This morning, I did something I don’t always manage: I got up before the kids.

I stumbled into the bathroom, still shaking off sleep, when I noticed a soft glow under the hallway door—Emma Pearl’s bedroom light had turned on. I peeked in and found her already awake. I stepped inside, said good morning, and we started the day together in that quiet, gentle way that feels like a gift. Just the two of us, before the noise and rush.

Last night she helped me sort laundry, and for a moment that chore became something sweet. She stood next to me, carefully dividing the piles like she’d been waiting for this task all her life. The way she checked to make sure she was doing it right—the little glances up for approval—felt tender and holy in its own way. I forget sometimes how much these little hands want to help, want to be part of the rhythm of home.

Now I’m sipping my protein smoothie, trying to wake up the rest of the way, and bracing for the long day ahead. Work doesn’t wrap at 5 today—it rolls into conference calls tonight. There are emails to send, people to follow up with, ideas to wrangle and hold. The hours ahead feel full—and a little overwhelming.

But I’m starting from a place of connection and calm, which feels like a small miracle. I’m learning to take these moments where I can find them. A little quiet before the day. A little help from small hands. A smoothie that fuels more than my body—it reminds me I’m choosing care over chaos, grounding over spiraling.

“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength.” – Isaiah 30:15

I’m holding onto that today. Not because the schedule is light, but because the strength I need doesn’t come from doing—it comes from resting in God’s presence. Even five quiet minutes with a child beside you. Even a still breath before the rush. That’s where grace begins.

Today might be long, but it’s already been good. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.