As a mother of little ones, I deeply desire feeling recognized for what I do. Here's how unexpected grace found me on a day the Lord met my greatest need.

I looked at my kitchen counter, littered with onion peelings, tops of unscrewed seasonings, and random measuring cups in no certain order.

My mother’s helper (a young homeschooled girl who I hired to help me with the kids twice a week) played with the kids in the background while I studied the  already food-stained cookbook in front of me. I had 1.5 hours left to make a scrumptious french lentil soup, vegan banana bread, and garlic green beans for a potluck feast that my son’s homeschool community group was hosting the next day.

 As I turned on my Instapot and churned out all the ingredients, I couldn't help but smile with anticipation at the thought of my newfound mom friends and their guests eating my food and smiling with delight. The thought energized my impregnated body that had just begun entering into the stage of the “wobble.”

The aroma of garlic, onions, and tomatoes completely infiltrated the tight space of our kitchen, while the fiber of my clothing inhabited the smells of each. 

“My mom’s here,” my helper yelled. 

Perfect timing. I thought.

Everything was done and in their respective dishes for the next day. I stood proud and made a quick video.

While transferring the soup into its container, my hands lost its grip on the stainless steel container and soup splattered all across the floor. 

My two-year-old daughter came to see the commotion, and I watched in slow motion as she couldn’t resist the temptation to stomp her lightly colored tennis shoes onto the tomato-based soup. I hunched over and moved her to the side, stifling a silent scream of despair and frustration wrapped in one. 

What came out was a deep groan. 

“MOVE!” 

I didn’t want to process what just happened.

Instead, I grabbed a few paper towels and wiped the floor in quick succession, hoping that I could perhaps wash away the memory as quickly as it occurred.  I then ran to take off my daughter’s tennis shoes. She was now on to her next mission of going up our carpeted stairs with signs of  paprika still on the crevices of her kicks.

I didn’t have much time to breakdown. I still had to make dinner for the family and my husband was working late, so that meant I needed to make dinner, feed the kiddos, and then get them dressed. We had been invited to a church service that night by a friend. 

As I moved from task to task, I felt the Holy Spirit beckon me to call my sister and ask her to pray for me. Although I wasn’t visibly breaking down and fairly calm, I could feel something on the surface begin to bubble. After rescuing the potential for a severely clogged toilet, since my two-year-old daughter ran upstairs to flush an entire roll of toilet paper down the drain, I felt again the Holy Spirit say, “Call your sister!” 

I came downstairs, placed the broccoli and noodles on everyone’s plates and Facetimed my sister who lived thousands of miles away.

She didn’t answer. 

“Pray for me. Kiddos are a lot right now. ” I texted. 

She instantly responded, “I’m praying John 14 over you.” 

I didn’t quite know what John 14 was, and I surely didn’t have time to look it up, but instantly the Holy Spirit spoke these words to me.

“Peace I give to you. My Peace, I leave to you. Do not let your heart be troubled. Neither let it be afraid.” 

My one-year-old daughter dumped her plate onto the table and my two year old followed suit. 

Once we were done eating, I slapped the kids coats on and ran upstairs to change my food-stained shirt. When my husband walked through the door, he and I  greeted one another with a quick kiss and went straight to the car. While driving, I felt a strong desire to just escape and go to sleep… on my heavenly Father’s lap. 

My husband spoke about his day and then he asked about mine.

The tears came and the confession. 

“I know it sounds small, but that soup represented recognition for me. I kept thinking, ‘I’m going to be acknowledged and recognized for something.’ And when I saw the soup on the floor, my one hope of feeling seen dissipated .” 

I explained how my work felt so unseen as a stay at home mother.

No one was there praising me for how I managed  the house or the kids. And the world certainly didn’t exalt my line of work either. No promotion. No monetary compensation. And although I wouldn’t change anything because I knew the seeds that I was sowing were eternal in nature, the temporal feeling of loneliness was nonetheless felt. 

My husband looked over at me as we approached a stop light.

I knew he might’ve been searching for a solution. 

After a pregnant pause, he asked, “Do I not recognize you enough?” 

The well that had run dry inside of me couldn’t be filled by man. That I knew.  I needed the Lord. 

“This has nothing to do with you. I just want your empathy. Can you just touch me?”

He placed his hand on my thigh for the remainder of the car ride. 

We walked into the church building.

The church was undergoing major renovations. There was no heat. Construction tape roped off many parts of the building. Once inside the sanctuary, Evan and I took our three small kiddos and sat off to the side in the very back row. While my husband and I attempted to get our kids all settled in, I heard the worship singers on stage singing, “You Know My Name” by Tasha Cobbs Leonard.  Tears flowed down my face with little restraint and wouldn’t stop. 

The Lord knew my name. 

He saw me. 

He really saw me. 

And, He knew. 

The worship set flowed from song to song while I witnessed individuals lost in complete worship. The energy in the room felt as though “time” didn’t take precedence.

There was no rush.

No hurriedness.

No formalized set.

