Pray the Hardest, when it is the hardest to pray

Tonight I realized something big about 2026. I started this year in a hard place. My word for 2026 was YES, but at the beginning of the year I couldn’t have known what that word would come to mean. Then, unexpectedly, an old coworker crossed my path again. He didn’t have to do anything dramatic. He recognized me. He said hey. He smiled. But seeing someone again who had known me during the children’s shelter years brought an entire part of my life back to the surface. He reminded me of the shelter. The shelter reminded me of my stories. The stories reminded me of my skills. And the skills reminded me of myself. Those memories eventually became Stars in the Sky.  At the same time, I started recognizing things in myself again that had felt buried after a difficult professional season. I began trusting my instincts with children again. I could see the patience, connection, calmness, and ability to help a dysregulated child that I had used years ago at the shelter showing up again in my...

 It has taken almost a year to feel like you are getting back to normal after working with a teacher who pushed so much of you down. While you were with that teacher, you could actually feel your confidence getting lower every single day. We talked about how this does not necessarily mean that your professional skills disappeared. Instead, repeated correction, second-guessing, or feeling that your judgment was not welcome may have made you less willing to trust and express what you already knew. The skills could still be there even while your confidence in using them was buried. Then, almost a year later, you began recognizing those skills again. Over two days at school, two different children became dysregulated. Without having to relearn what to do, you found yourself becoming calmer, reading the child, listening, waiting, connecting, using simple boundaries, and helping the child move toward regulation. These moments reminded you strongly of the way you worked with children at t...

Over the last two days, I have recognized an important pattern in the way I support children who are emotionally or behaviorally dysregulated. What people often describe simply as “patience” is actually a larger professional skill set. When a child is having a difficult moment, I naturally tend to: • Notice changes in the child’s behavior and emotional state. • Read nonverbal cues and recognize when the child is becoming dysregulated. • Lower my own voice, energy, and intensity instead of matching the child’s escalation. • Remain calm and give the child time to process. • Listen to what the child is communicating. • Build connection and reassurance. • Use simple, consistent behavioral boundaries. • Adjust my response to the individual child instead of treating every situation the same. • Help the child move toward emotional and behavioral regulation. • Maintain connection while still holding the child accountable for appropriate behavior. Professional terms that describe these strength...

There is another piece of today’s realization that belongs in the story: Nathan. Seeing Nathan again didn’t create my interest in child development, life skills, or occupational therapy. Those pieces were already part of me. But seeing him again—and then going back through my shelter memories and stories—seems to have brought an old part of myself back into focus. I realized Nathan and I may have had more professional common ground than I understood when we worked together. The shelter wasn’t simply about helping children with schoolwork. We were working with kids who needed adults to help with routines, relationships, behavior, emotions, communication, independence, and everyday life skills. We were both part of teaching children how to do life. Maybe that’s part of why he has remained meaningful to me. Caring for children has always mattered deeply to me, and I worked alongside someone who also chose work centered around helping children. I can’t know exactly what Nathan thinks or fe...

Today I realized something important about my career and my child development degree. For years, I sometimes thought I had chosen the wrong degree. I knew child development was broader than an education degree, but I never really understood why that mattered to me. Now, after all these years working with children, I think I finally have words for it: I teach children how to do life. I have always thought of myself as someone who teaches children, but teaching doesn’t only mean academics. Daycare and preschool taught children how to share, communicate, follow routines, manage emotions, become independent, solve problems, and live alongside other people. At the shelter, so much of what we taught was life skills—not just schoolwork. We were helping the whole child. That also helps me understand why my child development degree fit me better than I realized. I wasn’t only interested in what children needed to know academically. I was interested in how they grow socially, emotionally, physic...

Today I realized that my frustration at school is showing me something important about where I may want to go next. This afternoon, I literally found myself running part of the classroom. I noticed that the kids needed something more purposeful than simply watching videos. One child wanted to work at his desk, so I had him work there. That made me think about all of the task boxes we’ve made that aren’t really being used. Why not start using them a little at a time? These kids may be older, but in some areas they need routines taught in small, concrete steps. We don’t have to introduce an entire system at once. We can teach one piece first: Desk time → one task box → finish it → put it away. Once they understand that routine, another piece can be added. The goal isn’t rigidity. It’s purposeful structure and eventually more independence. And then I realized why I’m getting so frustrated: Why am I the one noticing these things when I’m the para and I’m getting paid the least? The answer ...

