"If the God you believe in as an idea doesn’t start showing up in what happens to you in your own life, you have as much cause for concern as if the God you don’t believe in as an idea does start showing up. It is absolutely crucial, therefore, to keep in constant touch with what is going on in your own life’s story and to pay close attention to what is going on in the stories of others’ lives. If God is present anywhere, it is in those stories that God is present. If God is not present in those stories, then they are scarcely worth telling." ~ Frederick Buechner

28 May 2014

Were You A Blessing?

Whenever we dropped B off at his class on Sunday mornings or with a babysitter for our life group, I would call out, "Have fun!" Then, when we picked him up, the first question I would ask was, "Did you have fun?"

But then it occurred to me that life isn't really just about having "fun" all the time, is it?

So I've revised my statements. Now, I remind him to "be a blessing" to his friends and teachers, and when we pick him up, I inquire, "Were you a blessing?"

Recently, as B and I were cuddling at bedtime, I had the sudden thought that he is a blessing to me, each and every day.

From taking dishes to the sink after meals without being prompted, to telling me he "really, really" loves me, to picking up a potted plant at the grocery store and insisting to N that he needed to buy it for me, to never failing to make his little sister smile ... B is a daily blessing to our family.

Last night, as I was reading to B at bedtime, he interrupted me nonchalantly, "Oh, there it is. That was bothering my nose for a while."

And then he hands me this:
Because one of the biggest ways B blesses us?

He keeps us laughing.


25 May 2014

Saying "Yes," Because I Am a Beautiful, Wonderful Child of God

Once in a while, on Sundays after church, we go to Hmart to get food items we can't find in our regular grocery store. We'll usually have lunch in the food court there, and if B does a good job, he gets to have frozen yogurt (and I get a sweet potato latte, which isn't nearly as weird as it sounds and is super yummy).

I had been struggling with a bad case of the grumps off and on all morning. On the drive home, with our two drowsy children sitting quietly in the back, I looked over at N and smiled sheepishly. He reached over and patted my leg as I said, "Thanks for loving me in my mess."

He laughed and replied, "I always love you."

If that isn't a perfect example of how Jesus loves us, I don't know what is.

Soon after little Ben Sauer died, someone posted this on the Blue4Ben FB page:
This image has stayed with me over the past couple weeks, as I've been thinking a lot about heaven and Jesus. I love the look of delight and humor on Jesus' face and the complete, unquestioning trust on the part of the little boy.

It recently occurred to me that, before these past couple years, I don't think I really understood what it meant to be fully and divinely loved in my messed up, human condition. And, not only does He love me, He delights in me, just as we delight in our small children.

Throughout the early years of getting to know Jesus, I was influenced by the Christian community around me. I went to a small, private high school in west Africa run by career missionaries and their organizations. It was difficult to not feel like an outsider if your parents weren't part of that community, no matter how involved you were as a student. And that's a hard way for a teenager to begin her walk with God.

Then I left home, flew across the Atlantic to college (again, a small, Christian school), thousands of miles away from all that was familiar. It was probably the best way for me to be introduced to America, but again, even with an incredible circle of friends, I couldn't ever fully shake the feeling of not belonging, of not being good enough to be in the metaphorical "club" of Christianity. I didn't come from the right sort of family, with the right sort of heritage, with the right sort of connections.

When N and I got married, we lived in an area that was very non-transient. People didn't move in and out of that community very much, and so most people had generations' worth of roots. We called that place "home" for nearly six years. It was where we began our life as a married couple (and then as young parents).

We never quite felt like we belonged.

This morning, our pastor said, "Year after year, our church becomes increasingly diverse, and I love that. Because heaven will be the most diverse place we've ever been, with people from all over the place, with all sorts of backgrounds. And this is good, because this is a taste of what heaven will be like."

And it dawned on me. We BELONG! Finally, we belong, just as we are, different but the same, still broken, still not fully fixed, still figuring out what it means to follow Jesus wholeheartedly in our daily mess.

There is a Japanese pottery term, kintsukuroi, which means "to repair with gold."

(And lest I lead you astray, let me clarify that I'm Korean, not Japanese.)