It felt as though we were all sitting at the feet of Jesus, absent of the worries and trials that faced us the moment we walked out of the building’s doors. 

My kiddos pulled at my legs here and there.

My youngest moved with a hint of restlessness while siting in her daddy’s arms.

But I felt a complete freedom and abandon that made me completely enraptured in the words sung by those around me.  The well that had run dry was filling up steadily, and I didn’t want it to end. I couldn’t. 

In my periphery, I saw a man approach my husband. They spoke briefly and shook hands. I turned in the man’s direction and waved politely and returned back to my state of longing. 

But then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. The man who had spoken to my husband now stood behind me. 

“Can I pray for you?” he asked.

On our car ride over to the church service, my husband relayed to me that he knew  a team of ministers who were visiting from another church and that many had the gift of prophecy. He mentioned that this group of ministers were going to be there that night. This man who stood behind me was one of the lead pastors from the visiting church. 

“Yes,” I retorted quickly to his question.  

He placed his hand on my shoulders and paused. 

“Come, Holy Spirit.” 

He continued to wait. 

After a few moments of silence, I heard him gasp, “Woooooooow. Wooowwww. What’s your name?” 

“Jessica.”

“Huh?” 

“Jessica,” I said louder over the continued worship music. 

“Jessica…your roots go down so deep. Wooooooow. Your roots go down soooooo deep,” he kept repeating. He  continued to speak things about my life that only the Holy Spirit could have revealed. 

Then he paused. 

“And Jessica, for some reason, I see like a dishwasher.” I felt him searching for the right words. 

“Yeah, I see a dishwasher and like dishes. And I sense the Lord saying that you will encounter him even while you wash dishes. Even while you change diapers. Expect encounter.” 

I smiled inwardly to myself. Did he know just how much I stood in the kitchen day after day? 

“And I see the Lord giving you His Peace. Complete Peace,” he said. The same peace spoken of through John 14 that the Lord led my sister to pray over me.

He then spoke about the child in my womb. And spoke a promise of the baby that I’ll keep to myself. 

He spoke about how the Lord viewed my heart in the spiritual realm.

Then the prayer ended. 

I walked into a church building that I didn’t know…seeking to be seen and affirmed. And this girl, with the smell of garlic and onions still on her hands, this girl who sat in the very back row, this girl who so desired to feel recognized. The Lord sent this man, who was visiting from an entirely different church (and did I mention, country?) to share with me that…

The LORD SEES ME.

Even if no one was applauding me for making breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Even if I never received any accolades, compensation, or public praise for my line of work year after year after year after year…the God of the entire universe reminded me that night that He knew. He saw. He cared. And most important to me, the work of my hands and the prayers of my heart were not in VAIN. They were actually reaping more fruit than my eyes could see.

I started the day off hoping that I could receive man’s outward adulation over a bowl of soup. Instead, the Lord gave me so much more. 

He showed me His hands clapping for things that I thought no one saw. He showed me how He viewed my heart despite my sin. He showed me the gifts the Lord longed to give me, if I but open my hands to receive them.

In short, He showed me that the audience of ONE was more than enough.

I walked out of church with my well completely filled.

I’ll see the fruit of my prayers and of my hands. If not now, one day.

Proverbs 31: 30-31

30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
31 Honor her for all that her hands have done,
and let her works bring her praise eat the city gate.

Like this Blog Post? Consider Subscribing

Weight-Loss: Focusing on the Process...Not the End Results

After having our third child, I was excited to lose my additional baby weight—weight that I knew helped to nourish our sweet newborn with all of her essential nutrients but weight I couldn’t wait to depart from nonetheless.

When our daughter was a few months old, I began doing some at-home workouts. Aside from feeling “sore” a few days in a row, I saw very little results from my sweaty workouts.

My husband assured me that “these things” took time. He was quite the professional at this point in coaching and encouraging  me through any postpartum woes. We just had our third child. But I wanted some sort of  results. Anything to motivate me to keep at it. 

Shortly into thinking over my “dilemma,” I recalled a podcast I listened to a few months prior to having my baby.

 In the podcast the interviewer made a remarkable statement. 

She said that the most “successful” people in the world obsess over processes-not end results.

 In obsessing over the process, perfecting the process, falling in love with the process…the results always came. 

Obsess over the process.

Perfect the process.

Fall in love with the process. 

In terms of working out, I needed a process that afforded me greater probability for consistency (i.e. time away from the kids to workout). I needed a process that brought greater accountability. I needed a process that filled me up in more ways than just one. I needed something to look forward to that I absolutely loved. 

I swapped out my at-home workouts and joined a gym (thanks to my sister who gifted me with a very large birthday gift $$ dedicated towards my self-care). 

I began swimming. I began going to the sauna and meditating. I began taking dance classes that offered a fusion between  salsa, Afrobeats, hip hop, and even belly dancing. 

I obsessed over the process. Perfected it. Fell in love with it.   Before I knew it, the results came without me fishing for them. 

Why do I write this blog post? 

