Rambling Post about Motherhood so far

Six weeks ago, I gave birth to our firstborn, a chunky hunky son we’ve named Liam Albert. In this newborn adventure, a few things about my faith have been highlighted, and I’d like to share them with you!

Mom and Baby Line Art, Printable Line Art, Mother and Child Wall ...

1.) My Purpose in Parenting: Liam is a wonderful baby, but of course, he also cries a lot. When he is overwhelmed, overtired, hangry, or just pain emotional-it is easy for me to feel annoyed when his adorable whimper turns to a hearty scream. I’m getting to him as quickly as possible, or I’m doing “all the right things” and so why all the fuss? I want to be impatient. I want to ignore it and hope it goes away. And then I think about this truth: My husband and I want to be the just, safe, patient, slow to anger, loving authority in our son’s life now so that as we introduce him to the one true God who is all those things and MORE-Liam understands and trusts those attributes in God because he has seen them demonstrated in us. So when he won’t stop fussing, I try to think about God’s steadfast patience when I am constantly complaining or emotional or arguing with him about something i know nothing about. I ask the Holy Spirit to give me God’s patience, love, and compassion for Liam when (far too often already ;)) I have none.

2.) I’m Not Going to Ruin Him: It is SUCH a blessing to be able to rest in God’s sovereignty about Liam when I am tempted to think that I am the sole being responsible for who he turns out to be. THAT can be overwhelming, and downright debilitating! But it’s not true. Liam’s future temperament, sins, struggles, talents, etc. are NOT dependent on how well nursing is going, on how quickly he falls asleep, how long I hold him, or how creative our tummy time is. God has crafted him perfectly-for Liam’s good and God’s glory. I am responsible to do my best to nurture, disciple, and develop my son, while also leaving it all in the capable arms of OUR perfect Heavenly Father.

3.) Jesus Loves Me This I Know: Even as a sinful parent, I am happy for Liam to “ask” me for anything. I absolutely want to know and help him if he is uncomfortable or in pain or lonely or scared or overwhelmed. I love him. I love him when he smiles up at me and his eyes squint and his face is mostly chubby cheeks and that gummy grin. And I love him when he has a quivering lip and flailing arms and a face flushed with exasperation. I know that in a much, much greater way-God is eager for me to turn from my own limitations to he who has none. He is happy to hear and heal my heart. My out of whack hormones, tears and fears, anger, impatience, and joy are all welcomed discussion topics at the throne room of prayer.


I had a professor in college challenge the class with this thought: If you woke up tomorrow and knew for a fact that Christianity was completely false, and that there is no afterlife-would anything in your life change? A sobering proposal. Does your faith really change anything? I have often thought back to that question, trying to make sure that my life isn’t just a series of moral decisions and religious pleasantries -but that instead-being a Christian is a life altering bedrock of everything I do, say, and think.

I’m so grateful that Christianity ISN’T just a label, or a Sunday morning activity. It changes everything! Among many things, Christianity changes my purpose in life, my moral grounding and decisions, my peace about trials and my confidence in the future. And it absolutely changes parenthood. I am so beyond grateful to be able to cling to the cross in this life changing role. I’m so grateful for the example of Christ, the incredible unity and joy of a Christian marriage, and the blessing of peace when temptation to fear knocks as my door. In Christ, I can answer it with a confident smile, responding “Our lives are in His hands”.

"Peace is the smile of God reflected in the soul of the believer." (William Hendricksen)

Just Finished the Old Testament!

Image result for old testamentI hesitated to write this blog because I was a little low-key embarrassed about how long it took me. Fortunately, I am confident that God can use my flaws, and less than perfect example to bless others 🙂 So, here it is. In January of 2015, I decided to stop jumping around from book to book during my personal devotions, and only read the Bible cover to cover, Genesis to Revelation. Well guys, it’s FIVE YEARS LATER AND I JUST FINISHED MALACHI. That’s right. Technically, it’s 5 years and 3 months later, and I finally finished the 39 books of the Old Testament.