The pottery is deliberately broken and then put back together using liquid gold, and the results are stunningly beautiful. You still see where the fractures were, but the pieces are whole.
Previously, I never felt like it was truly okay to reveal all my fractures, much less show them off for Jesus' glory, for fear of being judged, or worse, told that I wasn't welcome to be a part of Jesus' family. I knew Jesus accepted me, but I never felt fully convinced that His people (as a whole) genuinely did, and for an overachiever, that is a bitter pill to swallow over and over again.

A few weeks ago, at my MOMS group, the speaker (one of our beloved mentor moms) spoke of how she reminds her grandchildren every time she sees them, that they are each "a beautiful, wonderful child of God." I have made a habit of asking B every night, as I cuddle with him in his almost-too-small toddler bed, "Who are you, B?"

Each night, he confidently responds, "A wonderful chy-uld of God" (notice how he adapted it, because "gurl-las are beautiful and boys are handsome").

I say, "That's right!"

Oh, but that it would be as easy for us to believe this incredible truth as it is for my three-year old!

One of the beautiful Titus 2 women in my life is Diane, who was my Bible study leader in high school and who has continued to be a welcome presence in my life, is so faithful to send me a card on my birthday and Christmas, every single year. My favorite part of receiving correspondence from Diane is that she always picks a portion of Scripture to share.

1 John 3:1 is one of the verses among the many she has shared with me over the years, but it is one that has meant much to me.

Lavish love.

Sumptuous, rich, luxurious love.

Generous, bountiful, openhanded, unsparing, extravagant love.

Love that can not only handle my mess, all our messes, but covers them all, and invites us to be a part of the story anyway.

At our MOMS leadership celebration dinner, we were each gifted this:
I put it in our living room, where I see it multiple times a day. And I make myself read it, so I will remember that I belong, that we all belong, because we are called children of God, absolutely adored, in our mess.

And that, because we are so loved and cherished, that we are fully able to love in turn. Before our move here (with a few exceptions), I said "Yes" to ministry because I thought that's how I "earned my keep," so to speak, with Jesus' family. I felt like I was asked to serve because I worked hard not to show my cracks and fractures, because people knew me only by what was "church-acceptable."

Then, not even five months after we began attending our church, I received a phone call inviting me to be a part of the beautiful group of women who serve in the MOMS ministry. We had yet to share our news of my pregnancy with our Little Lady, but I felt it was only fair to let the leadership team know before I said, "Yes."

They laugh at me when I say this, but ... they wanted me anyway. I think they were more confident in how I would do as a leader than I was. Truth be told, that confidence gave me the inspiration to do the best job I could this year in my role, to make sure I didn't miss a single MOMS meeting (except for the week right after A was born). And you know what the funny thing is about saying "Yes" to God? It's that when we do, we are blessed in return. I love the beautiful friendships I made with the women at my table, the mentor moms, and with the other leaders.
I know I keep talking about this book, but Rhinestone Jesus, by Kristen Welch, is about just that, having the courage to say "Yes" to Jesus and watching Him work through you. It's about loving people in their mess, with hands held open, because Jesus loves us first in our mess. If you haven't picked up a copy yet, please do. I love Kristen's unabashed honesty, her willingness to say "Yes" to Jesus, even if it means being "weird" and not fitting in with the status quo. Plus, this book is about Africa, and you all know how I feel about my heart-home.
I love how she reminded me through her book that I am a beautiful, wonderful child of God. We all need the reminder that we are precious to somebody, that someone delights in who we are, regardless of our mess.

And because of that identity, I am worthy of saying "Yes" to Jesus.

*I received a free copy of Rhinestone Jesus from Kristen as a thank you for allowing her to share a small story about my involvement with The Mercy House, but all praises for her book are mine. Seriously, buy it. Read it.

20 May 2014


 B had a hard day at the playground this morning. And I don't mean "hard day" like he was acting up.

A friend generously gave him a toy airplane to keep after B asked if he could play with it. If you know anything about B, you know he adores airplanes. He always has, even when he was just a year and a half. Moving to this area was delightful to him in that aspect, because our proximity to DFW means that there are always planes to see in the sky (thankfully, not flying low enough for us to hear them). Needless to say, B was thrilled, and he happily zoomed that airplane around the playground.

After a while, I noticed that there was a crowd of boys around B, and in a few seconds, I noticed that a little blond boy was holding B's new airplane. I smiled, glad that B was doing a great job sharing.

