All I Need is a Little Bit of Coffee and a Whole Lot of Jesus

misty krasawski

This phrase resurfaces once in awhile, and always makes me giggle. While we’re all certain theologically that we should be able to live without the coffee, daily experience tells me each morning as I pour a cup, that it’s better with it!

It’s still dark outside when the cream begins to swirl into the dark and the familiar scent makes its way to my sleepy nose, kittens purring and wrapping around my legs as I make my way gingerly to the living room in the still darkness. For many years, this has been my ritual, a nearly-each-and-every-morning sight reserved for the slowly rising sun as he peeks into the window and the occasional early rising child as he or she peeks around the hallway corner. One of the little boys used to sometimes wake very early and climb up onto the couch to join me, whispering, “You doin’ your Bible tuddy, mama?” It was such a habit that every time he saw me with a book, he asked the same question—even if it were a cookbook on my knee!

Finding time to spend with God can be a challenge, can’t it?

5 Ways to Fall Back in Love With Your Husband

5 Ways to Fall Back in Love With Your Husband

guest
Faith, The BetterMom Updates, Marriage/Relationships

I was sitting in a hotel room on a king-sized bed at a conference.

I was sitting there alone, not minding being alone, wishing that I missed him.

Wishing I missed the man I’d been married to for eleven years and forgetting what the touch of his hand felt like. His calloused, farm-boy hand, the one that found me across the duvet those three years I relapsed into anorexia and sleeping pills, the one which fed me ice chips as I birthed two miracle boys, the one which always gave me the first strawberry of the season from our garden.

And I crawled onto the king-sized mattress then, stretched out across the miles of bed and cried.

When Mom Struggles With Unforgiveness

When Mom Struggles With Unforgiveness

Carlie Kercheval

I remember growing up and watching the tumultuous relationship my mom had with my grandmother. It was the type of thing that would have my head in a tail spin - watching two women whom I loved and both loved me dearly - treat one another so poorly. When I was young, I had no idea what the problem was. But by the time I turned 8 or so, I had figured out where all that ugly was coming from: unforgiveness. I was certain at a very young age that I didn't want to have that type of relationship - or rather lack thereof - with my children.

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