The Importance of Spending Intentional Time With Your Children

This is a contributor piece I wrote for Portland Moms Blog. Read the entire article HERE

It is 2:30 p.m. The door flings open as my three older children rush into the house in a frenzy. Backpacks, shoes, and socks fly off bodies at warp speed. They race into the kitchen devouring the first food they can find and collapse on the couch. It happens in a flurry. Sitting down on the couch next to them I lead with a question in hopes of making a connection. Some days I am met with warm affections, and other days not so much. I’ve found that establishing a plan of action to spend intentional time with each of my children is vital to keeping our relationships strong. As a parent of four children with different personalities, I’ve had to get creative. A one-size-fits-all approach won’t work. I’ve discovered four ways of intentionally connecting with my children that fosters depth in our relationships.

1. Scheduled Dates

Setting aside intentional time for a date with each one of our children has become routine practice in our home. This builds expectation and excitement for how we spend our time together. Conversations surrounding the details of our date include the places we will go, the types of food we will eat, and the things we will discuss. With multiple children in the family, we aim to get dates on the calendar for each child within the month. This builds trust and each child feels celebrated.

2. Impromptu Outings

Mothers knows that there are seasons when one child needs more TLC than the others. Intentional time with a parent is the salve applied to a flare up. And when situations like this arise in our family, we look for opportunities to provide that time of connection. We include that child into our everyday routine tasks. This may look like tagging along to the grocery store, getting the oil changed in the car, going on a walk/jog or returning books to the library. This intentional time together provides space to recalibrate and connect, reestablishing stability to the relationship......

Continue reading the rest of the article at Portland Moms Blog

Ought and Expectation

This is a contributor piece I wrote for True and Noble Blog. Read the full article HERE.

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The last of all the car doors shut. Thrusting the gear into park, I let my foot off the brake. The kids all rushed inside and although I typically follow suit, I waited. Leaning my head into the steering wheel, I sat there in the quiet. The silence broke with the sound of my own voice. It started as a scream and turned into a wail. In the confines of my locked car, I let the walls come down. The weight of ought and expectation on my shoulders made it easy to resist picking up the pieces. I was tired. 

This wall was not made of brick and mortar. It was more the likes of empty cardboard boxes. This barrier that surrounded me, was doing anything but creating a secure boundary. So, on this particular afternoon, I decided to dismantle my attempt at seclusion and protection. The act of releasing all the tension I carried felt in drastic contrast to the white knuckle grip that held my heart; my measly attempt to keep things looking upright and orderly. 

Willingly I surrendered my agony and aspirations that day. Ought and expectation were laid on the altar. The weight of being a “put together” woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend, the responsibility of being the primary care giver for 4 humans, and the longing for my own personal significance and accomplishments were laid to rest. I carried the torch of ought and expectation, one in each hand, for far too long. I held them proudly at first, confident that it was up to me to light the path. It was my duty. But these torches I was holding felt heavy and cumbersome. The flames of strife and comparison had even burned my hand a time or two. I couldn’t see past the bright light that burned in front of me. It is fair to say I had lost my way.

Continue reading the entire article over at True and Noble 

Admitting Need: Putting an End to Surviving Motherhood Alone

This is a contributor piece I wrote for Portland Mom's Blog. Read the full article HERE

It was the end of January and my twins were six weeks old. Although it took most of the morning to get the three of us dressed and fed, we finally made our way out the door. I was meeting my friend Catalina to go shopping at the outlet mall just one town over. She, too, had just entered into motherhood. Three weeks prior she had given birth to her first baby, a girl. We had enjoyed being pregnant alongside each other, and were now ready to enjoy our first mother/daughter outing. Admitting need for a change in scenery and a break in the monotonous schedule made way for this midweek adventure. Our time was limited, for reasons related to nursing and napping, so we hit the road running with high hopes of newfound freedom. 

Visions of sipping my latte while listening to music filled my mind, but these longings never materialized. Both babies lost their pacifiers just minutes into the trip and the wailing was at full volume. I couldn’t reach them while still driving safely and it infuriated me. Their crying continued the entire drive and my own tears soon followed. Motherhood had my number.

....Continue reading the entire article at Portland Mom's Blog

I See His Face

This piece was featured as part of the Lent Devotional series for True and Noble.

Mary Magdalene was the first person to see Jesus after He was resurrected from the dead. And Mary knew Jesus. She followed Jesus. She worshipped Jesus.  And yet, on this day when she encountered the resurrected Lord on the road, she didn’t know it was Him. The scriptures tell us that Mary Magdalene was surprised. “She turned to leave and saw someone standing there. It was Jesus, but she didn’t recognize Him” John 20:14. She was shocked and surprised by this encounter. It was unexpected. She knew and loved Jesus and then suddenly, in a moment, she saw Him more fully. 

