For the first time, I contemplated beating Zora. I needed her to know that not only did she try it - she disappointed me. She scared me. She acted outside of the good sense God and intentional parenting granted her… Zora, in all of her “four and a half” years of age, lacked discernment. I’d been praying for the ability to recognize when I’m operating within or beyond God’s will, and there was my baby girl running freely in disobedience, demanding the grace I request on the daily.
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Without saying, “my reality is more than I care to process,” I neglect it by way of acutely orchestrated “reality” television. I tell my brain to take a break and allow the chaos of these self-sabotaging co-stars to comfort me. To make me feel ordered and aware. Woke, even. I’ve been seeking a place of refuge from my own thoughts, and I’m slowly learning that they should, instead, be my safety net.