But then the airplane disappeared, and B came and quietly sat in my lap, which is a rarity. I asked him what had happened to it. He kind of shrugged; soon thereafter, I saw him confidently walk up to one of the moms of the boys and say something to her. He walked away, and halfway back to where I was sitting, his face just broke and he began sobbing. I gathered him in my arms and asked what had happened. He was crying too hard to explain, and I looked up to see the mom rushing over to me.

"Is that your plane? I'm so sorry, my youngest son has one just like it, and when we saw your son holding it, we thought it was ours. And he was so sweet to give it to my son when we asked for it back earlier." Then, turning to B, she asked, "Would you come with me so I can give it back to you?"

I explained to my heartbroken little boy that it was all a mistake and asked if he would like to go with the lady to get the plane back. He sniffled, nodded, and retrieved the plane, but he came back and sat in my lap again. I don't think he wanted to play after that (I think he was concerned someone else was going to take his new toy away), but after some snacks, I encouraged him to go play.

He ran around with a couple older buddies, but after a while, I began noticing that every time B got near them, the boys would tell him to go away because he was "too little" and run away. My resilient little guy persisted in chasing them around, which left me torn between being proud of him and sad for him.

And then a younger kid hit him, and he got a small scrape on his hand (which wasn't a big deal, because fortuitously, I had packed bandaids in my bag this morning, and bandaids make everything better).

Through all of this, he maintained a pretty good attitude, and as we all left the park for nap time, he cheerfully waved goodbye to all our friends and thanked the buddy that had given him the airplane again.

But then on the car ride home, he asked why the boys were mean to him.

Parenting is not for the faint of heart, my friends.

My natural human tendencies wanted to just brush it off as "people can be mean," but I know that's not the answer. And I know babying him is not the answer either, because the world can be an unkind place, and he has to learn to be resilient and joyful despite that. So we talked about how everyone has hard days sometimes, about forgiving people who are mean to us, and being kind in return, regardless of how they treat us. I told him I was proud of how he conducted himself and for how he didn't retaliate when he was hit.

He told me that he still had a pretty good time at the park.

I know I've written in the past about how I learn my own lessons when I think I'm teaching my child. This was one of those moments, because, let's face it. If something that belonged to me was taken away, I would be angry and indignant. If friends excluded me and told me I wasn't welcome, I would be heartbroken and wouldn't trust them again with my heart. If someone hurt me physically, I would probably never spend time with them again. As I was speaking the words to my son, the Lord brought to mind a situation that had been grating on my nerves. He asked, "Are you going to release that situation to me and forgive her, even though she was thoughtless and unkind to you?"


My little boy fell asleep as we turned down our street. This also rarely happens. I sat in the driveway for a few minutes, looking at his tired face, remembering how "just yesterday," he was my innocent baby, with no concept of the brokenness of this world.

Henri Nouwen said, "Our life is full of brokenness -- broken relationships, broken promises, broken expectations. How can we live with that brokenness without becoming bitter and resentful, except by returning again and again to God's faithful presence in our lives?"

I tucked B in for his nap holding the surprise airplane gift from his buddy, and I'm thankful for the resiliency of children, how easily they forgive and how they don't hold grudges. I hope that someday, God's faithful presence will offer the same comfort to my boy's heart when the world is mean as that airplane is giving him today.

18 May 2014

Waiting for This to Stop Being Yucky

You guys, God keeps rocking my world (and my heart) here in Texas, and although it is making me uncomfortable, I like it. I'll be writing more about it over the next few weeks as I go through Rhinestone Jesus (which by the way, I'm in, so if you know me, you should buy it and read it).

Just kidding.

I mean, I really am in it, but you shouldn't buy it just because of that. You should buy it because it will rock your world. Like Kisses from Katie rocked my world. Like One Thousand Gifts rocked my world.

But let me back up.

You all know by now that our hearts have been touched and changed (as have so many) by Ben Sauer. That little boy accomplished more for the kingdom of God in the five short years that he was here on earth than many people do with 70+ years. I am so profoundly grateful to his incredible, faith-filled mama for allowing thousands of people, many of them complete strangers, into their story, a story that continuously glorified God, regardless of the circumstances.

I've been thinking a lot about my own relationship with God, and I had to face the ugly truth that I didn't know for sure that I would be so rock steady in my faith if He chose to call one of my children home sooner than later. Which probably means that I wouldn't be steady at all.

It's always hard to come face to face with ourselves, isn't it?