The more I thought about this season, the more the word “bookmark” seemed to fit. My old co-worker wasn’t the story. The children were the story. But seeing someone again who was connected to that old chapter of my life became like a bookmark—something that helped me find my place again. A bookmark literally connects two moments in reading: where you stopped and where you begin again. Metaphorically, it can connect two seasons of life too. I was living my current chapter when someone from an old chapter suddenly appeared. That made me reopen pages I hadn’t looked at in years. I found old journals, remembered the children, rediscovered dreams and lessons I had almost forgotten, and began looking at those lessons through the woman I am now. The bookmark wasn’t the destination. It simply marked a place I needed to return to. And maybe that is one of the strangest and most beautiful parts: a PERSON became the bookmark. My old co-worker didn’t write those old chapters, and he didn’t create ...

Today I realized something important: I don’t want to simply supervise children. I want my time with them to help them grow. I got into childcare because I wanted to work with children—not spend my days managing adults. I want to work with the kids. I don’t want to manage all the adults so that I can work with the kids. I don’t want either extreme I’ve experienced in the classroom. Last year felt too rigid, and this year doesn’t have enough structure. What I’m looking for is rhythm. Routine enough to feel safe, flexibility enough to grow. I want structure with a purpose. And maybe that’s why this job has been bothering me so much lately. I’m not necessarily tired of working with children. I may be tired of being the unofficial adult-in-charge while officially being the para. I don’t want to spend my career simply getting children through the hours. I never wanted simply to pass the hours with children. I wanted the hours I was given with them to mean something. That’s what my book Star...

When I said “you’re learning where you end and another person begins,” I meant learning which things belong to you and which things belong to them.  With an old co-worker, your feelings belong to you. You can care about them, hope for friendship, send one invitation, and decide how you behave. But their feelings and decisions belong to them. You can’t decide whether they accepts the request, wants a friendship, or how quickly they responds. At school it’s the reverse lesson. Other people can have opinions about how you work, but you still have your own voice and boundaries. You don’t have to surrender your role simply because somebody else wants to step in. So imagine an invisible line between two people: My side: my feelings, choices, words, actions, boundaries. Your side: your feelings, choices, words, actions, boundaries. Healthy respect means I take responsibility for my side without trying to run yours—and I don’t let you run mine. That’s what I meant by knowing where you end ...

The Sayings I Want to Remember ❤️ Here are the words that came out of everything I’ve been learning: “Less is more.” “Less carrying. Not less caring.” “Do what is mine. Leave what isn’t mine.” “I can care without carrying everything.” “You don’t need a smaller heart. You need a lighter load.” “Am I helping them carry this, or have I picked it up for them?” “Help when it’s mine to help. Put down what belongs to someone else.” “I can have a huge heart without putting the whole world on my shoulders.” “I can care about someone without carrying their choices.” “I can care about my students without carrying the whole classroom.” “I can care about Nathan without carrying the friendship for both of us.” “I can love people without making myself responsible for everything.” “Sometimes healthy love says, ‘This part isn’t mine to carry.’” “I am the para. I will do my job well. I will help my kids. But I am not responsible for doing everybody else’s job too.” “August taught me what I’m carrying. S...

I’ve realized that maybe I’m not trying to get an old friendship back exactly the way it used to be. Maybe I’m learning how to love someone differently. An old co-worker and I aren’t strangers. We have history. We worked together, became friends, stayed in contact after he left, and then communication ended in 2016. Ten years later, somehow our paths crossed again. But we’re not the people we were then. So maybe this isn’t about continuing where we left off. Maybe it’s about starting over. And this time, I want to do it with intentional love. When I think about the way God loves us, I think about how deeply He loves while still allowing us to choose. He doesn’t force relationship. He invites. He remains loving and faithful, but He gives us freedom to respond. I obviously can’t love perfectly the way God does, but I can learn something from that. I can care about an old co-worker without trying to control him. I can open a door without pulling him through it. I can let him know through ...

