Do you know how to get on your knees and dig in the dirt? How to plant summer squash and basil from seeds, how to water them regularly, and how to wait for the first tendrils to rise from the earth?
Have you ever marveled at a radish bulging out of the soil? Have you ever stood at the kitchen counter, sampled a slice and laughed at its awful taste?
Have you ever sown rows of zinnia, delighted in their growth and discovered that, days later, your tiny sprouts were gobbled up by rabbits? Have you ever cried over plants, or people?
What do you know about heartbreak? What do you know about peace?
Do you know the joy of sharing a perfect tomato, the one you picked at first blush, then let ripen on the counter? One bite could transport you to heaven, briefly.
Do you know how to keep coming back to your garden, how to rip out the crabgrass and the clover — all the invasive weeds that crowd out the healthy veggies — how to make room for all that’s beautiful and true?
What do I know about growing vegetables? A whole summer’s worth. Practically nothing. I’m not afraid to admit that I’m still learning. Gardening, it seems, is part tending, part trusting the sun to do its work. I surrender. I’m not afraid to kneel in the dirt.
Tag Archives: faith
Who I am
I am the lark and the lion.
I know the sound of my voice.
I am the poet and the muse.
I am the author and the editor.
I know the depth of my voice.
I am the peaceful pond.
I am the gentle river.
I am water flowing,
turning,
picking up speed,
taking up space,
surging.
I am slamming against the dam.
I am the dam breaking.
I am the life-altering flood.
I know the strength of my voice.
What the sky can do
May 2026: Every square on our calendar is full.
Emails crowd my inbox:
Field Trip Thursday
Field Day Monday
Trump in China
Strep in PS3
Someone on Instagram wants me to buy pore strips.
Someone else decries gerrymandering.
Someone else has THE SECRET to staying lean in your forties.
My head spins with each alert, each breaking news story. There’s much to track and tend, much to worry over. Is the issue our smartphones? I don’t think we were made to handle this barrage of information. Can we talk about the sky instead?
How, when school lets out Tuesday, charcoal and periwinkle clouds loom above us, heavy with rain. Children squeal. Unicorn and superhero backpacks bob. Raindrops tickle our noses, tap our shoulders, then chase every student and parent home. Everyone except Jack.
I hold my umbrella out to my son, but he waves it away.
“I love the rain, Mom,” Jack declares, looking up at the sky and strolling toward our car. His little brother mirrors him. Around us, others race ahead. I want to rush home too — I need to cook and serve dinner before the boys’ busy sports night, and with my husband traveling for work, I have extra chores to finish. My hair whips in the wind. Rain falls in thick ribbons, pooling in patches of lush green grass.
My boys saunter towards our gray Tiguan. I shift my pace to match theirs.
Safe in the dry confines of home, I check my phone. Messages roll in:
Soccer cancelled
Checking baseball fields
No game tonight
My heartbeat, which I didn’t even realize is racing, slows. “Baseball and soccer are off tonight, boys!” I call from the kitchen, my voice bright. “Let’s have a cozy night in, okay?”
After dinner, we pop “Zootopia 2” in the DVD player. The boys plop in front of the living room TV, and I unearth the air popper. The music of giggling boys and the pop-pop-pop of our favorite snack fills my ears. I circle an arm around my youngest and lean my head against soft leather, joining them for the show.
By the time the movie ends, we are sufficiently relaxed. I check my watch: late for bedtime. Although my kids want to savor the credits, I morph into a drill sergeant, barking orders. Jack flies up the stairs to start his bath. His brother follows after him to change into his pajamas. I flit across the house to change out the laundry, start the dishwasher and water the flowers in our hanging baskets. Opening the front door, I stop in my tracks.
The delicious scent of wet grass washes over me. Suburban streets shine slick from the rain, which has stopped. I pause on the porch, surveying the scene.
I’m struck by how tired I am. Running a household with little kids is hard enough, but I’m especially weary of every breaking news alert and our broken democracy and war and all the messages vying for my attention. What I want is to slow down and feel awe. To bask in the beauty of the world before me. To know I’m not in control here. To lift my eyes and watch for news from the Creator.
Candy-colored clouds float against a pale blue sky and buttery light gleams in patches on the lawn, everything new and old all at once, inviting me to “be still and know,” if only for a moment. So I won’t forget, I step out and take the picture.