I wish I could tell you it took me that long due to my deep reflection and long months of study in each book. But it all actuality, it took me that long because reading only one chapter a day (929 chapters total in the OT), taking random blocks of time off because I didn’t prioritize reading, taking breaks from some (cough cough prophetic) books that I struggled to “get something out of” and reading something else–quickly added up to it taking me over 1,900 days to finish this part of the written story of God.

I’m not sure how to go about reflecting on 5 years of reading, but I do know a couple things that I am walking away with before I begin Matthew that I’d like to share with you!

1.) I would never want to read the OT without a study Bible! 

There were SO many verses, chapters, and to be honest-entire books that confused me! I have a degree in Biblical Studies; I teach the metanarrative of Scripture to 7th graders at a local Christian school; I have been attending a Bible-believing church since I was 6 years old. And yet- WOW-this book is complex, layered, ancient, and confusing. There are not many instances where I would sit down to read and NOT greatly utilize the footnotes to help me understand what on earth was going on/what the author was actually communicating. I’m so grateful for the clarification and information found in my study Bible!

Additionally, each book in my Bible starts with about 7 pages of notes about the book such as: themes, authorship, occasion, date, literary features, and structure. I would often take notes from these pages in my journal as I began or ended reading to help me wrap my mind around the book as a whole. Additionally, whenever I took my “hiatuses of laziness” and didn’t read for like a month, when returning to the text, I would read that introduction/look at the outline to re-establish where I am at in the story.

2.) I am glad it took me so long. 

Although I am not glad for the times I went without reading at all, but I AM glad for how slowly I walked through these pages. I applaud those who read through the Bible in a year or stick to a rigorous reading schedule. I think their discipline is beautiful, and I am SURE that God reveals amazing things when going through his story so quickly! But, for me, I loved (typically) reading only a chapter at a time. I loved thinking more deeply about the history of Israel, the promise of a messiah, and all the prophecies that I knew were going to be fulfilled finally in Jesus! I appreciate the freedom of being able to take more time or less time in different chapters or books-without ever feeling like I am “falling behind” or “ahead of schedule”.

3.) Some days, I got nothing. 

Most of the time when I read, I try and read until I “get something”-meaning, I can reflect from the text a truth about who God is and praise him for it, or a truth about who I am, and what I need the Holy Spirit to do in my life. Some books, (especially Wisdom Literature) such as Proverbs and Psalms-are so easy to read and apply. A numbered list of “takeaways” might get up into the 30’s for one chapter! Many Old Testament books have gripping stories with characters to learn from and God’s glorious attributes on shining display. Other books are more complicated and tedious.  Towards the end, some of those dear minor prophets were so dang confusing and repetitive-I felt like I kept observing the same things over and over again (which is kind of the point) and found no new illuminating grains of beauty that I was hoping to see each time I read the Word.

Typically, if I read a chapter and find myself feeling confused or unmoved, I read the footnotes and often that will bring a spiritual truth to mind that I had not yet seen or considered. But sometimes I would read a chapter, read the footnotes and my heart nor my mind would be stirred in any way. So I would read the next chapter. And sometimes, felt the exact same thing. So, I would try reading one more chapter; surely something would stand out to me out of three chapters! And sometimes-I still would “get nothing”.

 And that is 100% okay.

Having consistent, intimate time with God is a gift whether I walk away with something or not. The point is not to always have a sentence to carry with me throughout the day-the point is fellowship, commitment, growth, and love. The days of “getting nothing” don’t come often, but when they do, I close my Bible and say a prayer of gratefulness-despite my lack of takeaway or understanding. No matter what, it is a privilege and joy to have the ability and opportunity to seek to know God through his word.


All this to say if you’ve never tried reading the Bible from cover to cover-I recommend it! Get your hands on a good study Bible, a journal, and grab your perseverance. Oh and another helpful resource-before, during, or after each book-watch The Bible Project‘s summary/overview on Youtube! Just search the book name + Bible project!