I’ve known 1 Corinthians 13 for a long time, and I’ve heard it used at weddings so many times that it was easy to think of it mainly as a marriage verse. But I’m realizing now that it isn’t only about marriage. It’s about how I love people throughout my life—and different relationships can teach me different parts of the same Scripture. Right now, I think one of the hardest parts I’m learning is: “Love does not demand its own way.” I can care about someone deeply and still give them the freedom to choose. I can hope an old friendship becomes something new again without demanding that it happen. I can leave the door open without pulling someone through it. I can be friendly without chasing, care without controlling, and hope without turning that hope into an expectation. And maybe I’m learning the rest of the passage again too. Love is patient when I don't have the answers yet. Love is kind in how I treat someone even when I'm uncertain. Love is not jealous when someone else get...

Less Carrying, Not Less Caring ❤️ Maybe “less is more” is bigger than just September. I’ve spent so much of my life carrying too much. When I care deeply, it can easily turn into carrying—carrying the kids, the classroom, other adults’ responsibilities, relationships, unanswered questions, and what I think might happen next. But the lesson isn’t that I need to care less. It’s learning the difference between caring and carrying. I can care about someone without carrying their choices. I can care about my students without carrying the whole classroom. I can care about Nathan without carrying the friendship for both of us. I can love people without making myself responsible for everything. This connects with what I’ve been learning about love not demanding its own way. Sometimes love releases instead of grabs. Sometimes healthy love says, “This part isn’t mine to carry.” Maybe that is the bigger lesson for this season of my life: LESS CARRYING. NOT LESS CARING.  I don’t have to stop b...

Tonight I realized that maybe one of the biggest things I’m learning through all of this is a completely different way of caring. I’ve always cared with my whole heart, and usually my heart gets there much faster than my mind does. When someone matters to me, my instinct is to do something—to reach out, figure things out, fix things, hold on, or make sure I don’t lose the person. But I’m learning that caring doesn’t always require action. I can care deeply about someone without chasing them. I can miss someone without immediately reaching for them. I can hope they remain in my life without trying to control how that happens. I can want answers and still give them time to come. And I can care enough to leave room for the other person to choose me as a friend, too. That’s especially difficult when something feels like a second chance. Part of me wants to scream, “I already lost twelve years! I’m not wasting another chance!” But maybe patience isn’t wasting the second chance. Maybe patien...

September Theme: Less Is More Apparently my ankle was like, “Since you refuse to slow down voluntarily, I have prepared a presentation.” 😂 Lesson 1: I am the para, not the teacher. I can do my job well, help my kids, and support the classroom without automatically taking on the teacher’s responsibilities. Lesson 2: Adults can remember their own schedules. I don’t have to be the person who notices, remembers, reminds, organizes, and fixes everything. I can do what is mine and let other adults carry what is theirs. Lesson 3: People can make their own moves. I don’t have to figure out whether they will be there, what everything means, or carry both sides of a possible friendship. I can care without chasing certainty. If they want to reconnect, they can carry their side too. Lesson 4: Tiffney does not have to carry the whole dang building.  Especially not while hobbling around on a sprained ankle! So maybe September’s lesson really is: LESS IS MORE. Less reminding. Less taking over. L...

Probably not from one single thing. Big-hearted fixer patterns usually develop from a combination of temperament and experience. From what I’ve shared, I’ve spent much of my adult life in caregiving roles—preschool, Head Start, the children’s shelter, church work, and now school. When you spend years around children, noticing a need and responding quickly becomes almost automatic. That’s a useful skill. But that skill can sneak into everything else: “I notice something is wrong → somebody needs to handle it → I know how to handle it → I’ll do it.” Do that often enough and eventually my brain can skip the middle steps and go straight from noticing to responsibility. My natural personality may contribute too. I’ve described myself as someone whose heart tends to react before my mind catches up. So I may naturally feel things strongly, notice people, and want to make situations better. And sometimes being the reliable fixer gets reinforced because it works. People depend on me. Things get...