Showing Up, On Purpose

This weekend didn’t really end.

It stretched on. Long nights turned into early mornings. Rest was short. Half-pauses never really became sleep. From Friday morning to Sunday night, it all felt like one long, cold day. The exhaustion never had a clear end.

We waited for the weather. We waited for deliveries. We waited for trash and recycling that still haven’t come. We waited for the roads to clear and for the ice to melt enough to get by. I spent more time than I’d like to admit using a blowtorch on the walkway and driveway, just trying to claw back a bit of normal.

The van isn’t starting. Again. I suspect one of the kids has something plugged in somewhere, quietly draining it down. That’ll get sorted. It always does. I never thought my life would turn into a metaphor powered by a minivan—but here we are.

Peace, though—that disappeared without warning.

This weekend, my body reminded me that I’m getting older. Not in a dramatic way. Just in the way recovery takes longer, and pushing through costs more than it used to. I should have shown more restraint. I’m still learning that. I’m still recovering. Not just physically, but from the ongoing stress, work, ideas, and momentum that never really stop.

Saturday morning, early, my eldest son couldn’t sleep. He came into my office and asked if we could talk. We didn’t talk about anything big. Nothing earth-shattering. He just needed my presence. So we sat.

I’ve written before about the ministry of presence. This was another example of that: quiet, unremarkable, and exactly what was needed.

The weather has thrown off our schedules, and that’s been tough on the kids. I’m finding more space to breathe, feeling less exasperated, and having more patience. I’m helping them work through their feelings instead of rushing them. I’m always amazed by their maturity, but also by the times when they act much younger and just want to be loud, silly, and free.

They need those moments.
I think I need them more.

Work and school both need attention that can’t be rushed. There’s steady work to do, like schoolwork, leadership tasks, and laying foundations. I can feel that different paths are starting to come together. The goal is still the same. These are steps toward making things happen.

One thing that didn’t get touched at all this weekend was the book. And that has to be okay.

While reworking a big milestone for a class, I realized something I hadn’t really thought about: I made the honor roll for the last two semesters. And the President’s List. Getting an email from my state representative about it was humbling in a way I didn’t expect. It wasn’t loud or flashy, just grounding. It was a quiet reminder that steady work matters, even when it doesn’t feel dramatic.

Something else changed this weekend, too. Watching friends create, listening to conversations, and feeling encouragement at just the right moment all gently fanned an ember I hadn’t let go out. What I feel now isn’t excitement or permission.

It’s readiness.

Getting ready without pressure means knowing what I have is good enough. It’s not perfect. It’s not over-polished. It’s just ready. I won’t be more ready than this, and that’s okay.

So what does showing up look like this Monday?

It means getting rest when I can. It means admitting I’ve already put a lot into this week. I’m watching what happens instead of forcing the next step. I’m keeping my main goal in sight, even as I let a few things get messy before I try to fix them.

It also means not staging work for things that aren’t ready yet. I’ll be ready when it’s time. I don’t need to waste energy waiting on decisions I can’t make.

The kids are off school again today. The house is full. Life is loud. And still—

This is a grounded moment.
I’m here… on purpose.

Much love. Stay safe. Wash your damn hands.
I’ll see you next time.