I can so relate to Mary. I too, am looking for Jesus. I expect Him to show up in a way that I will surely recognize it is Him. But, I’ve come to understand that I cannot predict or even prepare for His next move. He has proven to be different and better than I could imagine.

I so clearly remember the moment I saw Jesus more fully. I was walking through a season of grief and was searching for answers. I was grasping to find hope. I emptied myself out and let my lips speak the words of the letters I had written on the steps of my soul. As I poured out this offering, Jesus met me there. I released to Him my unborn baby and all the hopes I had held in my mother heart. With my eyes closed, it was as if a movie was being played just for me to see. The scene began to unfold and this is what I saw. Jesus was standing next to me. With tear filled eyes I handed over my precious child into His arms. When I looked at Jesus’ face, I noticed that His eyes looked just like mine. Eyes filled with tears that poured over onto His cheeks. Jesus wept with me. He was with me in my suffering. I was not alone. His presence brought me peace and surprisingly, hope began to break through the fallow ground of my heart. 

I saw His face and I will never be the same.  

The God Who Rescues

This is a piece I wrote for True and Noble Lent Devotional Series

My friend has a piece of art displayed in her home with the words “he rescued me because he delights in me” written on it. It is portion of Psalm 18:19. It hangs in her kitchen and every time I’ve seen it the phrase lingers in my heart for a few days after. I now live in a different state than my friend and it’s been almost a year since I’ve been in her home. Yet, just recently I thought of that piece of art and the truth in those words. So I decided to lean in and discover the original story behind that passage of scripture. 

He led me to a place of safety, he rescued me because he delights in me” Psalm 18:19. Turns out these words were penned by David and written to God. The backdrop of the story is that David has been running for his life, fighting to stay alive. He has literally been hiding in caves to find refuge from the enemies that have been relentlessly pursuing Him. David has been a hunted man for a long time, for 8 years. He has been depending on God to deliver him, and on the day David writes these words, deliverance has come. 

David’d enemies are defeated. Saul is defeated. The battle is finally over. And now, David can enter into that open space, the place of safety that has been made just for him. David speaks with assurance and confidence about the nature of God. There is an invitation for us to know God like David did. We too, can look to God in adversity, in the midst of the small closed off space that feels dark and hopeless, and know that it is not the end. Our God will not only deliver us, but also invites us to live into the open spaces. God does not leave his work half done. He is the God who rescues. 

Small Pots...


Several years ago we inherited two potted Japanese Maples from my parents. From time to time we would roll them around our property, testing out new locations in hopes of finding a spot with the right mix of shade and sunlight. They stayed alive but never seemed to really thrive. Last spring, I finally put those trees in the ground. They have grown beautifully. They are more healthy than ever before. 

I have found myself surprised by how they've flourished and realized the extent to which being potted had limited their growth. Life in the pot meant limited nutrients and limited development and limited potential. They were not connected to a life source.

I've also observed something that was unexpected. As one of these trees grew and flourished, a small shoot of a different kind sprung up right behind it. I've kept an eye on this shoot and it has now become a large, fast growing tree.

Tay and I have been perplexed as to where it came from and what sort of tree it is. The other day I finally realized what had happened. The Japanese Maple trees had been in pots for years, maybe decades. When we lived at our previous house, we kept one of them on our porch. It sat under the shade of a much larger tree. A seed from that tree had fallen and been lying dormant in the potted soil. Years and years later, this seed found soil, germinated and is now growing and thriving.

It makes me think about my life with God. When I've lived with small faith and believed in a small God, I've been more limited and have found that I'm more dramatically affected by the circumstances and elements around me. But the times that I've believed God is really who He says He is, I break out of those small confining spaces and soak up His truth, life, and the Holy Spirit's living water - all of which nourish the deepest places inside me.

I love the beautiful metaphor found with the unexpected tree hiding out in the potted plant. It is an amazing picture of the dormant things God will awaken in us when we transplant our whole lives in Him. In God it is possible that something altogether new - something unlike us or our natural abilities - can spring forth. When, in faith we step outside the predictable, potted confines of our world and surrender, He will be faithful to grow our roots deep in Him and spread our branches wide. He is longing to be our source. He is longing to use us to make His name famous on the earth.

What parts of your life are a potted tree? Where have you limited God? Are you tired of being in the same spot without growth? God is bigger than you could ever imagine. If you're thirsty, come get a drink. I promise you will not be disappointed.


"For they are transplanted to the Lord's own house. They flourish in the courts of our God. Even in old age they will still produce fruit; they will remain vital and green. They will declare, "The Lord is just! He is my rock! There is no evil in him!" Psalm 92:13-15

So Here I Am...



