Family Living: Abbott Style

  As many of you know, this year is a fairly big transition for me. I couldn’t have prayed for a better position or 6th-grade team. Truly. It has been amazing. But it has also been exhausting. Not “quite newborn baby” exhausting—but definitely exhausting. It has changed every single aspect of my life. Recently, I was reflecting on Matthew 11:28-30 (ESV): “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Now, I don’t know about you, but when I hear that Jesus' yoke is light, I sometimes wonder—are we sure He was thinking about teachers? Because, let me tell you, the load we carry doesn’t always feel light! I could be tempted to think: if I am living out God’s will in my life as a wife, mother, and teacher—why am I so tired? Didn’t He say His yoke is easy and the burden is light? As I pondered this, ...

Healing doesn’t happen overnight, and it’s not something that arrives with fireworks. It sneaks up on you—kind of like when you misplace your keys, only to realize they’ve been in your hand the whole time. It’s a destination you reach over time. At some point, I wasn’t even thinking about the journey, and then—bam!—I was there. Healed. Walking in forgiveness, freedom, and all those other things that make you feel like a functioning adult. Joy, patience, humility… you get the picture. But healing isn’t this big emotional experience. It’s the lack of emotion—the absence of bitterness, anger, and that soul-sucking sorrow. You know, the kind that used to park rent-free in your heart like it owned the place. It's like realizing you no longer care about that old wound. Not in a “frankly my dear, I don’t give a darn” kind of way (though it can feel like that), but more like, "Huh, I’m no longer chained to that pain. Praise God for peace!" Healing happens when you catch yourself...

At some point in my journey, I forgot that church leaders are flawed humans too. I have a tendency to overly respect authority for the sake of their position. I assumed, being a pastor meant that there is some how a higher spiritual connection. Consequently, I would turn off my own discernment in favor for whatever I was being instructed to do by our church leader. The person I have grown to distrust the most and the person I betrayed the most was myself.  Examples: Early in our journey, we had a small group. For the most part, I LOVED small group nights. Until we had a change of seasons. I had just had my third baby. We were living in a rental property while renovating another home ourselves. I was working on leading our developing children's ministry and feeling over my head. Ian worked afternoons so either small group would take one of only two family nights or would be when he was working, leaving me to attend alone most of the time. Our small group had roughly 10-15 small chil...

Certainly, I've expressed my aversion to hyper-spiritualized language before. It often feels contrived, lacking authenticity—a facade of piety. Perhaps it's projection. Maybe jealousy. Or it could stem from a sense of disillusionment with the Christian community. But every so often, amidst the noise, a truth resonates deeply. "There is a root and fruit connection between heart and behavior. People and situations do not determine our behavior; these things provide an occasion where our behavior reveals our hearts." - Instruments in the Redeemer's Hands I've been navigating through my anger, confronting myself in the mirror. What does this anger unveil about my own heart? Surely, they aren't as enraged with me. In fact, they probably don't spare me a second thought. If anything, they—as sincerely as they can muster—bemoan my status as an apostate. So pitiful. My fruit is anger. And too often, I'm tempted to point fingers elsewhere as the source of my...

*In Usher singing voice: This is my confession* I am angry. I am rageful. I am bitter. I am reminded over and over that anger is not necessarily a sin. But trust me, I have crossed the line into sin. I told my director that I needed to write her number on my hand so I had someone to call and bail me out. Their stupid conference had me triggered. A plagiarized conference based off their cult leader, Doug Wilson. In a building that so many faithfully gave for them to purchase. Most of those givers no longer attend. I had daydreamed about printing us all t-shirts that said "Time to trip Sally"--A play off a sermon the pastor preached about-- 'this is not saying that there is never a situation where physical force maybe the most loving thing you can do..right? Sometimes the most loving thing you can do, is maybe, actually, to use physical force. Not simply, you know, physically turning the other cheek........At the same time, if Sally is coming into church to hurt people, may...

Throughout our time in that community, I imagined many of the people in our church would be in our lives forever. I pictured attending our children’s weddings together. Specifically, to celebrate marriages to each other, if we were lucky. I wanted to make my church family, my children’s in-laws. We did lake weekends together. We cried on each other's kitchen floors. Ate at each other's dining room tables. We did life together. And not in the cliche ways church usually means. Like, we did all of life together. We went to the gym together. Our children mostly went to the same schools together. Until we all pulled them out of public schools and homeschooled them. Membership to our church was not taken lightly. It was a covenant relationship. covenant. (noun)- an agreement. A promise. Usually with God or God’s people.  In a life where I felt like I was constantly being left, I loved the security I felt in such a deep and intense relationship. A covenant. I felt like my membership ...

At the time, deciding to leave felt like the most agonizing part of the whole ordeal. In hindsight, a few years of prayer journals were filled with distressing agony over desiring direction and reconciliation.  So much turmoil and emotional pain all the time. But we were constantly told that was to be expected. Hard was good. Hard truths. And iron sharpening iron. But in reality, We were all enduring death by a thousand paper-cuts. In reality, it was spiritual abuse.  In July of 2022, I sat in a lawn chair in California. It felt like a million miles from home.  We had been traveling the US, and hadn’t been home in weeks. I sat there, eating my bowl of chili.  As wonderful as the trip has been, I started to miss home. In my reflections. I counted my blessings. Home was good. Except one thing, I had a sense of dread when I thought about church. My chest would go tight. And my body felt shaky. I craved Jesus. I craved worship. I craved devotion. Being in God’s creation,...