I now try to apply this principle in every area of my life. Whether it's in my marriage, my parenting, my cooking etc.

If I want to continue to grow as a person, I focus on creating  HEALTHY processes, habits, routines.

Some processes I love from the jump. Others, I fall in love with over time 

In short, I now spend more time thinking through processes than end results/goals. 

That’s not to say that I don’t have goals. Honey, I do! It’s to say that I spend more of my thought energy in strategizing over how to obtain that goal, rather than wondering if I’ve “arrived” yet. I usually set a timeline (with A LOT of margin) and I don’t measure my progress until that time is up so as to not get discouraged.

I’m not perfect… at all! And I don’t prioritize everything. But what I want in life, I do prioritize.  

I want to know Jesus intimately. I want to experience deeper  layers of a healthy marriage. I want my family to enjoy really scrumptious healthy food. I want to create lasting memories that are spoken about long after I’m gone. I want to look and feel sexy-always haha.  I want my children to walk intimately with the Lord all the days of their lives. I want to be a forever learner. 

Because of this, I must spend time asking God and others for wisdom to know what healthy routines, rhythms, and habits to implement now so that these things can be accomplished.

Life can become busy and chaotic quickly.

If you don’t consider what guardrails to implement in your life so that certain areas of your life continue to thrive without having to give CONSTANT daily thought to them, it’s easy for those same areas to drift towards a state of stagnancy and sometimes decay.  This applies to anyone spiritually, emotionally, physically, relationally etc. 

In short, if you’re not seeing the results you want in an area of your life, don’t lose heart. Don’t give up. Don’t resign to the “ it is what it is” type of mentality.

Seek wisdom. Focus on the process. Change the process, if necessary. 

BUT Be patient. Before you know it, the results will come. 

Like This Blog? Consider Subscribing Here to Receive My Latest Updates and Exclusive Blogs!

Saved...through stand still traffic

I sat in traffic, not knowing nor realizing that I had begun my day already late. I woke up and left the house around 7:18 AM, already 10 minutes ahead of schedule. However, as I traveled down the Dan Ryan highway in Chicago, the impending lights caused my brakes to come to a screeching halt. And like that, my schedule was upended. I texted my principal, and what was initially planned to be a 25-minute ride, turned into one that lasted well over an hour and a half in standstill traffic.  

How often do we plan, schedule, adjust, prepare—only to be brought to a screeching halt? God works in and beyond schedules and even time. He somehow possesses control over every living moment of our lives, in and through our schedules.  My mind can’t fathom it at times. The moments that I think I’m in control, I’m not. As I’ve recently been reading through the first half of the book of 1 Kings, I see that many persons in history probably thought that they were in control, not realizing the previous promises made to ancestors—allowing certain kingdoms to rise or fall, certain people to live or die, and certain persons to come into power due to the Lord’s faithfulness to one’s lineage.  But as I sat in traffic today, it was hard to recall that even the Lord had this subtle schedule delay in control all along. I thought I was in traffic only due to my own misgivings. Therefore, I simply sat thinking of how I should’ve left earlier, how I should’ve checked Google maps before taking this route, and how I should’ve should’ve could’ve “XYZ.”

The previous day, the Spirit told me to begin praying for traveling mercy for both Evan (husband) and I. I’d never felt this prompting from the Spirit to randomly pray for traveling mercy during my regular day-to-day activity. Usually, Evan and I would always pray when going on a long road trip or when jetting off on an airplane. But the Spirit kept reminding me to pray for traveling mercy. And so I did.

But by the next day, I had completely forgotten this prompting as I sat in traffic. By the time I arrived at school, I had a sliver of 2-3 minutes before beginning my first class. While walking briskly to my classroom, a teacher yelled out from her desk, “Jess you good?” This teacher knew that I had missed my first-period prep.

“Yeah, I finally made it in,” I responded, a bit out of breath.

“Yeah, I heard they shut down the Dan Ryan due to some police activity.”

“Really?”

“Yeah they were shooting on the highway and some car got shot at.”

Due to needing to get to my classroom, I didn’t have time to adequately respond. Yet, my thoughts began racing.

Wait, what?! Some car got shot at. Some car...was shot.

Here I was, consumed by my own natural thoughts... not realizing, nor thinking, of the mercy and grace of being stuck in traffic. I had succumbed to view my situation merely through a natural lens, rather than to thank the Lord for what He was doing in the supernatural realm. If I had left earlier… who knows? All I can say ask is, how can one not see the Sovereignty of God? I made it to school, just in time, in one piece. And though I don’t know all of the reasons for being stuck in traffic—to say that it didn’t work out for my good (however “good” is defined), is preposterous. No, the Lord is in control and it is Him that I will continue to serve and give all the glory.

PonderedThought: Next time your carefully planned schedule is unexpectedly thwarted, be careful to immediately look towards the means by which you could’ve prevented the situation. It’s already there. Instead, look up and ask the Lord the following:

“Lord, how are you working in and through this situation for my good and for Your glory?”

Like this Blog Post? Consider Subscribing