And as I've been reflecting on that, I received my copy of Rhinestone Jesus in the mail from Kristen. As I began reading her stories, some of which were familiar since I follow her blog and others completely new, I grew increasingly uncomfortable.

Because I was being reminded of the girl I used to be. The girl I really still am, at my core. The girl who got buried under the daily mess and struggle of motherhood and life in general.

Last night, N and I had a conversation about vacations. He mentioned that he would like to take me to Hawaii one day. We sort of laughed about it (because right now, it's not even a pipe dream). Then this afternoon, in a rare moment of quiet togetherness (because, let's face it, the to-do list is a mile long, and then some), I sat in his lap at the dining room table, and we heart-talked.

I said, a bit hesitantly, because I didn't want to sound ungrateful for his desire to take me on a vacation (something we have never done to date), "You know what, honey? If we did have the money to go on a real vacation, I don't know that I would want to go. Because I think I would be spending the whole time thinking about all the people we could have helped with that money, whose lives we could have changed. And it just doesn't feel like it's worth it."

Without missing a beat, my sweet husband replied, "That's my Hannah. That's my Hannah who I fell in love with and married."

My eyes filled with tears as I realized that I haven't allowed THAT Me out in a long time. I've been so selfishly consumed with all my needs in this season of exhaustion that it has been all too easy to not think too hard about those with much, much less.

It's hard to live in a way that allows for immediate "Yeses" to happen when God calls, to hold everything loosely.

I can't even begin to express how my heart-home of Africa is always on my mind, even when I'm not specifically thinking about it. For example, shopping and fashion isn't pleasurable for me, because I'm always wondering where those clothes are being made and at whose expense they are being sold for at such low prices.

And I think of the woman we bought our vegetables from in Cameroon, living in her little hut constructed of aluminum sheets and mud with her five children, raising those babies on her own. I feel guilty for not wanting to go through the trouble of growing any vegetables in my backyard garden, because I don't want to be bothered with going out there to water in the midsummer Texan heat.

I struggle with teaching my children gratitude, because we live in a relatively affluent area, and it's hard to continually fight the battle of not keeping up with the Joneses.

Tonight, B was poking at his dinner, and I asked him what he was doing.

"I'm waiting for this to stop being yucky," he replied.

I struggled between a desire to laugh and an urge to lecture him about being grateful (especially since I had cooked and served something he had requested).

Then I realized, this is how I am with God. I ask Him to grow me and stretch me and use me. But then I sit there in my comfort zone, only doing minimal things, not really having the courage to take the leap of faith to live a radical, sold out, free-of-baggage life for Him. And at the root of it, I'm really saying, "I'm waiting for my life circumstances to stop being yucky, and then I can help do Your work in this world."

How selfish is that?

And how faith-less is that?

B ate his entire bowl of dinner. He even liked it.

I want to rediscover that girl inside, the one who said "Yes" to God when He called me to come to America from Africa, leaving behind my home and my family. The one who said "Yes" when He called me to Virginia after college, even though there was no earthly, logical reason for me to go there (I now know, among other reasons, it was so I could meet my husband). I know from past experience that when I obey God, even when it seems like the path He's calling me on is yucky (uncertain and out of my control), in the end, I will like it.

15 May 2014

God Loves Us Every Time

I recently told a friend that I was never an insecure person who worried much about what other people thought ... until my boy turned two and began having (and voicing) his opinions, becoming increasingly more energetic, and ... well, BOYish!

Photo credit: Jessica Ferris
This morning, we had a play date with friends at a local sand playground/splash park. B and I had a talk in the car on the way there about not throwing or kicking sand at other children, the etiquette of sharing toys, and obeying Mommy. When we got there, the playground was empty, and since A was asleep in the stroller, B and I enjoyed a rare half hour of play time, just the two of us. We built towers and he drove his Tonka truck around them.

But then other children showed up, and between the sand-kicking, the navigation of toy sharing, and one spiteful little girl (no one we knew), I really thought we were going to end up going home early.

Photo credit: our new friend, Tara
I am so glad we didn't.

Because at the end of our time there, he had made friends with a little boy named Samuel. The two of them ran around the splash pad, happy as can be, and they even took to standing in the middle of the biggest fountain when it was paused, holding one another around the waist to brace themselves against the strong spray of water. It was so cute, and I really wish I had gotten a photo.

