In the middle of espresso prep this morning my eldest wandered downstairs. His voice was hushed against the backdrop of my steaming wand as it worked it’s magic wonders on my coffee—a desperately needed morning routine. “Mom, do I have Jesus in my life?” The question caught me off guard. “Well, I remember the day we talked a long time about it and you wanted to pray and ask God for forgiveness. Do you remember?” He nodded, but I could tell this answer wasn’t sufficiently addressing his concern. “But mom, I still sin. Does God just leave me when I sin?” Talk about an anything but routine morning conversation. That’s…

I’ve been thinking a lot about limits lately. I don’t like to admit I have them. Limits to time, energy, patience and resources. Limits—endless limits. I feel limits close in at the end of the day when I am running on fumes. These limits press hard when my body fails and my mind falters. It is in my weakest moments that I feel limits keenly. Our world likes to persuade us that we are limitless. If we just put our mind to it we can do it. Where there is a will there is a way, right? Not always. Our attempts to live limitless try to persuade us this is…