Hey there! I’m Mikala—a family doctor, wife, mother of 5, well-being advocate, and author of the books Ordinary on Purpose and Everything I Wish I Could Tell You About Midlife. Each month my writing reaches millions of women, but I am thrilled to be connecting with YOU. I’m truly grateful to have you here!
You are loved and adored. You are valuable and worthy. Simply because you are YOU…and you are HIS.
It turns out our happily ever after looks a bit different from the one I envisioned…
Me. Family. Good friends. Connection. Real food. Nature. Pets. Comfortable footwear. Fresh baked bread. Long walks around the path behind my house. My tattered bible while soaking in a warm tub before bed.
The Christmas Story isn’t about twinkly lights or making merry. And though the promises are everywhere, it’s not about making it ‘simple’ either. Not really.
Homes are not meant for tricking people into believing you have money or have it all together or you’re perfect, somehow, by being big and fabulous and stylish and organized and well-decorated.
I don’t think He’s keeping track, and I just don’t think He’s keeping score.
I did my best to silence the teeny little voice that whispered, “You must not be doing this right!”
I’m giving myself the time and grace and space to wonder. I’m giving myself some time to just…BE. And I’m calling it my Grace Period.
That’s what I’m supposed to say, but it’s not what I’m thinking as you begin kindergarten.
Keeping track of the ordinary little details of this family is the greatest privilege of my life. And if the tiny details of childhood matter to them, then they matter so much to me because that’s how they feel secure and loved.
It’s the first time in my life I’ve done something just for me. Just...because. It’s the first time in my life I’ve done something not because I should do it, but because I want to.
Today I feel sad. Maybe it’s because I took my youngest to kindergarten round-up and there are only a few more months until ALL my kids will be in school.
Maybe He always meant for me to do motherhood as an imperfect human attempting to raise other imperfect little humans in a world full of trials and tragedies.
There is so much to do, yes. I know so often I’m moving too fast. But I don’t ever want to be too busy or stressed or distracted or overwhelmed that I forget to notice it all as it passes.
Trust me. You’re doing great! You are an amazing parent! Just keep showing up.
Won’t you grab my hand? Let’s decide to live and breathe and work and love wherever God has placed us. And let’s share our one precious, beautiful, ordinary life . . . together. I’ll be me. You be you.
When the marriage ends, when the child dies, when the terminal diagnosis comes, when war is declared—what people long for is ordinary.
I turn to the pile of backpacks on the floor. Markers and artwork scattered across the counter. Cartoons calling from the other room. Another stack of dishes piled up in the sink.
