A few weeks ago, or a lifetime maybe, I spent a few days on an island with some women and the Lord and the Word.


Studying Exodus, and the impossible story of Moses. The rescuing and the promising and all that wandering. Mistakes, misery, manna. And the disorientation and reorientation of a people, plucked from one life and given hope of another, and how they deal and struggle and fail and try again.

My story, really.

And at the end of the week, forty-some women stood and took three minutes to share the learning from the week, and the finding of themselves, and the difference it might all make in the rhythm of their lives.

So I gathered thoughts and spilled them on a page and then I stood. And I said …

This is the story of Janelle’s small and ordinary life.

It has been a very long year, full of challenges and losses and even while I feel God in the midst of it all, and while I am conscious of wanting to rest in Him, and to learn, and to seek the blessing in it all – still, it has been very hard.

I’ve connected with the Exodus story in many places. But I think that with where I am at and the year our family has experienced, I connect most deeply with that woman, way over there in the blue tent, who is but one mom among many in the desert crowd.

Were I in this story, I would be her. The woman in the blue tent, saying to her children, “Wipe your feet, boys. You’ve brought half the desert in with you.” I would be the one sharing mana recipes with her neighbour while clouds descended and mountains shook and people wondered what in the world was going on.

I would be the one just trying to make family work, day after day, in the midst of uncertainty and difficulty.

Because this is what I do.

And yet, while I am completely wrapped up in my ordinary life, full of ordinary tasks, I long, deep inside, for special.

What I have learned in Exodus is that God longs for that, too. And that the way that happens is through my relationship with Him.

So as I go about my ordinary, I breathe this prayer … Holy Father, be my friend.

This is my special. Ordinary become holy. Friendship with my King.

It’s been a few weeks, or a lifetime maybe, and I’m still breathing.