September 2026
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Category: Sunday Grace

  • The Load We Don’t Count

    The Load We Don’t Count

    Right now, I’m clocking about 30 to 40 hours a week at night writing books. On top of that, I’m putting in anywhere from 30 to 60 hours on my company, depending on the week. That’s two full-time jobs, and neither one of them has “Mom” in the title. But then there’s homeschooling. The house.…

  • The Pretzel Test

    The Pretzel Test

    Fourteen years ago, I was in the thick of it…five kids under six. Two were just ten months apart. One had classic autism (level 3). Every meal felt like a battlefield, me at the center, clutching a fork like a soldier holding the last line of defense. Ten little hands would creep across the table,…

  • Not Perfect, Not Graceful, But Fully

    Not Perfect, Not Graceful, But Fully

    It was a beautiful night…chaotic, yes, but the kind that feels worth it. My oldest daughter had just been promoted to General Manager, and we all showed up to help her decorate for Free Tea Day. Her big brothers were there and her little sisters tagged along. Glitter. Balloons. Laughter. Smiles. It was loud, messy…

  • Board by Board, Nail by Nail

    Board by Board, Nail by Nail

    Some people build houses. My husband builds dreams. I come to him with ideas…half-formed visions and whispered what ifs. “What if we opened up the space?” “What if the porch wrapped around?” “What if we made it feel like home?” And he listens. Then, one board at a time, one nail after another, he brings it to…

  • You Are Seen

    You Are Seen

    Sometimes you can feel invisible in the very space you create, the home you manage, the life you hold together. Have you ever felt alone in a crowded room? Not sad. Not depressed. Just…aware. Aware of how easily people pass by you. How often your presence is felt in what you do…but not always in…

  • The Invisible Hero

    The Invisible Hero

    Some days, I believe I could disappear and no one would notice…as long as the Capri Suns stayed stocked and the WiFi was stable. I move through rooms like a ghost with a messy braid, carrying armfuls of toys  and mental to-do lists no one else sees. I pick up shoes that somehow multiply like…