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Reading the OT has definitely stirred my heart and excitement for the Messiah to actually come! I am so looking forward to reading the New Testament with a deeper understanding and appreciation of the people of Israel and the character of Yahweh. Let me know if you have any questions or thoughts, and as always- thanks for reading!!!


The Day I Watched my Mom Die

I don’t know about you, but I don’t puke very often as an adult. Therefore, whenever I do, it is indelibly marked in my memory. The most recent such event was at the end of May in 2017 when I felt nauseous all evening at work. I left early because of my nausea, and on my way out the front door, I was overcome by my body’s rebellion against itself and I puked all over the entrance’s very large carpet. Gross, I know. After it all came out, I dragged the carpet outside, found a hose and cleaning supplies, rinsed it thoroughly, cleaned it the best I could, and headed home. What I assumed was the beginning of a stomach bug or food poising ended up being something much worst.
That incident was on a Thursday night. Friday, I took the day off and laid around the house. I had a sweet friend  swing by with ginger ale, crackers, soup, and flowers. I hoped I’d be able to keep food down in the next day or so. Unfortunately, that was not the case. I woke up on Saturday morning and found myself concerned by what I saw in the toilet after a morning urination. My urine was dark brown. Like well-brewed sweet tea. That disgusting feeling you have reading that distasteful metaphor, is precisely how I felt when I saw that come out of me. The fact that I still couldn’t keep anything down, mixed with the uncomfortably dark color in my toilet bowl, led me to the decision that if I didn’t feel better by Sunday, I would go to Urgent Care.
Sunday rolled around with no change, and so I texted a friend who lived close about the situation and asked if she’d be willing to swing me into Urgent Care to get a prescription so that I can knockout whatever this sickness is. She picked me up a few hours later and we went to Urgent Care. All my symptoms pointed to some sort of stomach bug. They confirmed the Wal-Mart I pick up my prescriptions up at and were about to send me on my way when I reiterated about my odd urine color-and so they gave me a sample bottle.
Minutes after shamefully handing them my odd sampling, the nurse came back looking much graver than she had the interactions prior. She told me that she sent my information to Lancaster General Hospital, and that I need to go there right away. She showed me my paperwork and explained to me what levels were high and where they were supposed to be. LGH would be expecting me. When we arrived, the emergency room was pretty packed. I quickly got onto a rolly bed, had my vitals checked, and was hooked up to an IV. I slept in the hall most the first night. I remember telling Kate to go home, that I’d be fine and I’d let her know as soon as I hear anything. I remember a nurse taking 6 vials of blood from me, and once they left my side, I finally let hot tears race down my cheeks. I wasn’t in pain. I knew God always had good purposes for everything he does, but I was still scared and lonely and confused.  After a cat scan, and a sonogram a doctor came by my bedside and let me know they can rule out pancreatic cancer, and that I’d be in my own room soon. I remember him being very kind and putting a comforting hand on my shoulder.
The next three days I stayed in the hospital being pumped with fluids by my IV, giving vials of blood constantly, and being visited by a stream of wonderful friends and a great hospital staff. It wasn’t too long when they figured out that I had contracted Hepatitis A from a recent missionary trip to Central America. Comorbidities of the Hep A virus was mononucleosis and jaundice, and all I really needed to do was to rest and drink plenty of water. So rest I did. My parents were eager to visit me in the hospital, but I suggested they stay home and that I would come to them as soon as I was able to. So when released from the hospital, I drove 2 hours down to my parent’s home in Maryland for another week of carefully monitoring my health and slowly working up to activities and normalcy.