This reflection first appeared in “Headlines to Heartbeats,” a collaborative project by Callie R. Feyen, Melissa Kutsche, Kimberly Knowle – Zeller, and Erin Strybis. We pull real headlines from the news—headlines that surprise, inspire, baffle, enrage, trigger, and entertain—and create art to respond.
Prayers for mothers
Mother’s Day stirs up complicated feelings: For some, it is a day to celebrate. Others, a day to mourn. Some both. Still others, neither. For me, the holiday brings to mind my mom, grandmas, and mother-in-law, plus a myriad of other mother figures whose love shaped the woman I am today. My own motherhood journey has been full of ups and downs — from a traumatic birth to juggling and eventually leaving full-time work to joy at the playground to a healed relationship with my body. All these moments and more brought me to my knees in prayer and led me to write a devotional for moms with my dear friend, Kimberly Knowle-Zeller.
Kim and I wrote The Beauty of Motherhood to provide spiritual nourishment to moms in the thick of raising young children. Our collection of devotions encourages moms to slow down and see the beauty before them, and to know they are not alone in this hard, holy work. In advance of Mother’s Day, we’re sharing four prayers from our book to remind moms that, however you feel this weekend, you are seen, you are surrounded by other mothers who can relate, and you are deeply loved by your Creator.
A prayer for tired moms
God of love, meet me in the dark
and breathe life into these tired bones,
breathe life into me
and show yourself—
you are the light at the end of the tunnel
shining for me
leading me from heartache
to hope
Help me see the beauty of the dark
to know you meet us in every waking moment.
Amen.
A prayer for moms seeking grace
Forgiving God,
when I feel overwhelmed, give me peace.
When I lose my temper, give me peace.
When I can’t stop arguing, give me peace.
When I need rest, give me peace.
Help me to offer forgiveness.
Help me to seek forgiveness.
Trusting, always, your mercy renews me.
In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.
A prayer for grieving moms
God of all time and all places, your love reaches beyond our understanding.
Our loved ones are with us even when their bodies are no longer on this earth. It’s a mystery and a gift. We give thanks for those who have died. As we grieve and remember, help us to trust that their love reaches us, and that they are never far from us. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.
A prayer for moms seeking gratitude
All-knowing God,
these are our good old days—
days of crumbs on the carpet
of tucking the covers just so
and planting kisses on our children’s foreheads
of well-worn shirts and toys scattered across the carpet
soccer cleats and socks crowding the doorways
ballet shoes abandoned in the basement
crayoned art hung on the fridge
and picture books stacked on the nightstand
of Sesame Street and Paw Patrol
and favored stuffies
days of hope, grace, love, forgiveness
of feeling your love in the arms of our children
God, these are the good old days
give me eyes to see your presence
woven into the fabric of our ordinary existence.
Amen.
These prayers were excerpted from The Beauty of Motherhood: Grace-Filled Devotions for the Early Years, available via Bookshop, Barnes & Noble, Amazon and wherever books are sold.
Turning 40: Real talk about aging with grace
Earlier this month, my friend and fellow writer Melissa Kutsche shared an interview I wrote for her FORTY-something Substack. FORTY-something is a fantastic collection of women’s voices contending with the changes we experience at midlife. Here’s an excerpt from that conversation:
When you were younger, what did you associate with the age of 40? How has reality been similar to or different from those ideas and expectations?
When I was a girl, 40 seemed far away, like a country I didn’t want to visit. I associated the age with low-maintenance “Mom haircuts,” boatloads of bills and raising children. Also, black balloons and those “Over the hill” signs that were ubiquitous in the 90s. I noticed women in their forties taking care of everything from church potlucks to birthday parties while managing full careers and households. They were busy and I revered them. I did not envy them; I wanted to remain carefree.
In the summer, when my family visited the pool, I never understood why my mother—who was in her forties—chose to stay on the deck and read her novel while my brother and I rode waterslides with our dad. Now I get it! Caretaking is all-consuming, and Mom needed her rest.
Even though much has changed since the 90s, I still see forty-something women around me deftly juggling their varied roles and responsibilities, albeit with different outfits and haircuts.
