is because I don’t want to become one who sits about moping and complaining about my problems, which, compared to the rest of the worlds, are very small.

I have food to eat. I have a house to live in. My physical needs are more than met. I have a supportive and loving husband. My family is healthy. I live in a safe and free country. I have loving parents and family members who live near to me. I have an incredible church. I am cared for, listened to, I am loved.

And then I shake my head because why in the world do I still struggle with panic attacks?!?

Why do I wake up in the middle of the night, struggling to breathe, my stomach twisted into a knot? Why? Why do I have no control over it? Why can I not get a grip? And the answer is very simple:

Anxiety is a lot like drowning in your own mind, which is very similar to physical drowning. Yelling “stop it” to a drowning person will not save them, for they can not “stop it”. In the same way saying to a person with anxiety “just think about good things” doesn’t help, because maybe they aren’t thinking about anything! And even if they are, you can not just “think good thoughts” to get rid of anxiety.

It cannot be controlled in the mind just because it begins in the mind, for something is happening inside that seems to affect the whole body. I’m not writing about lingering on bad thoughts or sulking. Anxiety isn’t just having fear or worry. Those things can very much be controlled, because as soon as you can put a finger on the issues that are being worried about, you can deal with them at the root.

No, anxiety is a deep, sinking feeling that something is very, very wrong and the more you try to figure out what that something is, the more you begin to feel that it is everything. Everything is wrong. And I cannot fix everything. And so begins an attack.

Now sometimes what helps with anxiety is staying busy, which works great during the daytime, because when our minds our preoccupied with other things, they tend to not overthink the feelings inside. But most of my anxiety happens at night.

Many reputable resources tell you to lie down and breathe deeply to calm an anxiety attack…ummm duh, I was sleeping, that’s exactly WHAT I was doing.

Then next suggestion is medication and to be honest, I just don’t want to go there. This is not to say it is wrong! Not AT ALL! I do not in any way look down on those who turn to anxiety medicine, in fact, I very much understand them and rejoice with them as they find healing and are able to once again handle life. However, I am not yet at the place where I am ready to go down that road because I  am not totally convinced that my anxiety is to do with imbalances in my body. I want to be sure that it is before I begin taking such prescriptions.

Sometimes I believe that my anxiety is actually a spiritual attack, which brings me to sharing about my anxiety attack a couple nights ago:

I was lying in bed, it was 2am, and I woke up with that familiar heavy knot in my stomach. Then, a sudden thought came across my mind about something that had happened during the day and I began to feel that this issue was all out of my control and that it quite literally would put an end to my family, it would ruin my marriage, it would destroy my children. And if that were true, yes, PRESS THE PANIC BUTTON!!!

But the word feel is key!

This couldn’t be won with reason, because I knew that my thoughts were ridiculous, I KNEW it, but in my emotions they felt real and I could not get a grasp on what was going on inside of me. Half an hour of torment went by when suddenly I realized how helpless I was to fight this battle on my own. It was then that I cried out to God, pleading with him to help me, to calm me, to give me peace. Suddenly the thought came to me: “Get up, go downstairs, and start journaling to God about how you feel.” (I don’t actually believe that it was my own thought, rather it was God speaking to my heart.)

So that is what I did. For the next fifteen minutes, I wrote down all my worries, my fears, my thoughts and it wasn’t helping me AT ALL. In fact, it was causing me to think of more and more things so that eventually I filled three full pages of my journal with worries. And suddenly, there was that quiet voice again, “Now ask me to speak into these problems.”

So I wrote: “Father please! Hear me now! I need a word from you! I need you to tell me that I can let go of control, that you’ve got this!  Please Jesus, speak! For I am desperate and listening!

And here is what I heard:

God: “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. Before you were born I set you apart! You have been born for this very time, this very place! You are right where I want you. Don’t be troubled, little sheep, for I am with you – you will not be overcome.  I will rescue you Heather. Just watch me!”

I am aware that not everybody believes that God still speaks today. And that some believe God just speaks through his word.  And then there’s some people that believe he can speak, but fail to believe when he speaks, thinking that it was maybe their own thoughts. They doubt it was really God!

But I can tell you without a doubt, God speaks today and God speaks personally.

