Before starting a new book of the Bible, I like to watch the Bible Project’s video overview—essentially Cliff Notes with animation. Midway through, I paused and snapped a screenshot. The video posed a question I hadn’t realized had been circling in my soul: “How do you live life in the midst of hevel?”

… the world is tired of impossible, polished “heroes.” What we really need—what actually changes the course of someone’s day, or even their life—is hospitality. And not the Pinterest-perfect kind. Not the spotless house and a four-course meal served on wedding china. Real hospitality is about making space. Welcoming people in. Showing love in the ordinary.

If one more person tells me to practice “self-care,” I might just scream.

Is it the haggard expression on my face? Or the embarrassing typos (auto-correct is clearly out to get me) in my texts and emails? I’m not sure what’s giving me away, but something must be—because well-meaning, lovely people keep encouraging me to step back and practice “self-care.”

I was already frustrated with myself for not putting my phone down. I had blocked out the morning to work on a talk I was scheduled to give to a couple hundred women, but I couldn’t seem to focus. I had actually sequestered myself in the front seat of our family minivan, parked a few blocks from our house. It is impossible to write when there is laundry to do and dinner to start, so I was reclined in the seat, typing away. Then a message popped up—text from Zoey—our oldest daughter.

I was not prepared for what I saw:

“Mama there is an active shooter”

“It is not a drill”

“I am so scared”

Looking back on nearly fifteen years of entrepreneurial marriage, I see that while Spencer and I are incredibly different, our marriage has its own defining question: What is the worst thing that could happen?