I’ve heard the whispers.

The rumblings.

The women who pull me aside to share with shy and embarrassed eyes this worry that what you do doesn’t count because you do it at 2am when no one is looking except the baby who’s throwing up. Again.

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Or because what you do doesn’t require a passport.

Or because you think you need a pulpit for your voice to matter or make a difference.

Sister, don’t tell me you don’t make a difference. Don’t tell me that your life is small; that the sun sets and rises on the same day in and day out and that you don’t make a difference.

I don’t want to hear that.

Don’t tell me that Pulpits are only found in churches and speeches only come from stages. Don’t tell me that microphones are necessary to be heard.

Don’t for a second succumb to the bald-faced lie whispered sneaky sneaky sometimes only inside of our own heads that ministry begins and ends with serious theology instead of Cheerios-encrusted carpets.

Don’t tell me that Cheerios, diapers, laundry, and dishes aren’t serious theology.

…keep reading with me – I have all the big feelings about our so-called small ministries and I’m sharing them over on (in)courage today. Just click here.

 

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