Your Best Beach Brain

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Your Best Beach Brain

Who cares about their brain when they’re prepping for the beach? Maybe no one. But I think we should. Because love handles and thunder thighs and muffin tops and stretch marks are not the true enemies of beach bliss. The true enemies are the thoughts that wage war in our minds.

I’ve created a seven-day guide to Your Best Beach Brain. It may not be what you think, or it may be exactly what you think, but either way, it’s my prayer that God would use this to draw you nearer to him and to equip you to marvel over him and have fun—even when you’re in a swimsuit.

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Stop Being a Good Girl

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Stop Being a Good Girl

If I was your mother, I’d warn you that people will tell you to be a “good girl” or a “good boy.” It’ll feel like a badge of honor, and you’ll want to hustle to earn it. But as a former good girl, I want to tell you the truth about that badge: It’s dangerous.

It makes you think goodness is something you can manufacture or hustle for. Something someone else can proclaim over you in approval: “Yay! You followed these rules! Good girl.”

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Knowing Your Name When the World Tries to Name You

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Knowing Your Name When the World Tries to Name You

"But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: 'Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.'" Isaiah 43:1

Names matter. My parents named me “Caroline,” and somehow that particular string of letters feels eternally linked to who I am, as if they line my DNA like biological alphabet soup. (It’s weird because they could have named me something else, like Karen or Bubbalicious or Raisin Bran, and I’m sure I’d feel just as connected to those series of letters if they had.) Praise the Lord, even though Dad actually loves Raisin Bran, my folks thought carefully and chose Caroline, just for me.

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If You've Ever Suspected Motherhood Stole Something From You

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If You've Ever Suspected Motherhood Stole Something From You

Her eyes reflected all the things I suspected were true: In my wrinkled shirt, sloppy bun and a cart full of kids vying for crackers, I was a walking stereotype. A cautionary tale.

Sometimes the crumbs in the crevices of the minivan and the blowout at the restaurant and the temper tantrum at Target and the forever undone to-do list join together and create a choir. The choir sings a haunting melody with lyrics that our college selves swore could never be said about us: Look at you. Get it together. You're a pitiful shadow of your former self.

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Quiet Beauty

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Quiet Beauty

One of my favorite movie lines is from that old Jim Carrey movie Liar Liar. Carrey’s character Fletcher is talking with his son, who says, “My teacher tells me beauty is on the inside,” and Fletcher replies, “That's just something ugly people say.” 

I’m not proud that I laugh hysterically every time, but I do. In our culture, “inner beauty” does kind of sound like the Tooth Fairy of traits—totally made up but leaves you a dollar’s worth of happiness here and there. Of course a dollar doesn’t buy much.

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