Life with four kids does not always lend to peaceful mornings. But on this particular day, I managed to shower and get out of the house on time - I marked it as a win. I'm learning to celebrate the small things, because in this last 5-7 year span, the small things are the only things. I made my way downtown to my favorite coffee shop. The line was long because apparently it isn't only my favorite spot. After ordering I scavenged the place for a seat, and opted for a small two top on the patio outside

The friend I was meeting arrived a bit late and got caught up in a conversation with a woman in line. In the waiting,  I started to pay attention to those sitting around me, particularly the table of men to my right. They were probably all 55 or older, and I knew each one of them. I didn't know them well, but each man at the table had a daughter or son, whom I would call a friend. Two of the men were fathers to a few of my elementary school classmates. I have vivid memories of sleepovers at their houses while in 5th and 6th grade where I was introduced to the Rocky Horror Picture Show, the art of TP-ing and the "couples-skate” at Roller Towne. One of the men was the father of a friend that I met later in life. His daughter and I had worked together at the same PR firm one summer and have been part of the same local church for the past 5 years. The last man sitting at the table was the father of a guy I went to high school with and had a crush on. His son was the captain of the soccer team, who also happens to be the cousin of my high school best friend. I spent a week one summer in a cabin with their whole extended family in Lake Tahoe.

My mind began to wander back to those times and spaces. Life felt easy and uncomplicated in those years. It was a trip down memory lane and a longing to know what my friends were doing and who they had become filled my thoughts and heart. Yet, regardless of all those connections and newly discovered yearnings, I sat there and didn't say a word. I sipped my coffee and busied myself with the scenes and happenings across the street and stayed occupied with social media sites on my phone. I didn't move towards them in posture, eye contact or conversation.

My friend finally made her way to the table and we had a beautiful conversation about risk and obedience and living our lives intentionally looking for how it folds into the bigger story. She recently launched her own photography studio [JackiPotorke.com] and was about to leave for Uganda to participate in the Archibald Project. I was so proud of my friend and the risk she was willing to take because she knew that God was asking her to. I shared with her from a vulnerable place that I sensed that this was the year I was to begin documenting the lives and stories around me that are whispers and shadows of the greatest story ever told. The story of God. I didn't know what that would look like, but I knew that I was already dragging my feet in getting started. Part of writing today is because of that conversation. We dreamed of traveling the world storytelling the lives of those we met,  through a moment captured on film, and through the written word. Although those thoughts and desires feel very far off, I need to dream out loud and write them down, for fear they will get lost somewhere in my head and wither away.


I'm learning more and more that words matter. About 2 years ago, something inside me woke up. I began to have a growing appetite for books, for stories. I have lived my life as an extrovert. My friends and family would describe me as an extreme version of the term. I love people. I love hearing about people's lives and the things they are learning and experiencing. I often think about the amazing people that I have not yet met. In these past two years I have settled a bit and found myself longing for a quiet, extended, one-sided conversation with a book, rather than with a group of rowdy friends. Maybe I am repositioning myself on the extrovert/introvert continuum and landing somewhere in the balanced middle. Of course I still desire to be connected to people around me, just in a more intentional way. I want to begin to engage and pay attention in a way that, if I am honest, I have not done until now. Reading other's thoughts, questions and stories has birthed something deep inside me - a desire to engage the world around me with a sense of wonder and awe.

So here I am - looking for meaningful moments amidst the familiar. 

It has been a few weeks since the coffee date with my friend, and I cannot shake my lack of courage to interact with the men seated at the table next to me. Why didn't I open my mouth? What was I afraid of? I realized that I was waiting to be noticed, to be recognized. I didn't want to risk sounding foolish. A simple hello and introduction could have changed the course of that morning. I genuinely was curious to know what was going on in the the lives of their children - my friends - and I missed that opportunity because I was scared. I don't want fear to dictate whether I open my mouth. I really had nothing to fear that day. I resolved then that I would live from a greater place of courage, confidence and boldness. I don't want to continue missing those chances to connect and see people. To look them in the eye and ask honest questions. I can't guarantee what I will be given in return, but I am only responsible for my part.

Writing feels like a safe second chance - it provides the opportunity to say the things that I didn't have the courage to the first time around. Writing also feels like a risky endeavor - I'm releasing my words into unknown areas that are outside of my control. Scary and exhilarating all at the same time.

As I write of what is possible with God, my heart beats a bit faster in my chest. This really is the best news ever. I have lived for over 30 years keeping this life-giving reality at bay in conversations. I've told myself that I don't want to offend you. The irony is that in the end I am actually not thinking about you, I am thinking about me. As I peel back my fears, I've found that in my heart of hearts I long for something more - a life centered around God. Life with God is not boring, mundane or meaningless. It is full of abundance, provides the gift of joy in the midst of every circumstance, and brings hope in a world that is grasping for it in all the wrong places.

So here I am - finding my voice and my words.

I will be courageous to speak them out in the moments and places that He gives them to me. I will write them down so they can go forth. I will not squander what He places in my hands. I will fear God more than I fear man.

For the first time in my life those words are not just a hope and a longing - they are coming true.