She breathes in coffee and Jesus on her way to work. Prayer snuggles against her heart as she puts the kids down for a nap. When school threatens to overwhelm, the peace that passes all understanding beckons like a friend. It can look a thousand different ways, but the Proverbs 31 woman makes soul care a priority.
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Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church, His body, and is Himself its Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit in everything to their husbands.
(Ephesians 5:22-24)
Few topics will raise the alarm in today’s culture like biblical submission. Those outside the Church consider it the same way they consider racism or polygamy, while it’s difficult for even the most die-hard good girls gracing the pews every week to not think of submission in the same terms as those weird passages on not touching a woman on her period and never cutting her hair. Surely the submission thing was meant to be geared toward the culture way back then and not to us, right? Haven’t we outgrown the whole slave/wife deal by now?
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When asked what I like to do for fun, reading is always at the top of my list. My mom instilled a love for literature in me at a very young age, introducing me to reading programs, books on tape, and the brilliant concept of “reading marathons” (where you build a tent in your room and get to stay up as late as you want as long as you have a book open in front of you). I devoured the written word and haven’t stopped since.
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Hey, church planter’s wife, with a load of laundry going in the basement and a tiny but real church in your living room—I see you.
You with the little ones who are trying to figure out whether they’re going to school or church today as you pull into the elementary parking lot to set up for yet another service—I see you.
You with the family camping trip interrupted by a phone call asking for prayer or advice or a listening ear or a hospital visit—I see you.
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Summertime in the country: my little brother and I would bump along down our circle driveway, bikes not absorbing much shock at all from the big chunks of gravel and asphalt. When we’d reach the bottom of the hill, our bikes would (hopefully) hit the homemade ramps straight-on, and we’d get the most epic air a kid could hope for. In that shining moment, hair flying out behind me, I could have been sporting Wonder Woman’s cape. I felt so free and heroic.
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There’s nothing quite like realizing you’ve forgotten to pack clean undies when you’re away from home and nowhere near a store.
Any time a trip comes up, I start getting neurotic. What will I really need? What am I forgetting? Do I have what matters most? This is when it’s great to have a packing list. I can neatly check off the items as I tuck them away, making everything fit snugly and restoring peace of mind. No more worrying or wondering or wigging out. (Or going commando involuntarily.)
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August is the last hurrah of summer, filled with lazy days at the lake, melty ice cream cones, and water balloon fights around the sprinkler. Load up a picnic basket with fresh treats. Hike through the woods. Pitch a tent in the backyard. Perfect your cannonball form. What have you penciled in to celebrate this month? Whatever it is, may the friends present be many and the bugs present be few.
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See: Soft floral linens being lifted and spread over a comfortable mattress in the corner; whitewashed wooden planks underfoot; the dying evening light filtered through palm trees and wavy-glass windowpanes; a bouquet of greenery spilling over onto the counter; flickering shadows cast by a cheerful fire; candles and lanterns strategically placed throughout the loft; books stacked next to a plush sofa; an easel with paints and canvas standing ready next to the window
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