Category: Ponderings

Getting my ducks in a row

Today I woke up and actually felt it: “Okay, Christine, time to get my ducks in a row.” You know that phrase? The one that pops up when life’s chaos finally hits a tipping point, and you’re like, ” Nope, we’re organizing now or ” We’re doomed.

So what’s the deal with ducks? I did a quick dive because my brain wouldn’t let it go. Turns out, no one really knows for sure where “getting your ducks in a row” came from. It’s murky, like most good idioms. Some say it’s from old carnival shooting galleries where you lined up those little metal ducks to knock ’em down—everything neat, predictable, ready to blast. Others point to bowling (duckpins, those short, fat pins set up in tidy rows). But it’s probably from watching mama duck waddling along with her babies trailing in perfect formation, no stragglers, no drama.

Me? I like the mama duck version best. Because right now my life feels more like a bunch of rogue ducklings scattering in every direction—bills, emails, that half-finished project glaring at me, the laundry pile that’s achieving sentience. But today? Today I’m channeling the mama duck energy. I made lists. Actual lists. On paper. With checkboxes. I even crossed one off just to feel powerful.

It’s not glamorous. No big life overhaul. Just tiny alignments: start on taxes, scheduled the dentist (ugh), finally replied to those texts I’ve been ghosting. Ducks. In A. Row.

Feels good, though. Like I can breathe a little deeper. Maybe tomorrow they’ll scatter again—who knows?—but for now, I’ve got this little parade going.

Anyone else out there getting their ducks in formation today? Or are your ducks more like pigeons, flipping the bird at organization? Drop a comment if you’re feeling the row vibes.

Quack on,

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Good Grief.

I’ve moved through my storm of anger. It burned hot, it felt righteous, it gave me the energy to rail against the injustice, the confusion, and the horrible loss of Charlie Kirk. But anger—left unchecked—will eat you alive. So often, anger is a mask for what lies beneath: fear, helplessness, grief.

But here’s the truth: We are not helpless. We do not need to fear. We are grieving.

Paul reminds us: “Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger” (Ephesians 4:26). Anger is a signal from God and in His wisdom He warns us not to camp there.

In time, we will each move toward acceptance. Not resignation—acceptance. Acceptance is freedom. Jesus modeled this in Gethsemane when He prayed, “Not my will, but Yours be done” (Luke 22:42). That was not passive surrender. It was the hardest acceptance imaginable.

So if you’re caught in anger right now, let yourself name it. Feel it. Then ask: What lies beneath? Fear? Loss? Grief? When we bring those roots into the light, we are already stepping toward acceptance. And in acceptance, we find room to breathe, room to forgive, room to heal—and the strength to move forward.

That’s how we carry on the work Charlie started; and like Charlie, we follow the call of Jesus.

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Pick up the banner and carry it forward

There are times when the world grows quieter and my heart hurts and my mind is angry, not because it should, but because a voice has been silenced. That silence aches. It leaves me asking, who will speak now?

Charlie Kirk spoke with courage and clarity, but also with grace. He didn’t shy away from truth when it cost something. And truth always costs something. Scripture reminds us: “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32). That freedom doesn’t come from soft words or easy compromise. It comes from courage wrapped in grace.

When a banner falls, it is not meant to touch the ground. It is meant to be caught, lifted, carried forward. For the next generation of young conservatives, that is the charge. Don’t simply repeat what has been said, live it.  Don’t let fear steal your voice—season it with grace. “Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person” (Colossians 4:6).

This moment calls for steady hands and brave hearts. To carry the banner is to stand in the tension of truth and love, never letting one cancel out the other. Violence can take a life, but it cannot steal a legacy if those who remain choose to walk it out with strength and honor.

So pick it up. Carry it forward. With truth. With grace. With courage. With love.

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A Rough Morning

I make my own cold brew coffee in a Toddy System, and I love it—except when I drain the last pitcher and procrastinate making a new one. Then morning comes, and there’s no cold brew waiting for me. I hate these mornings.

So here I am, wishing someone would magically hand me an ice-brewed coffee, while realizing my entire day is about to feel askew.

Could I make a cup of hot coffee? Of course. But with the humidity sitting at 98%, my skin was weeping before I even brushed my teeth. Hot coffee? I think not.

Could I brew a hot cup and pour it over ice? Sure—but then I’m sipping watery coffee, ew. Maybe I should drink a hot cup in an ice-cold shower? Hmm. See how ridiculous this obsession becomes?

Or—I could actually get out of my pajamas, get in the van, drive one mile to my favorite shop, and buy a cup. They make a delicious iced brew… but it sets me back $8 (with tip). Just coffee. No flavoring, no sugar, no cream. WTH.

Sigh. I’ll just grab a bottle of water and drink it like a good girl. So, if you talk to me today, please lower your expectations…

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My Brain’s New Tenant

Recently my mornings feel like I spent the night front row at a rock concert with several shots of tequila. I promise you, I have not. And yet my brain hurts just the same.

Meet the newest thing in my life: Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension (IIH). I swear they make this stuff up. Basically, it means: “We don’t know why, but your brain is building up too much pressure inside your skull.”

Let me try to explain how it feels: it’s as if a hormonal teenager moved into my head and is blasting vintage Metallica. Or, you know, that piercing sound that makes all moms wince—a toddler having a tantrum in a store aisle. That’s the feeling.

I didn’t invite this monster into my skull, but here IIH is. It’s absurd. And since crying only makes it hurt more, I’ll laugh. No angry teen or bratty toddler is going to break my will. I’ll fight, I’ll live, and I’ll keep laughing in the face of pain—because wit and chutzpah can outsmart anything life throws my way.

Remember: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” (Psalm 46:1)

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Some days, the best we can do is simply exist.

The to-do lists sit untouched, conversations feel too costly, and the world seems to demand more than we can give.

But still, we breathe.
Still, we are here.
Still, the sun moves across the sky—slowly, faithfully—whether we watch it or not.

Maybe the work of today isn’t accomplishing or producing.
Maybe it’s letting the soul rest, trusting that rest itself is holy.
Even the earth has its seasons of stillness before the green returns.

So if today feels like too much, remember: you are not failing for needing a pause.
You are simply honoring the truth that even the strongest hearts need quiet to keep beating.

“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28
Today, let’s lay down the weight we’re carrying and lean into the arms of the One who never grows weary.

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