My words, my thoughts do NOT bring me peace. They are powerless against my anxiety, in fact they sometimes make things worse. But in hearing God speak these words over me, I felt peace.

And then I asked God how he saw me right then, in that moment.

God: I see you as tired and worried about many things. But only one thing is needed.  Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Take my upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.  When you were afraid, trust in me. You can trust me Heather, I will take care of you. I will not desert you. I am here.

Warmth and peace filled my heart. And then I walked back up the stairs to my room, scared my daughter half to death (she was using the bathroom and just saw a shadow coming slowly up the stairs LOL), lay down, and peacefully drifted off to sleep.

Unbelievable. God had brought me from panic to peace.

Friends, this I know to be true: One word from God can do more healing, bring more comfort and restore far more than a thousand words from those around us. But are we listening? Are we asking? When we hear, are we believing?

Listening for God’s voice used to confuse me and worry me, but it doesn’t anymore because I’ve learned not to doubt when I hear him. It’s really quite simple; I just ask him to speak, and wait. Often a word, a thought or a picture will come to my head. If it doesn’t conflict with the Bible, I believe it is from God (for God’s word is the foundation for God speaking to us.) I also hold it with open hands because I am human and make mistakes, so we need to be SO humble in all of this. Many have been hurt when pride is combined with “listening” to God. We MUST stay humble and know God’s word if we want to hear God’s voice.

Right now, the church is suffering. Many saints are tired and weary. Pastors are burning out. Families in the church are fighting. Churches are splitting. People are hurting others and holding onto hurts.  God LONGS to speak to us, he longs to renew us.

Are we willing to be still and listen?

Or will we keep trying to do it on our own?

God, help us to listen to your voice in humility. Help us to learn from you, for you long to give us rest! Thank you for speaking to your people. Thank you for bringing me peace.





Highs, Lows and Frozen Toes

Ahhh February… the month that always goes by the fastest but feels the longest. This month was a crazy one in our homeschooling family of seven. Commence photo journal!


On the upside, we’ve had many pleasant days: quiet afternoons reading books, random coffee times with our wonderful neighbors, family days building extravagant snow forts (wood stove included) and playing “to bean to bean” with the kiddos (our youngests made up version of Bonanza), brunch outings with great friends, skating with Emerson for the very first time, movie nights, and a last minute surprise date that brought joy to my heart!


Homeschool has relaxed quite a bit from our push in fall. We are on schedule and lazy about our days. My tight grip on what “needs” to get done has lightened. The complaints of the kids are met with grace and a lightened load. School often looks goofy and unprofessional, like this:


We have also spent many extra hours in front of screens, which I plan to put an end to by the end of the month! (But they are so cute, huddled together, wasting all sorts of precious time…hey at least there’s no fighting!!)


And another highlight, my BABY turned 4!!! Where has the time gone?!? I still remember having 2 in diapers while trying to homeschool and deal with a VERY demanding toddler! Now those sleepless nights and physically draining days are over!! But oh, I sometimes miss having a baby in the house!


On the difficult side, we dealt with sickness (one kid had the flu and another had a intense case of food poisoning, which thankfully, no one else was affected by) two terrible migraines which lasted for days, a lot of boredom and kids out of sorts, terribly cold days, struggles with a dear friend, and just all around sadness for disappointments that have happened in the last few years.

There has been ALOT of time spent this month figuring out how to navigate through this unfamiliar situation we are in. This, of course, brought about a lot of self reflection, a lot of prayer and flipping through old, long forgotten journals.


There is so much treasure there, in reading back about how God has worked in the past! There are so many trials that God brings about in our lives to shape us, so many people who come in and out of our lives at just the right time in different seasons, and looking back, EVERYTHING has God’s finger print all over it!

Its also quite humorous to me that I have a certain picture of who I am and who I used to be, and I often look back with fondness on those early years of motherhood and marriage, thinking that everything was easier, that I was probably a much better person back then.

And then I actually go and read in my journal about such times and the funny thing is I am shocked to read about the terrible mistakes I made…and, how yes, God is changing me after all! It’s just so slow a process, that I forget who I was a decade ago. A person who struggled intensely with anger and lying, with an unfaithful heart, with gossip, with self righteousness, with immaturity and outbursts. And I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief because God is in the business of shaping my heart. God is in fact, through the fights, the tears and the struggles, shaping all of us. Whether it’s letting go of my control, or whether it’s encouraging gentleness and patience with each other.