At 40, I’m time rich in a way I wasn’t when I worked full-time with my first child in daycare. The birth of my second son, five years after my first, shifted my priorities. Though I loved working in journalism, I craved more time with my children. My husband and I made some financial sacrifices so I could resign and focus on motherhood and writing.
Playground visits, being present at school drop-off and pickup, writing in a coffee shop during preschool, Lego-building and reading children’s books are my midlife reality. Honestly, I love it. Motherhood awakened me to the holiness woven into little moments with little people.
It’s not all picture-perfect. Being my kids’ primary caregiver is the hardest, messiest job I’ve ever had. Even when you’re doing what’s right (say, setting a boundary) it might feel wrong (there’s whining, or worse, tantrums). Still—and I believe this at my core—raising small people with great kindness matters, more than we can fully comprehend.
How did you feel about turning 40?
I joined the 40 club in December and I have mixed feelings about it.
On the one hand, I’m anxious. The number of Instagram ads I receive for products to help me “manage my wrinkles” is staggering. When I look in the mirror, I see crinkles around my eyes and deepening laugh lines. This is a problem I need to address, I think. Upon further reflection, I ask myself: Is my aging skin a problem? Or, is the problem actually the story marketers want me to believe—that women with wrinkles aren’t beautiful?
To be clear, I’m not judging women for the skincare services we employ. Mainly, I’m frustrated that the beauty industry fosters insecurity in women, distracting us from greater issues that need our attention, such as gender-based wage discrimination.
Additionally, I’m worried about upcoming changes I’ll face—perimenopause, menopause, and the decline of my parents’ health as well as my own. An optometrist once told me that 40 is the decade when everyone begins needing glasses.
On the other hand, I’m quite hopeful about this decade. A former boss once told me that she felt her most confident entering her forties, and now that I’ve reached this milestone, I agree. As a young woman, I struggled with disordered eating, perfectionism and people-pleasing. I have so much compassion for my younger selves—the college grad who was obsessed with running, the newlywed with an intense job and stress-eating habit, the new mom who struggled with guilt—all women who strived to prove their worth.
Nowadays, I feel more at home in my body, mind and soul than before, and I attribute this to years of therapy and a mature faith. Women especially receive messages about all we need to “fix” in our bodies. I still get tripped up by this. Yet, the older I get, the more I recognize these messages as the enemy at work. On my best days, I root myself in the words of the Psalmist, trusting that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made.” There’s an ease of living that comes from believing your worth is inherent.
A new pair of glasses may be in my future. I remain optimistic, because turning 40 has given me lenses for what matters most. In my case, that’s answering my callings to care for my kids and to put loving words into the world. And to spread kindness, always kindness.
What, if any, changes have you noticed as you’ve approached this age/stage of life?
I’m coming out of early motherhood, a physically intense and demanding season, and feeling freer and lighter than I did in my thirties. I do not plan to carry any more babies and I’m done breastfeeding. Most of the time, I don’t have kids clinging to me. This new season is thrilling, like the first spring day you no longer need your heavy jacket.
I also feel bolder. … Read the rest of the interview here.
P.S., If you enjoyed this post, you may also like my monthly(ish) Substack, Nourish. Browse past issues and subscribe here.
Believe women
The ones to break
news of Jesus’ resurrection
were the women —
Mary Magdalene, Joanna,
Mary, the mother of James
Jesus approached them in the garden
when the women spoke out
some did not believe them
Even now, women speak truth
and many refuse to accept it
My most sacred confessions
have been to women
When I was dead inside,
women resurrected me.
They said I believe you
It wasn’t your fault
You are good
I couldn’t believe in myself
but I believed them.
How to survive the end of winter
Plan out your garden,
Imagine basil, tomatoes & peppers,
Try Thai takeout from a new restaurant,
Submit a poem — or three,
Don’t mull over rejection,
Celebrate your courage in trying,
Book flights for a spring break trip,
Stargaze on your deck,
Pick out new sneakers,
Instead of boring, old white choose jade green for
good karma,
Pray for peace on earth,
Vox your girlfriends,
Send them snail mail, too,
Gift old baby books to expecting mamas,
Invite friends over for dinner,
Walk the dog in the cold sunshine, even when you don’t want to, feel the wind bite your hands, feel more alive, feel grateful to be moving,
Drink decaf with a swirl of whipped cream,
Organize a messy drawer,
Donate old toys & jeans that don’t fit,
Buy your kids Lucky Charms for breakfast,
Buy yourself tulips,
Center them on the kitchen counter,
Marvel at their blossoms — the way they guzzle water, unfurl & reach for the sunlight,
Keep the faith: spring is coming,
Even now, you’re blooming.