I fondly remember my mother’s care that June. She loved doting on me and taking care of every detail of the day. From my food, to slow morning walks, to making sure my water bottle was always near me—she was on it. It was especially sweet to me because there had been many seasons of life where my mom wasn’t able to “mom” me. She wrestled with depression, workaholism, and alcoholism, which resulted in times when she wasn’t home and or able to care for me so sweetly and wholly. We talked about mental health and family issues. We cried together, baked cookies together, and snuggled on the couch. I read to her a presentation I was going to give to a local church about mental health and she openly talked about her struggles and the success that she’s had in overcoming these things because of the support of Dad, family, and her faith.
When I went back to work in Pennsylvania, I distinctly remember telling people that perhaps the only reason God allowed me to contract Hepatitis A was for that sweet time with my Mom. It was among my very favorite memories  with her. And that time was especially a gift considering what the next few weeks were going to hold.
In mid-July Dad took mom into Urgent Care because she was having trouble breathing. They thought perhaps she had some form of pneumonia and admitted her for testing. The first week’s stay in the hospital wasn’t too bad. Mom was in high spirits, I was able to visit during the weekend, and it seemed that they were going to soon get answers. It was a sweet time with her in the hospital. I painted her nails and did her hair. I stole too much of her milkshake and we laughed at inside jokes and her ridiculous life advice. My brother, sister, and Dad were able to be there often as well, and mom had a steady shower of cards and gifts and visitors. Mom and Dad celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary in that hospital and they both spoke lovingly about all that they have learned in married life about unconditional love. But as week two rolled around and her breathing became more and more labored, and a scan of her lungs showed rapid graying and deterioration, we began to get more concerned. The oxygen tank levels kept increasing. Her mobility kept decreasing. Her pain with every breath continued.
We finally had a diagnosis-Pulmonary Fibrosis with a life expectancy of 3-5 years. We started to come to terms with the idea of Mom being on oxygen, and in pain for the the rest of her life. She spoke of her desire to live at home for as long as possible, and to be move to assisted living only when absolutely necessary. We encouraged her with truth about her quality of life despite being connected to a tank.
Then on a Wednesday, July 26, 2017, her health took a dive and I got a conference call from my brother and sister with instructions to come to Maryland as quickly as possible. Mom wants us gathered around and wants to say her last words to us. She felt like her time was coming. The doctors didn’t know why-but her Pulmonary Fibrosis was exacerbated and increasing at a rate much faster than anyone anticipated. They were doing what they could to help-but nothing was helping.
She had been moved to a different room in the hospital, and I remember rounding the corner with my siblings after we met in the parking lot, and seeing how much she had aged in just two days. How could the downhill journey be such a fast one? We gathered around her and listened to her sweet and serious words. She had special wishes for each of us, and she made very clear her wishes to not be kept alive via life support. She told us that she is ready to go, and that her prayer has been that she would go with grace. We all told her how proud of her we were, and how incredibly grace-filled she had been in every step of this journey. We laughed with her and told her how much we deeply love her and how incredibly thankful and blessed we are to have her as mom.
I came back on Thursday morning and checked in on her. The doctors seemed to think that last night was a little scare, but they were still hopeful that Mom had more time and fight left in her. My boyfriend (and soon to be fiancé) was coming home from his deployment that very evening and we were scheduled to spend the weekend-Saturday, Sunday, Monday—with my family. I was making sure Mom was stable and okay for me to be gone Thursday and Friday. She said she felt good and that she looked forward to seeing Nathaniel and I on Saturday. I kissed her and said goodbye.
I had no idea that would be the last time I saw her eyes open, heard her laugh, or felt her hand squeeze mine.
