It has been a minute—or several. I haven’t posted a blog to A Little Messy in some time now. Call it a hectic schedule, writer’s block, emotional fatigue, or the ugliness of life preventing my fingers to type words on a blank document. Turns out, I’m still a little messy. I’ve found a sacredness in the mess though, and for a while, it needed to be between me, Jesus and a few others who were willing to jump into the mess. In time, and as the Lord leads, I will unpack some of the last couple of years, as I’m convinced our stories need to be told. But for now, I want to share this ditty with you. I hope this brings you some giggles and a lightness to your day.

Remember little Izzy, who constantly kept this mama on her toes? Well, she’s all grown up, and getting married in a few weeks! She still keeps us on our toes, but now we have her wonderful husband-to-be to share the journey.

As you may remember, Izzy was my source for many blog posts. I mean, this kid is a walking journal of daily humor and life lessons. And now as a young adult, there’s still parts of that youthful personality that emerge. Her free spirit coupled with her no-need-to-know-details has made for one of the most easy-going brides on the planet. Here’s how ordering the wedding cake went down.

Me: “Izzy, I’m tasking you with ordering your wedding cake. Can you start calling some places, and setting up tastings for you and Brenden? Remember it’s just flour, sugar and butter, so be conscious of price.”

Izzy: “Sure, but I have a lot do.”

No “S” Sherlock. Don’t we all? I mumbled in my head.

A few weeks later…..

Me: “How’s the cake shopping going?”

Izzy: “Great. I ordered a cake from Walmart.”

Me: “Walmart?” They do wedding cakes??? “Are you sure about Walmart? They’ll deliver it and set it up?”

Izzy: “Yes on Walmart. No, they won’t set it up, but they said I can pick it up the day before and set it up myself.”

This just doesn’t sound right…

Me: “Izzy, are you sure that’s going to be enough cake for 170 people?”

Izzy: “Whoa, what? It’s for everyone?”

Me: “Yes, Sweetie.” Now wondering if this was an epic fail as a mom. I promise you she went to weddings growing up. She stood in line at many cake tables. I know this for sure.

What is happening right now, I ask myself, as I pause and breathe into a brown paper bag?

“Izzy, I don’t understand how you couldn’t know this?”

Izzy: “I just thought the cake was for Brenden and me, for the cake cutting picture. Aren’t the s’mores kits going to be enough for our guests?”

And there it is again, that clinching feeling in my stomach that I’ve somehow left something so important out of her upbringing.

Me: “The s’mores kits are party favors. We are serving these kind guests dinner and a nice slice of cake, so I’m sending you some wedding cake bakeries in the area. Your cake should cost X amount of dollars (well XXXX amount of dollars because it really is a lot more than flour, sugar and butter.)”

Izzy: “Okay. Sorry, Mom. I just don’t know all the wedding things.”

Me: “LOL. That’s what I’m here for. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding, and now even better that our guests are getting more than s’mores.”

At last–a slice for all.

And that was the wedding cake debacle of March 2023. No real great life lesson here, just enough laughter mixed with some gentle reminders on etiquette.

{More to come in future weeks.}


A few weeks ago, I was sitting on the counselor’s couch—again. If you look back at some of my archived posts, you’ll find I spend a fair amount of time on this couch. He handed me a worksheet of sorts. I had to read a handful of statements and decide whether they were a fact or a judgment.

Two things occurred to me as I did this exercise. One, I had to skip a few statements to get to the easy ones. I was stumped. And two, I had a flashback to elementary school and Fact and Opinion Worksheets. Remember those?

I stopped and looked up at the counselor. “Hey, shouldn’t this be fact or opinion, and I write F or O by each statement?”

“Krista, give me the definition of opinion?”

“Ohhhh. It’s a judgment. Well that changes things, doesn’t it?”

Can you see why I had trouble with some of those statements? Over the years my brain has become so conditioned that I don’t even recognize judgment—to the point of renaming it this nice sounding word, “opinion.” Dear Lord! Not only have I received so much judgment over the years, but yikes, have I ever been a judger myself.

As this election season is upon us, I’m thinking we should rename Opinion Polls to Judgement Polls. It has a ring doesn’t it? And, while we are it, why don’t we stop and do some self-reflection? Ask ourselves the tough questions—am I opinionated, I mean a judger? If I post this article or statement on social media, could my opinion, I mean judgment, hurt others, or cause division? What if we filtered our thoughts, our words, and our actions a little more wisely? Before I speak, post, or interject, is this fact, or is this judgment?

In this uncertain climate we are living in right now, we are searching for answers. Some think they have all the answers. We need to do this, this and this, and then it will be all better. Some think silence and distancing from the issues is the way to fix it. I’ve been in both camps the last few weeks, and all its left me is confused and defeated.

So, what do we do?

Maybe it’s not so much what we do, but what we become.

A heart with ears.

Wait. What? What does that even mean?

It means listening without giving advice, without offering solutions, without asking a heap load of questions, without sharing our own stories and experiences, without judgment. Sounds hard doesn’t it? Like seriously, just sitting with another person and listening? A heart with ears. And wait, it can get even more uncomfortable, because what if while we are listening, the other person becomes emotional? Do we just sit in the puddle of tears with them? Yes, I think that’s what it means.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog post about my personal experiences with racism. I received an overwhelming amount of positive comments, phone calls and texts. I cried over your words to me because they touched me so deeply. You were a “heart with ears.” You read that post and responded in the most heartfelt, humble way. Later on, after some good listening, some of you reached out and asked what more could be done?

Be a heart with ears.

Continue to enter the tough conversations as a listener. Whether the conversation is around racism, a global pandemic, or a personal crisis a friend is experiencing, be a heart with ears. Do you see what a humble posture that is? Humility is God’s favorite. He can do so much with a humble heart.

“Who is wise and understanding among you? Let them show it by their good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice. But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere.” James 3: 13, 16, 17. NLT

What you are going to read about is a topic that is way bigger than me. There is so much to say, and I barely scratched the surface. But at the end of the day, this is my story, my experience, and my thoughts. I have a blog platform that I’ve been blessed to speak from, and I don’t take that lightly. I’m not asking for sympathy, and certainly not arguments. If you don’t like what I said, you can move on from this post. May God bless you!

We’ve been saving for something for a while now, and dreaming about it even longer. A mountain house. A little cabin to make cozy and call our own. A weekend escape from city life and the hustle and bustle of the daily grind.

That dream finally became a reality recently. With much fear, and a little trembling, we started the process of looking for a mountain getaway. I say fear and trembling, because this is a big deal, and a big investment, and times are uncertain for all of us. But mountain houses are for sale, and good deals are to be made. However, what started out as a fun and exciting adventure last Saturday, took somewhat of a cautionary turn.

We pulled into “Mountain Town, Arizona” to check out a listing. The scent of pine trees wafted through the air as the treelined road turned and curved. We came up on a cute general store, Ma’s Diner, and a cluttered antique store. I could totally get used to this on the weekend, I thought. There were quaint cabins, and custom homes, nice yards, and sprawling porches. This is exactly what I had pictured. Then we pulled up to the listing, and started to look around, like really look. Was that a confederate flag in the window next door?