S H I N E
verb: to reflect or release light
noun: radiance; the brightness caused
by a bounce or outpouring of light
My verbs are:
Reading Frog & Toad, Hilo and The Jesus Storybook Bible
Bringing my boys to church
Giggling together on family movie night
Writing between school dropoff and pickup
Throwing a baseball over and over
Lingering outside until sunset
My nouns are:
Buttered toast and apple juice
Hot pepperoni pizza and fizzy root beer
Magna-Tiles and Legos strewn over the carpet
Bright smiles for “One more race!” in Mario Kart
Handwritten drafts, Google docs and Substack
Prayers for goodness and forgiveness
My confessions:
I do not know how to reconcile
my small life raising small people
with my big dreams of writing.
Am I teaching them to be kind?
Do they know how much I love them?
Or see how hard I’m trying?
Will I ever publish another book?
For every struggle
and every joy,
every sacrifice
and every lesson —
there’s no grade.
Oftentimes, I want one.
God, do you see me?
Am I doing enough
to reflect your grace and your glory?
Here is the better question:
Can I trust you enough to release
my grip on my plans and my ambitions?
// Callie Feyen’s poem “Witness,” from her new book When We Swung from Church Bells, inspired this poem’s structure. “Shine” is my word of the year for 2026.
Chapter 39
There are years that test us, and years that embrace us. I’m grateful that my 39th year has been the latter. In lots of little ways I’ve felt held —
in the abundance of cherry tomatoes from our new garden;
my first glimpse of stars from our backyard in the suburbs;
each time Jay and I drop our boys off with my parents;
through “Hellos” and connections with new neighbors;
sweet messages and meetups with old friends from Chicago;
a perfect latte from a local coffee shop;
by the words of writers and musicians who move me;
walking Miami beach in deep talks with my college girlfriends;
date nights with Jay, especially to see theater or live music;
prayers sent out by family and friends;
when my boys ask for lullabies or games of catch;
and capturing it all on the page, writing. Always writing.
In my calls to write and mother, I spent the bulk of the year planting seeds and nurturing unseen growth. From potty training to helping the boys acclimate to new schools, we’ve conquered several transitions. Freelance projects have come and gone, I managed to keep my Substack alive in the midst of our move. I set aside one manuscript (for now) and started writing another. The work of raising kind humans and putting warm words into the world feels more urgent than ever.
Selling our Chicago home in 2024 was a real trust fall with God. I’m grateful our family landed in such a beautiful house and community this past August. Starting over socially hasn’t been easy. Once a week, I remind myself of a dear friend’s advice to be “the very best version of myself,” trusting that, with time, I’ll cultivate great relationships here.
Today, on my 40th birthday, I’m more at home in myself than I’ve ever felt before. This confidence was hard won; at 38, I experienced a dark night of the soul from which I’m still healing. A commitment to caring for my physical and mental health, plus gaining a greater understanding of how my mind works, has been transformative. God’s grace was evident in the ones whose love carried me when I most needed it.
If I could tell my younger self anything, I’d hug her and whisper, “You are stronger than you think you are. Trust yourself. Believe in your goodness.”
What I love about Halloween
For one night,
this country looks different…
Pumpkins deck doorways,
skeletons adorn front yards,
orange lights glow.
Little princesses, ninjas,
sports stars and singers parade
the sidewalks, parents in tow.
We open our doors,
greet our neighbors’ children,
offer them Twizzlers and Twix,
Snickers and Sour Patch Kids,
pretzels, popcorn, fruit snacks and more.
We say, “Wow, look at that costume!”
“Happy Halloween!”
“Here, have a treat!’
What we mean is,
*I see you.*
*You are welcome here.*
*Take and eat.*
This is a night when
children are cherished.
And I wonder,
what would happen if we
held on to our Halloween spirit?
How would the world change
if we opened our doors
— and shared — more often?
Erin Strybis 