I’ve been feeling almost paralyzed lately, not sure what to do or write, uncertain how to handle all that’s going on in the world. As I’d sit there unable to wade through everything, the dishes piled up, my kids fought, and my very real, ordinary life continued to go on–whether I was ready or not.

This morning, I sat down with a cup of coffee and my journal. Pen in hand, I started to unravel the threads in my heart and mind. I started to put it on the page and pray through it all.

And I started to reset.

There are days–even weeks, months, or years–when we need to set some of our normal life aside to handle whatever new thing life has thrown at us. Then, there are days when we need to put our pen to paper, feet to the floor, hands to work…and get back at it.

My daughter keeps asking to have a tea party or a picnic or play doctor with her. I oblige when I can, but preschool play is not my strength. But little by little, my kids draw me into their worlds, teaching me how to play again. They show me the joy of silliness and letting go of inhibitions. They help me loosen my grip on practicality. I still fight it every day. I want to see check marks on my to-do lists and know I’m working toward a goal. Those desires aren’t all bad, of course, but we’ve lost something when we let utility push fun completely out of the picture. We’ve lost the joy and beauty of play.