As you start this week, may you find a nugget of courage to do the hard thing your heart is aching to do. May you find enough freedom to do something brave and risky, something that taps that gift you were given but haven’t yet fully and outwardly exercised.

We are all artists in some way, whether our media is watercolor, keyboard, food, camera, numbers, or diaper. What is the main thing keeping you from doing your art—is it time, money, courage, or encouragement? Do you have a voice this week telling you that your work isn’t important?

May you combat lies with truth this week, and may you dare to be you, in the small ways and big. May you look in the mirror and in the words of your journal and love who you truly are.

And may you find enough courage to acknowledge your artistry, and to recognize the little ways your life teems with canvases.

As you start this week, remember as you watch the other parents in your co-op or the carpool line who seem to have their act together that they, too, have their own little human insecurities. When your old oven misbehaves, or the butt in your jeans is just a little too tight, remember that new and shiny doesn’t equal happy.

When you’re tempted to wish your house was on a quieter street, or a few bedrooms larger, or basked in more afternoon sunlight, remember that your home, no matter if it’s a farmhouse in the country or a efficiency in a crowded complex, is a gift. All things in our lives are gifts.

And remember that when your kids are using their outside voices in and then smearing their fingerprints on the doors, that these things are reminders that the ones you’re rearing are living, breathing, changing, soul-filled beings that will not remember the streak-free windows as much as the late-night storytimes and the shared conversations while you chop the salad for dinner.

And if life’s just not going how you want at all—the car has broken down again, your in-laws hurt your feelings, you got another negative pregnancy test—that it’s okay to cry. And be frustrated. And not understand.

But remember, too, that there is always, ALWAYS something to be grateful for. Take a scratch of paper and a pen, and scribble down one thing for which you’re grateful. And then two. And then maybe three. And display it somewhere obvious today. Be reminded.

As you start this new week, may you find a sliver of inspiration in an unexpected place—your preschooler’s scribble on the back of your grocery list, the first daffodil in your backyard, a harebrained story retold by your child as you chop the onions, a lovely shade of nail polish on sale.

May you remember to stop and really listen to those little bits of inspiration gifted to you. During the carpool line and the Costco shopping, may you tune in your ears and eyes just so, so that you stop and remark on the loveliness of that yellow bell pepper. May you find that song on the radio that makes you want to crank up the volume, sing along, and maybe roll down the windows.

And when things are hard this week—and there will be hard times this week—may you remember the good parts of your day, too, so that you resist labeling the whole day “horrible.” And if your day truly is a train wreck, may you find solid sleep, so that you can wake up again, ready to roll up your sleeves and start over.

Every new day is a gift. Remember that this week.

As you start this new week, may you choose to see that the little interruptions in your life that need nose wipes, diaper changes, homework help, or one-on-one time on the couch are not, in fact, interruptions. They are the sum of your days. These beings called to your care are your current calling, and while they’re not the only part of your calling, they’re enough to not wish away the little inconvenient tasks inherent with parenting.

May we be mindful of the sacred task of parenting this week. May we hold it lightly in our hands so as to not wrap our identities around the job, but may we continually keep it within our eyes’ focus so that we remember its priority in our lives.

And may we be so reminded of its sacredness that we remember to take care of ourselves so as to not burn out. May we not feel guilty about popping up our feet with a good book, about watching a movie with our sweetie, or about grabbing coffee with a friend. May we remember our many dimensions, and that they deserve attending.

And may we remember to count the sacredness of the many mouths around our tables, no matter how many times they ask you to wipe something disgusting off their bodies.

May your week be a good one amidst the sacred messiness.