Grief doesn't follow a straight line. And honestly, there's not much out there about grieving the loss of a church community. I can't offer you a Biblical or scientifically backed explanation of what this type of grief should entail, but I can share my own experience: Among the waves of devastation and panic, grief first presented itself to me cloaked in bargaining. It was a familiar guise, like slipping into a well-worn hoodie, but accessorized with shame and self-loathing. The bargain was simple: "If I can just fix myself, I can go back." Years earlier, my husband and I sought counseling from a Christian therapist who understood the challenges faced by first responders. In a moment of desperation, I reached out to her again, explaining that we had stepped away from our church for the foreseeable future. I acknowledged my own role in the situation and sought guidance on how to address it. The plan was clear: six months of counseling to fix myself, then we could r...

 "You said that he left when you were around 18 months, tell me more about that." I didn't even notice my own word choice until they hung there in the air. He left. He left you.  Rapid fire, memories of being left flooded my brain.  My dad. Boyfriends in high school. My dad some more. And if his coming and going wasn't bad enough. He died. He left me forever.  Being rejected, yet clinging on so tightly, runs really really deep in my soul. I don't give up. I don't leave. I keep fighting. I keep apologizing. I keep forgiving.  Until I didn't.  Until at 34, I finally left.  But why do I still feel so abandoned? 

Productivity. Self-help. Goal setting.  Supplements. Workout programs. Macros. For my adult life, I have been a girl chasing something. I am not sure what it is. I don't esteem to come to fame. I don't esteem to have a small fortune. But I do esteem to be the very best version of my as humanely possible, to a fault. I've been changing perfection.  The harder I try, the more apparent my inevitable fallibility truly is. I am, flawed. Imperfect. Impatient. Quick to anger. Impulsive.  Year after year, I have come up with goals to try to "perfect" my life and myself. This year will be different.  This year I will stop striving (so much). I will stop goal setting. I will stop with the self-help (because I got real help). And I will just....be.  Instead if productivity, I will choose to be present. Instead of self-help, I will choose vulnerability. Instead of goal setting, I will live by the values of who I say I am.  Instead of supplements, workout programs, and ...

We sat around the kitchen table for hours, as we do on most major holidays. Laughing with overstuffed bellies. Out on the deck, a pile of bird nesting material falls to the ground. Looking up, we see where a mamma bird was attempting to build a nest on the upper side of the fan blade. She would bring nesting material, lay it on the fan, do a bit of a nesting dance--then fly off to gather more material.  Before she returned, the material would blow off, falling to the ground in defeat. Again, she would attempt her nest, do a nesting dance, and fly off again. Amidst our 8 hours of visiting, this bird continued this pattern throughout the entire day.  Never making progress.  I couldn't help but laugh, but also feel grief for the mama bird.  We attempted to redirect her efforts to an empty cool wipe container, with no success.   It got me thinking how often we come back to the same things over and over and over again.  Not making progress. How often do we ...

Growing up, I was not much of a reader.  I did go through a phase around 5th grade when I discovered smut fiction. But that is a whole other thing.  Perhaps that is why my spelling is atrocious, and my writing is elementary at best.  Many say, when you homeschool, you get an opportunity to redeem your own education.  I am finding that now. I have developed a passion for literature. So far this year I have consumed 15 books, though, audio books.  Which, I don't think will have the same impact on writing ability as actually reading the words and processing the visual language.  The problem is--I am ADHD.  Tiktok diagnosed me, so it must be fact.  I am also reading books along side my children.  These we do read in print. I have never felt less adequate then when we started taking a crack at the classics. As I stumbled through the first pages of Heidi, I realized how awful that skill is for me. I looked up the reading level for that book. 8th gr...

     For most of my life, my only “hobby” has been sports and exercise. It’s a complicated love affair which is entangled with what feels like a constant struggle with needing to be faster, stronger, leaner, skinner. It’s a hobby that brings me equal parts joy and discontentment.      This year I’ve started my first garden. A simple task of practicality has become a surprising joy and hobby. It feels like, art. There is nothing like watching something grow and flourish. The challenge of trial and error. Time spent outdoors. So many elements that have brought me an unexpected gift.

*Sigh* Many of these posts will be seemingly pointless. I have nothing profound or witty to offer.  But for the sake of exercising this muscle I am hoping to develop.  Here is goes.  If you have been following my life for some time now, you already know that we started homeschooling back in 2020. But like, before the pandemic.  You get slightly more street cred if you decided to homeschool before the pandemic, than during.  This year, we are adventuring out and trying a co-op.  The hope is to give the kiddos some enrichment and a rich atmosphere to interact with likeminded peers. It has been good. I have a lot of hope for the program.  The funny thing is, Haley and I have both had anxiety dreams surrounding co-op.  For her, she forgot to bring her presentation.  For me, the kiddos were so naughty, that I ended up quitting the co-op. In addition to it being a really awesome experience for us, I think it is challenging us in other ways as well....

