Grit & Grace, Before Breakfast

gate begging for my breakfast like they hadn’t just eaten theirs. Full bellies, loud opinions. The dogs were pacing. A hen was announcing her very important news to the neighborhood. One of those farm-girl mornings that doesn’t wait for your plan.

Jacket on. Boots laced. I set the trough upright, hauled fresh water, and wiped mud off the handle—my grandmother’s figure-it-out voice in my head. She could fix a hinge with a butter knife and a rubber band, and she never apologized for trying. “Get moving,” she’d say. “It won’t mend itself.”

Inside, the house was waking. One kid needed a hoodie. The other needed a paragraph edit. My husband asked about propane for church tonight. The calendar pinged about a meeting I hadn’t prepped for. I felt that old Dutch drumbeat—good, better, best, never let it rest—and the script started: Do more. Be more. No time to stop.

Then my mother’s voice arrived, soft as always. She believes God shows up in the quiet. Pray with your hands in the dishwater. Let silence do some of the talking. I set both palms on the counter and breathed until my shoulders dropped.

“Lord, I’m here. Help me do the next right thing.”

Not fancy. Enough. I brewed coffee, packed lunches, sent a quick “running five minutes behind” instead of sprinting into another apology I didn’t owe, gave the goats a pat (no snacks—sorry, ladies), and the day kept unfolding—imperfect, busy, and not a disaster.

I used to think I had to choose between Grandma’s grit and Mom’s quiet faith. Two kinds of women: the get-it-done doer and the gentle soul who hears God in the hush. But they’re not rivals; they’re partners. Some days you need a toolbox. Some days you need a prayer. Most days, you need both.

Here’s how that looks in real life:

• When the water tips, set it upright and refill it—and ask for wisdom to keep it steady.

• When the schedule’s loud, trim what you can—and trust you’re still loved when you can’t do it all.

• When the meeting looms, prepare with what you have—and invite God to fill the gaps you can’t cover.

This isn’t perfection. This is faith with work boots on.

If your morning started sideways—a broken plan, a loud calendar, or a heart that won’t stop sprinting—try this:

1. Do one practical thing. Refill the water. Fold the three shirts. Send the email.

2. Pray one honest line. “Lord, steady my pace and make me kind.”

3. Let that be enough for now. Then take the next right step.

Between a toolbox and a prayer, there’s a life I actually want to live: direct, useful, soft around the edges. Not perfect—just present. And in the presence of God, present is more than enough.

— Brianne