Parenting has a May season too — a time when the seeds we’ve planted begin to show signs of life. Not fully formed. Not finished. But visible. Hopeful. Growing. Sometimes it’s a new habit taking root. Sometimes it’s a softened attitude. Sometimes it’s a moment of maturity that catches us off guard. Sometimes it’s simply the reminder that God is working beneath the surface, even when we can’t see the full picture yet.

April is the month when the world finally remembers how to breathe. The air softens, the trees stretch awake, and the light lingers a little longer each evening. After months of gray skies and early sunsets, April feels like an invitation — a gentle nudge toward hope, renewal, and possibility.

March is a month of in-between. Winter hasn’t fully let go, spring hasn’t fully arrived, and everything feels like it’s shifting — slowly, quietly, almost imperceptibly. Parenting can feel the same way. We’re caught between what we hope for and what we’re actually living, between the habits we want to build and the ones we’re still trying to break, between the children we’re raising and the adults they’re becoming.

February has a way of humbling us. The excitement of January settles, the routines we hoped would magically stick begin to wobble, and real life — the messy, noisy, beautifully ordinary life — takes center stage again. For many parents, this is the month when the goals we set feel harder to maintain and the pressure to “do it all right” starts whispering again.

January always feels like a deep breath — a clean page, a reset button, a gentle invitation from the Lord to begin again. As parents, we often step into the new year with big hopes for our families: better routines, calmer mornings, more intentional discipleship, less chaos, more connection. But if we’re honest, those hopes can quickly turn into pressure. What if this year, instead of chasing perfection, we embraced small, faithful steps?

Prayer doesn’t have to be quiet and still. It can be sung, drawn, danced, or whispered into the wind. Try: 1)Prayer journals with doodles and thank-you lists 2)Prayer walks around the yard or neighborhood 3)Prayer jars where kids drop in names or needs to pray over later

Ultimately, our children belong to God. We are stewards, not saviors. That truth can be both terrifying and freeing. It means we pray more than we preach. It means we trust the Holy Spirit to do what we cannot.

To every parent raising a bold-hearted kid who challenges bedtime prayers and asks hard questions in the grocery store checkout line—keep going.

It’s easy to think summer should be about big adventures—road trips, beach vacations, perfectly planned outings. But God works just as powerfully in the ordinary. The giggles at the breakfast table. The sticky hands reaching for one more popsicle. The late-night talks when little voices ask deep questions about life. Those small moments build a foundation of love that lasts far beyond summer. Don’t underestimate them.

I told my friend that if I take credit for anything, it’s for this: I prayed. I prayed hard, every single day, through tears and exhaustion, through silence and sobs. I prayed for my children’s hearts, their futures, their friends, their spouses, their jobs, and all the decisions I’d never be able to control. I trusted God to step in and handle the pieces I couldn’t fix — and He did.

I am thrilled that Cameron has finally come to realize what I’ve known all along. Pictures are wonderful, but you need the stories preserved with the pictures. Memories fade but words last forever.

I wanted the boys to think and pray about their future careers and make plans for them. Doesn’t every parent? Let’s face it—when you’re the child of a planner you have no choice. My kids would make plans for their future.

I complained to my friend Linda about the collection of rocks taking up residence in my car, and she added a new Mom Tool to my bag.

My son is only three and for him he can't tell much of a difference between his days at the daycare and his time at Sunday School.

I wasn’t the perfect mom, by anyone’s scale. I didn’t love my kids equally, just the way that they needed. And that’s so much better!

Susanna Wesley was the mother of John and Charles Wesley, who are credited for founding the Methodist movement.

Full disclosure: I hated potty training. I hated being thirtyseconds from the closest bathroom, I hated spending money on Pull Ups…

Those feelings piled on the surface while her hero was overseas. She built a dam to hold them until her son returned.

I am experiencing Advent for the first time and it is truly something special. I didn't know much about it until last year.

By Guest Author, Allie Ulmer If there’s one thing I’ve learned in adulthood, it’s that life is short. As a mother, I’ve learned that the...