Below is a narrative paper Haley wrote.  Age 10.  The Crisis When covid-19 came, the world changed. Toilet paper was hoarded, people were ill with a mysterious sickness, and sadly people were dying.It was a somber time. In March 2020, my family and I were on a vacation in Rockport , Texas. For the first week, it was the best week of my life. We went shopping and went to the beach every day! We sat outside on the front porch and did our homeschool. We were carefree.  Then the second week, I noticed my mom and dad seemed stressed. I didn’t know until a few before we left that a new sickness had arrived. Now we just stayed in the house.Occasionally we left to go to the beach .Then suddenly, all of the toilet paper and water was sold out. We thought a lock down might be coming. Shortly after we got home, we had a lock down. We had to wear masks, no church and no Y.M.C.A!   In Jan 2021, we got covid. For us, it was like the flu. It didn’t feel like a big deal at ...

 Milestones. This blog is full of milestones.  There are some milestones missing as the years have progressed and my diligence on blogging has faded.  But I wanted to be sure to write this one down.  Haley is now 10.  A decade old.  Her emotions are up and down.  I attribute it to equal parts: I am a disaster of a parent and puberty hormones.  Let me set the scene. This fall, both Haley and Owen have been playing fall ball. Ya'll life is busy with kids in sports.  Owen's coach has a son about Haley's age.  And slowly over the weeks, I have noticed them making googly eyes at one another.  They've been discussing Zelda and books, only deepening their affections for one another.  About a month ago she told me--"I don't know why but I can't stop thinking about him."  Oh girl.  One week, we overheard Haley's 'wingman' coaching her--"Take down your hair and do *this* (makes head motion making hair flow) like your hair is bl...

Let me start by going on the record and saying- I don't prescribe to the whole 'self-care' movement. Before you dismiss me as a self righteous ass-hat, hear me out.  According to a quick google search self-care is defined by " any activity that we do deliberately in order to take care of our mental, emotional, and physical health." In and of itself, that doesn't sound like such a bad thing. But there are a number of things I have done throughout the years due to my entitlement to "self-care". Hitting the gym (for HOURS a day). Nightly glass   bottle of wine. Rowdy girls' night. Social media scrolling. Netflix Binges.  After all, taking care of me helps take care of those around me.  It is a slippery slope. Tim Keller once Tweeted, " Sin isnʼt only doing bad things; it’s more fundamentally making good things into ultimate things. Sin is building your life and meaning on anything, even a very good thing, more than on God. Whatever we build our...

Today I was catching up with a friend when she thoughtfully wished me well during the month of February. Through the years, she has learned how much I loath the winter months. I tend to struggle, particularly, in January and February.  The holidays are over. It is dark all the time. And the weather sucks. I read somewhere that 2 hours of outdoor time is the new 10,000 steps. That resonated deeply.  Luckily, this year--the seasonal depression didn't hit me like years past.  Partially because, leading up to the holidays, I was already at war with my mental health. I mean, 2020, who wasn't? Since having Jackson, things--emotionally--just haven't been the same.  I dealt with some pp anxiety that I ended up seeking help for--and found SO much help and relief.   But atlas.... Lingering under the surface was something new.  Irritability. Anger. ---And like a wave, during certain parts of my hormonal cycle, that anger would over take me. In 2019, I spoke to m...

It has been awhile.   I've decided to just jump in like no time as passed and see what happens.  I am trying desperately to get my social media usage under control. Insert "The Social Dilemma"  plug here. I have every reason to delete all social media. And every excuse not to. For now, I have decided to use the season of Lent as a time to focus on moderation. I have set a screen time limit on my phone for social media. At exactly 9:45 this morning, I hit my screen time limit.  Day 3 and my resolve is already waining.  During this soul searching pertaining to my technology/social media usage  (or maybe perhaps, how it has gripped my life and started using me), I felt nostalgic for the days I would just sit down and write. Writing, second to running--I find very therapeutic.  I want to write a book. I have no idea what about.   Or what genre.  But if this is a goal that I want to take seriously, I must write and I must write often....

It is a funny thing. I often look back over the years of words poured out over the blog and laugh. So young. Naive.  Immature. Words filled the screen--gushing about raising my daughter--mostly.  Life.  Fitness.  Being a wife. Looking back, it feels like a simpler time.  While I wouldn't have thought so at the time. Now, I read and wonder-how did I get so off track? Don't get me wrong, I have experienced SO much growth over the past 9 years. But the passion for parenting that had me writing day after day after day--vanished. There are a million little things. Raising toddlers is hard. Raising two kids is hard. Raising three kids is hard. It was no longer the new thing in my life. I've been at this parenting thing for 8 years now. So many factors. But at some point, I stopped cherishing parenting and started enduring it.  For awhile now, my prayers have been asking God to give me more patience with my kids. That I could be a mom that wou...