Being with Nathaniel was a joy. I was able to share with him the burden of the last few weeks, we attended a dear friend’s wedding, and Saturday morning began our drive to Maryland. However, a few confusing texts from my Dad led me to worriedly call him, and I found out that Mom had an awful Friday night. He told me of the panic and pain in her face, and of the doctor’s quick decision to sedate her and transfer her to University of Maryland Medical Center in Baltimore. With little information, and much fear and worry, we set off for Baltimore. When we arrived to the Critical Care Unit, we were instructed to put on protective gear to go back and see her. I slid on a face mask, gloves, and a gown that I swore you could see my heart pounding out of and walked to the back of the room where dad stood by her side. She looked absolutely awful. Horrendous. A pussing sore on her face, colorless dry skin, heavy heaving chest, and tubes and wires everywhere. She was on the very life-support she asked to not be on long.
In moments of tragedy and trauma-everyone responds differently. I’ve found that I respond by finding answers. Who do I talk to who can best explain to me where we are currently and where we need to be? And so I began asking questions. The answers to most of my questions were “it’s too early to tell”. UMMC doctors needed to run more test and try a few more things for them to know if mom would ever be unsedated or off life support.
The next day was my birthday, and thinking that we had time, Nathaniel offered to take me away to a shore house for a day to relax and celebrate before returning to the hospital. So we drove to the shore and spent a few hours with my toes in the sand and the smell of saltwater in the air. We had walked around the cute shops of Long Island New Jersey, and retired to the shore house in the afternoon hours. Around 3:00pm I received a call from my older sister, Glenda. It was bad news. She relayed to me what the doctors had been doing, and what they concluded. They thought it would take days to know for sure-but their findings were inevitable and the disease rapidly eating away at her lungs, inexorable, and the damage irrevocable. The long and short of it was that Mom is not going to get better. She will die when she comes off of life support. And it would be awful to take her off of her sedation, because if she awakes she would be in severe pain and severely panicked due to an inability to breath. Glenda asked me to come back to the hospital tomorrow, August 1st, and that when I arrived, we would take her off life support.
I hung up the phone, relayed the information to him, and sobbed into Nathaniel’s chest. It’s amazing how a stinging string of tears, muffled cries, and a subsequent headache brought a small level of relief to my breaking heart. I laid in bed that night thinking of the timeline of Mom’s soon to be death. I felt angry and allowed all the little slivers of anger that I had been pushing aside all come to the forefront of my mind. I was angry that my birthday would forever be shadowed by this pain. Angry that mom won’t be the first person I call when Nathaniel proposes. Angry that she won’t see me on my wedding day, or give me advice about being a wife or mom. Angry that Dad has to be alone when he has worked so hard for so many years to keep mom in his life and by his side. Angry that she had just started to mend some broken relationships with old friends who would be such a blessing to her. Angry that my brother, sister, and I have to watch our mom die tomorrow-59 years young. Angry that this woman just began to be the healthiest, happiest version of herself, and now, NOW?! she is going to be taken from this world. I stewed in my anger and pain for minutes or hours-I don’t know. But I do know that, I ended my mind racing with this thought, “I believe, help my unbelief. I believe that God is good and kind and purposeful in all life’s moments, help my unbelief in this moment.” I wiped the last of my tears from my face and neck, and fell asleep.
The next morning, as Nathaniel drove us to Baltimore, I mediated on the last minute truth the Holy Spirit brought to me last night. I thought about who I know God to be, and what that means in this situation. God is omniscient-meaning that he knows everything. He knows what I need and what Dad, and David, and Glenda needs. He knows what would happen if Mom stayed alive another 2 years, 5 years, 10 years. He knows the future that will be, could have been, and shouldn’t be. He is omnipotent-meaning he is all powerful. He is powerful enough to keep any and all diseases away from Mom if he wanted to and he is powerful enough to sustain my family and I through this trial. He is powerful enough to provide peace and acceptance, and trust. He is perfect- he always