Today wasn’t quiet.
But it was good.
Full of noise.
Full of kids.
Full of the kind of moments you don’t stop to write down
because you’re too busy living them.
And maybe that’s its own kind of gratitude —
not the kind you journal,
but the kind you carry in your bones.
“This is the day that the Lord has made;
let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
— Psalm 118:24 (ESV)
This morning felt like holy chaos.
My sister came with her four little ones,
and I had Beckett.
We spilled across multiple rows in the Father’s house —
passing babies from arm to arm,
slipping in and out of the pews,
quieting cries,
sharing smiles.
It was loud and unpolished,
and yet somehow,
it was perfect.
Because even here —
in the bustle and the noise,
in the interruptions and the laughter —
I could feel it:
“You prepare a table before me.”
— Psalm 23:5
Not a table set with silver and stillness,
but one overflowing with family,
with joy,
with the sacred sound of being together.
This is the feast I didn’t know I was hungry for.
And this is the house where my cup runs over.
Where I Found My Voice 