If you spend 7 years blogging about the Gospel According to Motherhood then that’s what people start to expect you to write about.

It’s what I expect myself to blog about.

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Blogging the sleepless nights and holy ground of diaper changes and temper tantrums – more often than not my own – has been cathartic.

I can sit down at a computer and just pour the hot lava of emotion out of my body, through my fingers, into the keyboard and I feel purged. I feel like I’ve learned something from this job as a mother that often comes without progress reports or raises.

It’s been the best kind of free therapy to step outside myself and watch what I’m learning. What God is showing me about myself – through these children He’s trusted me with.

I’ve loved it.

Man I’ve loved the sacred midnight two step of the baby shuffle and I’ve loved sharing and processing here on a keyboard with you all. Because so many of you have come along for the dance.

And as my kids grow up out of their diapers and car seats and sleeplessness there’s this completely unprecedented new world yawning for me on the other side – I can feel it. And it makes me afraid, I admit, because I’ve been ready to sort of rest on my laurels and put my feet up for a bit.

And yet, there they are – my kids who are now able to form memories – waiting for me to be truly present in their lives that aren’t so tiny anymore. And it’s much harder now because now they’re also capable of taking care of so much on their own and I have to remind myself to pay attention.

It’s my recurring prayer – Lord please help me pay attention.

Lord please help me see my kids when they’re not right there under my nose anymore.

Lord please help me close my computer, my book, my deep desire for alone time after a decade held hostage by tiny humans and keep, on paying real attention.

So there’s that.

And I’ll keep writing all those lessons as I learn them (hopefully I’ll keep learning them). But in the middle of all that my own seasons are shifting and after 15 years as renters, Peter and I will move into the first house we have ever owned exactly one week from today.

I feel like I need to whisper that because it’s still hard to believe.

I’ve heard from so many of you who are still waiting on that whisper. I love you so much. You are my people. I want to have you all over.

And as we move toward this move there have been decisions to make.

Decisions about paint and carpets and countertops and I can’t believe I get to make these decisions. I can’t believe I’m allowed.

I can’t believe I have the opportunity.

And it’s so fun and also so scary.

Because I feel so deeply unqualified.

I’m not the girl who ever planned what her house would looks like when she grew up. I’m the girl who’s really, really good at adapting to bad wallpaper and ignoring the fake bricks that keep falling off the wall.

But here we are – homeowners about to move into our own home.

And it’s so dear to be able to bring you along on the journey with us. Because so many of you have walked through our many years as reluctant renters with us.

And yesterday Peter drove the hour from our rental house to our new house to check on the painting that’s going on there and he texted me photos so I could see the updates.

And it was so fun.

I may have snuck out of church so I could just sit in the quiet foyer and look at the photos and chat back and forth with him about this house that we are so surprisingly making our own.

This house that is the answer to prayers that we didn’t know we were even allowed to pray.

I mean, good grief, who knew white paint could be such a game changer!

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I know 1 million people have probably already written about it. And that I’m the girl who usually writes about motherhood.

But this is me simply getting up the same kind of courage it takes for me to walk into Home Depot and saying out loud, “I’m gonna write about it too.”

This is me consciously giving myself permission to be 1,000,0001th person to write about what a game changer white paint is. And to share the photos with you. The blurry imperfect photos as we move into this season of making our first house a home. (More about that tomorrow).

For now I hope you’ll come along with me as I dabble in a home décor post every now and again. Although we won’t call them that. We’ll call them a “your house is not the boss of you” posts. As I learned last week when I painted my first piece of furniture, ever.

And I hope that maybe I can encourage those of you who are like me. Those of you who have been afraid of their houses for years, to simply begin.

So this is me. Beginning on a new house and some new kinds of writing over here.

I hope you’ll come with me.

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