does what is right and good and best. He works on our behalf, lovingly, purposefully, and with justice and kindness. This day, therefore, August 1, 2017 must be the PERFECT day for my mom to die. It must be the BEST day out of all the possible days, for her to go home. He has looked at them all, measured each one, and said today-today is the perfect day for her to end her fight with depression. End her fight with alcohol. End her anxiety and fear and insecurity. Today is the perfect day for her to stop worrying about finances, or future, or the crippling abuse of self-degradation. Today is the perfect day to be with her Savior-Jesus Christ who loves her more deeply that I can even begin to imagine. She will get to finally see him perfectly, and finally see herself the way that he sees her-a spotless and radiant bride.
My family stood around Mom that afternoon as the doctor and nurse assigned to her gently took her off life support. We prayed over her, sang to her, shared funny and endearing memories about her, chocked back tears, wiped one another’s tears, and peacefully and painfully watched her take heavy breath after heavy breath. For an hour we shared and sang and laughed and cried, all the while her chest resting for moments at a time and then suddenly surging with a large yet strained inhale. The color slowly drained from her face, as all energy and emotion were draining from each of us still standing. When the doctor announced her official time of death, a crowd of hospital personnel filled the room, and stood around and with us. Our doctor announced who mom was and the wonderful life she lived with the family she loved so much, and then led the room in a moment of silent. Then everyone filed out of the room until it was just us kids and dad. We watched him with her, treasuring his last moment with the love of his life. And then we left the hospital.
In the days and weeks that followed, I was bombarded with realizations of God’s goodness in this tragedy. God had allowed me to be hospitalized weeks before mom, and I thusly felt very comfortable and able to comfort mom during her stay in the hospital. Also, God gave mom and I that sweet, sweet time together prior to her being sick-that I will treasure forever. God gave me an amazing employer who gave me days off during my sickness, mom’s sickness, and an extra week for bereavement to help dad with the Celebration of Life Service and all the dozens and dozens of things one must do after someone dies. My boyfriend, now husband was able to be home from deployment the very week that I needed him most, the week that my mom died. My sister’s husband is a widow and was able to love and care for her well during this trial. Mom’s service was one full of grace and hope and God’s glory. If she would have passed at a different time and season in life, it could have been a very sad service. But because of God’s grace in redeeming her story, saving her from alcoholism and turning her life and purpose around-the service and her story was stunningly beautiful.
I am posting this summary, two years after Mom’s death. And it has been a 2 years full of heartache and tears. I missed her laughter at my bridal shower, and her hugs at my wedding. I miss the way she rolls her eyes at my dad’s cheesy jokes, and her protective heart for my brother. I hate that my kids won’t know this grandma and that Nathaniel didn’t get to experience her more. My heart breaks over my dad’s continued loneliness-though I know he clings to Christ. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve reached for my phone wanting to tell her something or ask her something, only to be met with a wave of grief that still stings. Yet despite the aching sadness, in my heart also dwells abiding peace. Peace abides because I know God’s grace will meet me every step of my journey. As I lack and as I come face to face with my many insufficiencies, I turn to the God who has none. He provides every source of comfort, every relationship, and every blessing. He is the Good Shepherd. Peace abides because I know God is perfect in everything he does, including the moment and the way he brings his children home. And all the brokenness and sorrow and guilt that once plagued my mom this side of heaven—she is completely, resolutely freed from. Peace abides because my mom is free to be happier and more complete that she has ever been. She is free to experience a fullness and a joy like she has never know.
So August 1, 2017 wasn’t the day I watched my mom die, it was actually the day I watched my mom become free.