I talked to Samuel's mom, and it turns out, her husband is the youth pastor at another friend's church. Small world. Would it be awkward to FB-stalk someone you just met, just because your little boy can't stop talking about his "new buddy I meeted today"? 

Because we got home quite a bit past B's regular nap time (and all the water/sun fun), B napped almost until dinner time. When he asked to go grocery shopping with me tonight, I said yes. N raised his eyebrows and said, "If you text me from the store, I'm just going to tell you I'm praying for you."

But B did amazingly. He sat quietly in the cart as I got my passport photo taken at the pharmacy. He didn't complain much after he got chewed up by a single mosquito as I was filling my car with gas. And as we were walking up and down the aisles at the grocery store, I realized that this is the first time that I've been alone with B since A was born. I had to restrain myself from giving him kisses every few minutes, just delighting in it being just us for a little while.

And then, as always, I was in the checkout line forever, because ... WIC.

The manager had to come and itemize everything, as I stood there and apologized repeatedly to the angel of a woman and her teenager daughter who had the misfortune of being in line behind me. She kept responding that it was okay. What mercy! Not only that, B sat quietly through the entire ordeal, other than informing me with increasing urgency that he needed to go potty. But he held it, and we rushed to the potty after we finally got checked out.

As I started up the car, the stress (and, let's be honest, embarrassment) from grocery shopping caught up to me, and tears fell. I tried to discreetly wipe them away, but my perceptive and compassionate little boy noticed from the back.

"It's okay, Mama. God loves us every time."

Oh, my heart.

"Yes, yes, He does, buddy."

"I love you a lot, Mommy. You feel better now?"

The Lord knew that I needed some extra tender moments with my own little boy after learning of little Ben Sauer's home-going to heaven yesterday.

And boy, did He deliver today.

Photo credit: Jessica Ferris :)

11 May 2014

A Mother's Day Catch-Up Post

I just love these two little faces!
Today was Mother's Day here in America, and my guys did a fantastic job making it a terrific weekend.

But let me back up, because I'm due for a catch up.

One of the best factors of being involved in a moms ministry is the access to ideas and information that are perfectly relevant to my current life stage. My church's MOMS Connection group has a FB page that provides an easy forum for posting articles, asking for help/advice, and even funny motherhood jokes. A few weeks ago, someone posted this article. As soon as I saw the title and the first photo, I knew it would be perfect for us. "Words of Affirmation" is my primary love language, so N has always done his best to write me cards and letters.

On the other hand, pretty cards are overpriced and I have a little bit of an obsession with beautiful journals. Anyway, I texted the link to N and then sort of forgot about it, because my memory is good like that these days.

Unbelievably, this past Thursday was our last MOMS meeting for the year, and as per tradition, it was our "Tea & Testimony" gathering. Our mentor moms decorate the tables beautifully and provide a lovely brunch.

We get to dress up, wear hats, and a speaker shares her faith journey. It is, hands down, one of my favorite meetings of the year, although it's bittersweet, because it's also the last meeting of the year.

The beautiful women at my table this year. We missed Kara, Danelle, and Rachael!
This year's speaker was my beautiful friend Rachael, and although I won't go into her story (since it's not mine to share), I'll just say that she was incredibly brave to share it with over a hundred women.

B worked hard on his thank you gifts for his teachers at MOMS. He picked out the paint and ribbons himself.
Our wonderful mentor moms praying before "Tea & Testimony"
So for Mother's Day weekend, I had requested some alone time for Saturday morning. N said that would be perfect, because he and B had Mother's Day things to do. I ran a couple errands and then went to Barnes & Noble to putter around. It has been over two years since I've taken my time perusing through a bookstore, and since I had the baby with me, I was in no rush.

As I was heading to the coffee shop so I could feed A, I heard a familiar laugh. I looked up to see my little boy running up to me, exclaiming in surprise, "Oh, HIIIII, Mommy!" and my poor husband, who was not at all expecting me to be there. 

With a wink and a smile, I quickly headed to the far corner of the coffee shop so I wouldn't be able to see what they were up to.

That afternoon, there was lots of secretive doings going on in the garage, and at one point, N said he needed to "borrow" the baby for a little while. There was one slip-up about something involving painting from B, but otherwise, I had no idea what was going on out there. For all I knew, they were building me a bird feeder!

