I notice God most when I step outside. When I’m not staring at a pile of dishes waiting for the dishwasher… or the granola still scattered across the counter from someone’s yogurt breakfast… or an untidy living room asking for attention…

When we’re out in the yard — barefoot children running through the grass — and I’m walking my toddler through our wildflower garden…

When we sit beside the river and I watch all three kids toss rocks into the water while the stream plays a song over every stone…

Those are the moments where the noise of home fades — and God’s voice becomes unmistakable.

It’s harder to notice Him in the middle of chores and daily tasks, but He’s there too. I feel His presence most around the dinner table. As I gather ingredients… cook a meal… and sit beside my husband after a long workday… I feel the weight of provision.

There were seasons when groceries came from need, not choice. When I worried about feeding my family — even though God always made a way. So now, every plate we fill feels like a prayer answered.

Dinner is my praise. Provision I can see, smell, and share.

This season of motherhood — with a toddler again — is teaching me to slow down even more:

🧺 letting tiny hands “help” with laundry

🧽 refolding washcloths four times

🧒 embracing the mess that comes with learning

⏳ growing patience I didn’t know I still needed

God gave me this baby at just the right time.

He knew I needed more of Him — and that toddlerhood would be the classroom.

And the truth He keeps speaking to my heart is this:

“It won’t always be like this.”

One day, my arms won’t be full of little ones.

The house will stay clean longer than I want it to.

I’ll miss the fingerprints on the fridge…

the nighttime wake-ups…

the footsteps running toward me…

So in this season, I’m choosing memories over perfection.

Presence instead of performance.

What will matter in the end isn’t tidy drawers — it’s the time we spent together.

If you’re reading this, mama…

may your heart soften toward today.

May you slow down just enough to notice God’s gentleness woven into every ordinary moment.

May you laugh more than you worry…

and breathe deeper than you rush.

Because God is right here —

in the crumbs, in the chaos, in the love —

and you’re going to miss this someday. 🤍