Examples of this? Emerson wanted to help make his cupcake toppers, and this year I actually let him!!! Previously, I would’ve absolutely not even thought of allowing such thing, because I am the cake decorator. Bella wanted to do something in Language Arts other than going over the difference between nouns, pronouns, verbs and proverbs… which by this point in the year is getting dreadfully boring, so we simply shut the books and allowed room for creativity. She decided to make a horse encyclopedia. Perfect. Art, ELA, copywork and handwriting practice all done in one project that she loves. Jonas followed suit and made a cheetah encyclopedia.

I’m learning what matters, and what doesn’t. It hasn’t been easy, but the kids can be kids, without needing to feel anxious when they are less than perfect. They are free to live KNOWING that they are loved, flaws and all.

This February I have also been a part of a parenting course which is another step in shaping the way I view children and respond to them. And oh, if I could start Motherhood all over, knowing what I know now! How I regret how harsh I was during my first three children’s early years! But even in this, there is grace…children are so forgiving.

So that was my past month.

It was stressful, it was joyful, it was hard, it was fulfilling, it is LIFE. And I’m praying every day, “Oh God, help me to slow down and enjoy it. Help me to not take this chaos for granted. Help me to remember to love deeply through it all.




Cut Down the Tree

There once stood, in Kentucky, an old magnificent tree. The tree was beautiful and lush, the pride of its owner. It stood tall in front of her house, a welcoming  piece of nature, a beautiful finishing touch to her homestead.

Much to the woman’s dismay, the strong tree was destroyed in Union artillery fire. After the war it still stood upright, but it’s limbs were bare, dark and twisted. It’s charred trunk was only a painful and sad reminder of the past. The woman who owned the place, would stare at the tree and weep for the injustice of all that had happened. When General Robert E. Lee visited the woman, she pointed out the tree to him, expecting sympathy and at the very least for him to condemn those responsible for what had happened. The wise general took one look at the tree and softly said, “Cut it down, dear madam and forget it.”

Lee knew something that few people come to grasp in life: The tree that once stood there would never be the same again and all the tears and bitterness in the world would not change that fact.

All the tree now held was a constant reminder of the injustice the woman had felt and until she would let it go, she would forever feel victimized.

This story, originally told in Charles Bracelen Flood’s book, “Lee: The Last Years”, gives me much to ponder today. For it is a true story, and a wise decision. And it has been proven very true in my own life. My own “trees” sometimes look quite different, maybe it’s a broken treasure, reminding me of the person who shattered it. Maybe it’s a hurtful email held onto for the very same reason as the woman held on to the tree: to point out the wrong that was done. Those texts held onto, serving as a reminder of what happened, as a means of pointing out the injustice. And ridding ourselves of these tokens of injustice that prove our unfair case is painful because it makes a bold statement: I’m not fighting anymore. But oh, the peace that statement brings!

Although the situation feels quite different when the reminders of the pain are not things, but people, doesn’t it? And exactly how does one move ahead when people can’t just be thrown away? It’s one thing to walk out of prison doors and never see your tormentors again, but it’s quite another to live among them. Is it right to flee when they enter the room? Is it good to ignore their presence, as if they don’t exist? Is it helpful to try to force their hand in making things right?

In reality, “Cutting down the tree” when pertaining to close relationships sometimes feels like a physical cutting off, but what it really is, is a recognition that all my human efforts have failed. And rather than continuing on a dangerous path of tearing each other down, there comes a resolve to live moving forward, instead of trying to regain something from the past.

This is the struggle I have been going through, learning to let those you love make painful and heart wrenching decisions and learning to not fight those decisions. Giving space out of safety and respect. Giving a gentle smile out of love. An encouraging word when appropriate. And always praying and staying soft.

Above all, learning that our hope is in God alone. Our hope is NOT in the actions or responses of others. He alone brings healing where it seems impossible. He alone can make the wrong things right. And in His timing all will be restored.

That burnt, ruined tree, will never be the same. It’s true! However I’ve discovered, that when a dead tree is cut down, often a new shoot springs out of that dead stump. Yes, it takes time to grow and no, it doesn’t look the same as the tree that was lost. But it’s ALIVE, it’s fresh, and it’s healing.



