Autumn’s Notes

Hello again, readers! If your days sometimes feel like a chaotic circus of competing sounds, this week’s story is about finding peace,patience and humility to restore harmony to the heartbeat of your home.

Last Thursday evening had all the makings of a small family circus. My husband and I were trying to get out the door for worship band rehearsal, and our three girls were doing their usual pre-church shuffle—grabbing crayons, arguing over snacks, and asking if they’d have friends to play with that night.

We were already running late—gathering coats and shoes, the dog barking by the window, my husband tearing through the house searching for his glasses, which had chosen the worst possible moment to disappear. In the middle of it all, I tried to remember where I’d last seen them while mentally running through the set list for rehearsal, a song’s melody faintly threading through my mind as I juggled a million other things. Sometimes life feels like a song gone offbeat—every note competing, none quite blending.

In the chaos, one of the girls asked me a small, harmless question—but my frazzled brain snapped before my heart could catch up. My tone was sharp, impatient, unkind—the kind that freezes a child’s face for a second.

That look stayed with me.

For the 45-minute drive to church, it sat heavy on my chest. I replayed the moment and felt the familiar ache of missing the mark. While the girls chatted in the backseat, I thought about how stress twists words into something that doesn’t reflect who I want to be—or the grace God calls me to show.

When we finally arrived, her sisters ran inside, but she was slow to move—still in her car seat, quiet. As I unbuckled her, the weight of that drive spilled out. The church doors weren’t open yet, but it felt like holy ground. “I’m sorry,” I said, looking into her eyes. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.” Her response was immediate—a nod, a little smile, and a big squeeze. “It’s okay, Mommy. We can all get a little grouchy sometimes.” Her level of compassion and understanding was so big at that moment, and I was so grateful for it.

Children have a way of teaching us, as their parents, new lessons each and everyday,– even when they don’t realize it.

Later that evening, it got me thinking. I heard a phrase once that I just couldn’t shake:

When you’re in conflict, fight for unity—not victory.

Am I fighting to be right, or am I fighting to understand?

That question rearranged my heart. It reminded me of Abigail in 1 Samuel 25. When her household faced disaster because of someone else’s wrongdoing, Abigail didn’t rush to defend pride or prove a point. She hurried toward reconciliation, humbling herself, offering peace, even apologizing on behalf of her household. Seeking unity instead of victory changed the moment and stopped conflict in its tracks.

I realized that in stressful moments, I often grasp for control—my version of “victory”—instead of reaching for a relationship. But that isn’t God’s way. He draws us in, even when we fall short. We approach Him not to win favor, but to return to His love. When our children see us apologize—to a spouse, a friend, or to them—they learn humility isn’t weakness; it’s the doorway to peace.

Kids learn far more from what we model than what we say. When they see us lay down pride, they learn to do the same. When they hear us ask for forgiveness, they learn they are never beyond receiving it. And when they watch us choose connection over “being right,” they begin to understand God’s unity-building love.

So maybe this week, when life gets loud and hurried and glasses go missing, pause long enough to ask yourself: Am I fighting to win… or am I fighting to love?

It’s a question nudging me back toward grace—one car-seat apology at a time.

Until next week,
May your days carry a little music, your heart be patient in the chaos, and your pride bend for the sake of love.

-A.