Christianity & the Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up

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I distinctly remember sitting in my Christianity and Culture class during my junior year of undergrad, eager to discuss the book assigned to us, “Life Together” by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. I had notes scribbled throughout my book. Underlines, smiley faces, boxes, arrows, and random phrases jotted in the margin-I couldn’t wait for class discussion. The professor opened the room for discussion. Approximately three minutes of discussion ensued and we moved on to the next topic for the day. I was dumbfounded and disappointed. I was looking forward to riveting dialogue and an exchange of ideas for application. Boo!

I should have known then I was destined to be in book clubs.

I love discussing books with people, sharing books with people, and you guessed it-reading. All my book club experiences thus far have been within the community and believers and it has always been a good experience. However, a new opportunity has shown itself to me, and I am now part of a book club outside of the church, and I am thrilled!

The first book assigned was “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up” The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing by Marie Kondo.  It’s a New York Times bestseller, and I can see why. When I picked up the book this morning to begin reading, I didn’t think I would finish it in one sitting. It is a book on de-cluttering after all. How interesting could it be? BUT it was an easy and engaging read. It wasn’t monotonous or redundant. Kondo had an arsenal of anecdotal experiences that kept the pages moving. And I was surprised at how often I found myself comforted by her experiences, realizing that I’m “not alone” in the battle against clutter.

But I’m not here to talk about her methodology and helpful tips-though I found them to be both inspiration and helpful. (I’ll do that in the book club!) I can’t wait to implement some of her strategies (though I can’t BEAR to implement her ideas about book de-cluttering).

I’m here to talk about how my faith influences how I read this book. Our faith should influence everything we do, permeate every circumstance we encounter, and alter every perspective we have. Marie Kondo’s faith clearly permeates her life passion of tidying and organizing. She talks of tidying being a spiritual experience for her-a place of meditation, fulfillment, and peace. She speaks to the items she owns and thanks them for her investment in her life.

How do I, as an evangelical Christian, read this and infuse my faith into its pages? I have a few ideas:

  • I recognize that my worth is not in how organized or disorganized my house is. My worth is found completely in being a loved child of the Perfect King.
  • I realize that true inner peace will NOT come with a purged home or properly folded clothes. Abiding peace comes when I fully understand who God is and apply those truths to my life
  • I do not need to thank the things I own. Instead, I can thank the Giver of every good thing.

I’m thankful for Marie Kondo’s life work, her passion for her craft, and the excellence in which she wrote this book. Since we differ in worldview, however, there are things that I cannot agree with nor apply to my life. Have you read this book? What were your thoughts? Do you have any questions or comments about the book in general?




My Next Adventure: TEACHING!

Like most college students, I changed my major after my freshman year. I switched from Music Education to Music Performace, and I can vividly remember the conversation I had with Dr. Bigley about the decision. Well. Not really that vividly, it was 10 years ago. But I do remember the concluding sentence. He told me,

“Betty,  it doesn’t really matter what you choose. If God wants you to teach, he will have you teach. And if God wants you to perform–it doesn’t matter what your degree says-you’ll perform.” 

Now, here we are a decade later, and I am fulfilling that very “prophesy”. I don’t have a degree in Education (I wish!), and I don’t have any real classroom experience, but God has wonderfully, graciously, and randomly made a way for me to be a teacher.

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On Monday, I start teaching fulltime at East Hill Christian School! I am a 6th grade Science, Math, and (my favorite subject) Bible teacher and I am pumped! Oh, and terrified. I am very aware of my lack of knowledge when it comes to classroom management, lesson plannings, and let’s be real-6th-grade science.

But, depending wholeheartedly on the Holy Spirit, I am going to joyfully, humbly, and creatively teach my 6th graders. And by teach, I mean guide, learn from, love, encourage, challenge, pray for, evaluate, and disciple the dear students God brings my way.  I am excited to learn from other teachers,  learn from my many mistakes, and grow in knowing how to best guide young people to understand and treasure truth and intellect. I am very passionate about Christian education and cannot wait to interweave the character of God into our lessons to help cultivate children who delight in their Creator.

I am very grateful to God for giving me this opportunity, and as aforementioned, completely dependent on Him to use me and teach me to be a master teacher! And from y’all I welcome any resources/tips/words of wisdom/encouragement/etc. that you may have for me!

As always, thanks for taking the time to read and hear my heart!

Much Love!

Mrs. Bacon 🙂


Education is the Most Powerful Weapon by Nelson Mandela - 8 1/2 x 11 art print signed by Aimee Ferre


Checking off the standards you've taught becomes the focus, but the reality is that this quote perfectly describes our true purpose as teachers.


My teacher thought I was smarter than I was - so I was.

You teach what you know,  but you reproduce what you are.  -- Howard Hendricks pic.twitter.com/oNRVmS2qOr

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Principles and Benefits of a Classical Education