Have you ever felt a need to just stay hidden for a while? To wake up and just dawn the old sweatpants and cozy sweater? To not worry about the messy, unwashed hair and makeup free face? To just hide out in your home being YOU?

It’s pretty funny actually, when I think about it. Because around my family, I can do this with no second thought. I can be me. They see the uncovered zits and yesterdays smeared make-up remains. They see the bed head (and let me tell you, my bed head beats ANYONE’S!!) They smell my morning breath in all it’s glory and I don’t care one little bit.

Think about it: here I am, among the most important people who mean more to me than any king, president or celebrity on earth, yet I don’t care AT ALL about trying to put on a show, or to act a certain way.

Because they know me. And they still love me.

Yet the amazon delivery truck pulls up and I FREAK OUT.

Really I do, it’s hilarious.

I run frantically upstairs put some real clothes on, brush my teeth, wash the remains of breakfast of my face and I still feel self conscious answering the door. Why is this?!? Because I can honestly tell you that in reality, I don’t deeply care for the delivery man or woman. I don’t have a special connection with the person who delivers my homeschool books. I don’t know anything about them. They’re not the paparazzi coming to plaster my face over the front of tabloids across the world. They aren’t famous reporters that will humiliate me in their next piece in the New York Times.

They’re strangers, just doing their jobs… but for some odd reason I have just tried to impress them.

I see a unexpected vehicle pulling up in the driveway, and what do I do? I grab six pairs of dirty socks thrown about the living room and put them in the laundry bin. I dash to grab a wet rag to wipe the dirty counters. I quickly try to shove dishes in the dishwasher, hoping that somehow, in someway, I may look more put together, more presentable than I really actually am.

And on social media, I tell the stories that make me and my kids look just so perfect, so put together. Our selfies hash-tagged  #happy and #perfect, really are shot at just the right angle, with just the right filter on the one day a month that our skin has that natural clear glow and the flaws are minimal. And no wonder our friendships online are as deep as a kiddie pool… yet we spend more time in a day pouring into them than we do in an entire week with a friend face to face. And we ask ourselves, with heavy hearts, why we feel so disconnected with the world. Why so out of touch? Why do we feel alone in our struggles, when a quick post on Facebook will get me dozens of “likes”?

You want to know why?

Because when you turn off the Facebook account, and only about a dozen of the five hundred friends still care to talk to you, you realize that “community” on Facebook isn’t community at all. Ninety five percent of those friends don’t notice your absence, because the space that once had your witty posts, will now be filled with another’s cute new baby pictures.

Online presence isn’t real presence.

Our “likes” don’t actually matter. Our posts are forgotten in the time it takes for a person to scroll down the page.

And there’s something chillingly cold about liking a post about a the need to end world hunger and then two seconds later, laughing at a meme about a cute puppy.

The contrasts of serious and comedy put together on one page should completely shake us to the core, but we think nothing of it and barely bat an eye – unknowingly hardening our hearts to the news in the world that should be breaking them.

What generation before us has become so self absorbed? Which people group has become so uncaring and lazy that we can end a friendship or relationship over a two sentence text and think that’s acceptable or even normal? Who has lived before us who would tear down a friend in a single social media post and get hundreds of “amens” in the comments.

Sometimes it takes a break from the fiction in life, to grasp reality. And the reality is, that the people I should be doing my best for are right here in front of me. My house should be clean, for them. My face should be prettied up, for him. Not because I need to be someone else for the people I love, but because I want to be my best for them.

So, assuming you noticed that I left Facebook and Instagram, this is why. I’m choosing to pour into real friendships. I’m spending my time with people in person. Maybe it’s a temporary thing. Maybe lifelong. But one thing I know is that I don’t want to live for the “likes” of strangers, I want to live to love true friends. Friends who care to know the real me, the messy me: The one who makes dumb mistakes and has the most awkward and embarrassing moments. The one who hates wiping counters, and folding laundry, but who loves hosting and baking for guests. The one who sincerely cares about those around her and would give anything to someone in need, but who often forgets to look for them. The one who loves Jesus and imperfectly follows him with all the zeal her selfish heart can conjure up.

That’s the real Heather. And Facebook knows nothing about her.