I went out to meet a few friends for dessert last night. When I got home (with a surprise dessert for my sweet husband, who had fed the children and put them to bed), I headed to bed quickly, fully expecting my husband to join me. But N said he still had things to do.

This morning, when I came out of A's room from her early morning feeding, I was handed a fresh cup of coffee by my husband. For breakfast, there were the Pioneer Woman's homemade waffles, topped with a fruit sauce that he had made the night before.

And it wasn't long before my excited little boy brought over two packages for me to open. From the label on the smaller package, I had a suspicion of what it was. I had thought it would be years before I could have one of these, because they are pricey, and, let's face it, raising a family on one income is HARD.

When I opened it, it was even more beautiful than I had expected, especially because I know N thought long and hard about getting it.
As much as I love my new necklace, it was the bigger package that completely floored me. You see, I really had forgotten about the whole Mother's Day journal thing. Also, I'm pretty particular about journals. I like them beautiful but not overly girly. And I prefer them to be unlined.

Well, not only had N remembered and gotten me a journal, he had personalized it.
I later found out that he had spent copious amounts of time on Pinterest researching ideas for utilizing our children's footprints. He had also been on calligraphy sites so he could get my initials just right.

You guys.

I seriously think I fell a little bit more in love with my husband this weekend.

Anyway, the rest of the day was great. Church was incredible. Jeff has been going through our church's "DNA Statements," and today's was "This is not our party." Essentially, he talked about how we have the privilege of being the servants at the King's dinner party, and we get to invite as many people as we can to come. He talked about giving up our preferences for the sake of others and neatly tied that into Mother's Day.

I also have to mention here that we are kind of huge fans of our worship pastor. Tyrone is like no other worship leader either of us have ever known, and I've known a few pretty amazing ones. He is also the main reason we went back after visiting our church for the first time last February.

(Speaking of which, I just have to take a second and plug our worship team's first album. We went to the celebration CD release concert last Sunday and it was amazing. You can listen to a few of the songs here, and if you want to, you can buy the entire album on iTunes. Trust me. You'll love it)

After church, we went to to the hardware store so N and B could look at man stuff while I pushed A around the garden center looking at pretty flowers.

I finally found the lemon grass and Indian firewheel that I've been looking for (but still no mango calla lilies). We spent a good portion of the afternoon outside, working in the backyard, and I am so delighted with all the new pretty things growing back there. The baby robins that we've been watching for the past few weeks have taken flight, and we miss them. We also miss Papa Robin's incessant scolding every time we're out there now. We had gotten very accustomed to their company.
Indian firewheels
Purple Queens, shared by our dear neighbor Mr. David
Shasta daisies and lemongrass in the back, boxwood, autumn sage, hyacinth and miniature daffodils in the middle, and Indian firewheel in front
Another one of our neighbors generously gave us a bunch of squash seedlings that B has been diligently watering
Anyway, I'm so thankful for my little family for making this weekend extra-special for me.

And pretty much:
Happy Mother's Day! 

02 May 2014


A few weeks ago, at my 6-week post-baby check up, Dr. P mentioned that A looked a lot like her daddy. I hear that a lot about both kids, and as B gets older, he really is resembling N increasingly. A friend recently asked if it bothers me that people always say that the kids look like their father (and not me), and honestly, it doesn't, for a few reasons.
First of all, the benefit of being the non-Caucasian person in our biracial family is that our kids obviously look Asian. So to some extent, they automatically look like me.

Secondly, as the weeks go by, more people have been commenting that A looks like me. I'm pretty convinced it's mostly due to her gaining weight and filling out. Even at my slimmest, I still had what I call my chipmunk cheeks.

But most importantly, I like hearing that my children look like their father, because it reminds me that we all look like God.

A long time ago, a high school friend dedicated "More Than You'll Ever Know" by Watermark to me. It is one of the highest compliments I have ever been paid to date, and I have never forgotten how much that meant to me. There is a line in that song that goes, "Something about just being with you, when I leave, I feel like I've been near God."

And isn't that, at the root of it all, the desire of our hearts? To look so much like Jesus that when people are around us, they feel like they've been with Him?

My husband is obviously not perfect, because he's human. But he is a loyal, steadfast, hardworking, kind son of God, and he strives to love Jesus.

I love that our kids look like him. I hope that someday, their hearts will look like his, too.

Because that means their hearts will look like Jesus.

Photo Credit: Bubble Pop Photography