My Bones Are Stirring

Waking up to the work God already placed in my hands.

I have a confession.

Lately, I’ve felt a deep stirring in my bones. One of those heart pressing urges that calls to change everything inside you. And when you ignore it, the ugliest parts of you start leaking out in all directions.

If I had to put words to it, they would be:

It’s time to do something different.

But the way it’s been coming out?

Yelling at my husband

Resenting the home I live in.

Grieving how far behind I feel.

Feeling like I’m drowning in all of it.

I’m ten months postpartum, and it feels like I’m just now crawling out of the fog. The last year and a half has been survival: pregnancy, birth, learning how to be a mom, learning how to be this version of me. And a lot has fallen through the cracks in the process.

I spent years learning how to regulate my nervous system, only to have it completely rewired and attuned to my baby. I used to work hard at keeping things together, creating beauty and order in my home. I tried to steward what I had with care and intention.

But then the yard got torn up, the trees seeded and sprouted, and a tiny toddler tornado barreled through and I couldn’t keep up.

So, I focused on what mattered most: our daughter. I let the rest slip.

Then, a couple of months ago, the Lord gave me a verse to sit with in the quiet of the morning:

“If someone does not know how to manage his own household, how will he care for God’s church?”

—1 Timothy 3:5

That landed like a stone in my chest.

For too long, I’ve been running on fumes. I used to think that one day, I’d just feel like an adult. That some switch would flip and everything would fall into place. I remember asking a mentor, “When will I finally feel grown up?” Some part of me believed maturity would arrive fully formed, that I’d wake up inspired and all the responsibilities would feel less heavy. But what I’m realizing now is that the more responsibility doesn’t wait for us to feel ready.

And what I hear God saying in this season is:

The more comes now, and it comes with choice.

We don’t stumble into discipline. We choose it. We partner with the grace already given to us.

To expect growth without effort is folly.

But this isn’t a summons to hustle or a burden to carry alone.

He never called us to live in panic, He called us to abide in His peace.

He doesn’t heap pressure, He offers rest.

And maybe rest isn’t about doing less, but doing it with Him.

So here I am, faced with a choice. I can keep complaining, waiting, praying for discipline and order like they’re things I don’t already possess. Or, I can recognize that God has already given me strength. He’s already named me. And now, in His power, I can begin to walk in it.

It’s time to get my house in order.

And like going back to the gym after a long break, I know it won’t feel good at first. Where I want to be is going to take longer than I’d like. And that alone could keep me from starting.

That’s exactly what the enemy wants: for me to be so overwhelmed by the gap that I stay stuck in defeat.

But faithfulness starts with one step.

One yes.

One dish.

One bucket of weeds.

One act of order in the chaos.

That’s where discipline begins.

Scripture says the Lord disciplines those He loves. And maybe, as my spiritual director once said, it’s not that God hasn’t been answering my prayers, it’s that I’ve been asking the wrong ones. I’ve been asking Him to do what He’s already empowered me to do.

As co-creators, we are called to bring order from chaos.

He’s placed that authority in my hands.

I just haven’t known how to wield it.

But the new has come.

The old has gone.

And this stirring in my bones?

It’s not just conviction.

It’s invitation.

It’s time to grow up.

Not in shame.

But in strength.

Not by striving.

But by choosing, again and again, to put on the new self.

To live like I’m already loved.

To move like I’m already enough.

To tend what’s mine. Not to prove anything, but because I’ve been trusted with it.

Because I’ve been entrusted.

Not with ease, but with purpose.

Not with perfection, but with grace.

God never asked me to have it all together, only to be faithful.

And in Him, I already have everything I need.

So I begin here.

Tired, overwhelmed, intimidated.

Not waiting to feel ready.

Just willing to say yes.

And that’s more than enough to begin.

Tata for now

Amanda