If you’re wondering if it’s worth it…

It is.

It will require a lot of you, and it will require a lot of your athlete too.

There will be early morning drives sipping last minute Starbucks, willing yourself awake.

There will be late night drives in traffic jams and hideously long lines at In & Out and Canes.

There will be forgotten jerseys and forgotten cleats and rushing to the nearest sports store to get a new mouth guard.

There will be bonus kids crammed in your car with road trip shenanigans.

There will be bad smells…so many bad smells. There will be pads and jerseys and socks and gloves and girdles. And you will hug them anyway when they’re covered in sweat and stench.

There will be emails. So many emails, and texts, and sign ups.

There will be coaches that will shape them.

There will be sports friends that become sports family.

There will be wins that are so hard fought, it will be better than any professional game you’ve ever seen.

There will be losses. Losses that gut them (and you), and those losses will raise them right.

There will be losses off the field too. They will grapple with unforeseen challenges and obstacles. They may mourn tragedies. They may face grief.

But if they lean on each other, they will make it through, and you will be more proud than you ever thought possible.

You will get tired sometimes.

But you will never want it to end.

And one day it will.

As much as you try to stop it.

It will.

And I can tell you now, you will know it was the most precious gift. You will know that you would give up every weekday evening, Saturday morning, and Friday night all over again just for one more game…

With those kids, those coaches, on that field…and with those parents.

To watch them do what they love, with their brothers or sisters by their side.

Because they left their blood sweat and tears here, and you did too.

Because life will go on, but what happened on the field and the bleachers will stay forever.

Love

A Sports Mom

The morning after the last Friday Night Lights.

Written by Jess Johnston

I never wanted it to end. 

From the very beginning, from the very first moment the nurse laid you on my chest  and I held you in my arms, red faced, wailing, a miracle of lungs and breath, telling the world you were here. It was the beginning. The three of us. 

Us against the world.  

But I already knew somewhere down deep it was all going to go way too fast. 

You were colicky and cranky, with baby acne and little hiccups. I was unprepared and overwhelmed, calling the doctor at midnight. You cried and I cried too.  You went with me everywhere. You were my buddy, my side kick, my partner in early morning trips to the coffee shop, errands to the grocery store and laundry mat, and sleeping on my chest in the baby Bjorn while I washed the dishes. You needed everything from me and I was exhausted, but it was just us, just the three of us.

I don’t remember the last time you crawled into my bed at night or fell asleep on my chest. But I know one night without a single clue it was sacred, I kept my arm still until it grew tingly under your head, I know your breath was warm and peaceful, I know you smelled like home. 

And then I blinked. 

And it was your first day of kindergarten. Combed back hair, jeans that would be ripped and covered in grass stains within the hour, a backpack that took over half your body, a stuffy named Gabriel for nap time. 

I’m not sure when the last time was that you slipped your hand in mine to cross the street, soft and squishy. I’m not sure the last time you came running to me when you skinned your knee, crying for me to kiss it. I had no idea it was sacred, that moment with my last magic kisses, I don’t know if I was distracted by dinner on the stove or by the cries of your baby sister. I don’t know if I paid enough attention to the last, I hope that I did. 

Because then I blinked. 

And you were in fifth grade playing kick ball at recess and talking in your sleep about football and school. You were reading Harry Potter and having friends over and biking in the cul de sac until it was dark. You were all football all the time. You were learning tackle drills and memorizing plays and bringing home stinky cleats and jerseys. You were asking for prank kits for Christmas and forever losing another the ball or frisbee on the roof. 

I don’t know when the last time was that I tucked you. I’m not sure when you grew out of laying on the ground doodling while I read a chapter book out loud night. I’m sure I was tired and I started stumbling over my words the later it got. I’m sure there were a couple wrestling matches between you and your brother that started and stopped. I’m sure I didn’t know it was the last time, because if I had, I think I would have read all night. 

Because then I blinked. 

And it was freshmen year. You were tall, lanky, growing into your body. You were taking drivers ed and I wondered how on earth I was supposed to let you drive on your own without being in a constant state of panic. You were eating everything in the house, having sleepovers in the garage, prank calling and meeting up with friends at the beach. 

I don’t remember the last time I drove you and your friends to a football game or Hurricane Harbor, or picked you up from swimming at the beach, but I know we cranked the music and you all took turns DJing. I know we probably listened to Snoop Dog and Missy Elliot and I know you wrestled so hard the car shook. 

And then I blinked. 

And here we are at senior year.  A year of lasts, right before a year of so many firsts. 

 You’re still all you, but you’ve grown and changed too. Occasionally I still catch glimpses of the little boy. When you’re tired, when you get that mischievous grin, when you ask me for Mac and Cheese at midnight. You still like mischief and brownies and you’re all football all the time. But you’re also more you than you’ve ever been. You’re fishing and dating and working and coaching the youth league you used to play for. 

I know the days are numbered when you’ll be sleeping under our roof, blowing open the door so hard it hits against the wall, leaving your shoes in the living room and asking me if I’ll be up late enough to switch over your laundry. I know the days are numbered when all of us will be around the table most nights, late after everyone’s practices have ended, talking, discussing, laughing, and passing potatoes. 

And just can’t help but wish I never had to blink. 

Love,

Written by Jess Johnston

If I’ve hurt someone and they approach me about it, I will always do my best to make it right.

But if I hear whisperings that someone is bothered, or if I hear of unpleasant things said about me when I wasn’t in the room, those things, they aren’t my responsibility. And to tell the truth, that’s hard. It’s hard to let that go. If I’m honest, I want everyone to like me, it’s silly, but it’s true.

But that’s just not my job and it’s definitely not my calling.

If I focus too much on being likable, I’m fairly certain I’m going to lose out on other things that matter.

I’m slowly, but surely learning that’s it’s not my job to babysit people’s opinions about me. It’s not my job to change their minds. It’s not my job to defend myself or even to be offended.

It’s my job to stay in my lane. It’s my job to love as well as I know how. It’s my job to be humble and approachable if I got it wrong. It’s my job to be authentic to who I am.

Love,

Jess

Photo by Liz Lucht

I know it’s something you think about and weighs heavy on your heart, especially when your friend is going through something hard.

I also know that sometimes you take on too much.

Sometimes you try and carry things that aren’t yours to carry.

Sometimes you do all the work, and it’s not yours to do.

Sometimes without realizing it, you confuse being a good friend with being superhuman (and you’re not).

Being a good friend does mean loving and serving. It does mean being there. It does mean holding hands and walking through tough stuff.

Being a good friend doesn’t mean:

Trying to save someone who really needs more help than you can give them. If you are not a trained therapist or doctor, I’m looking at you.

Working harder (and caring more) about someone’s health and wellbeing than they do.

Never saying “no, I can’t”.

Being the constant giver and never receiving. Friendships are mutual by nature.

Trying to fulfill someone’s expectations that are too high or unreasonable.

Not taking care of yourself and your needs.

I know sometimes boundaries make you feel guilty and mean, but listen, they’re not. Being a good friend is a gift that you give someone, not something you owe anybody.

Love,

Jess

Photo by gravity

I know it looks simple. I know it looks comfortable. I know it looks easy. 

And it is all those things, but only because we’ve done the work. Only because we’ve fought for this thing, we’ve shown up for this thing, we’ve valued this thing. 

Please don’t look at this friendship and think it happened by magic. Please don’t think we’re just lucky or special. (Although maybe there was a little of that).

This friendship happened with love and intentionality.

It happened by countless hours of sharing our hearts (and deep gut laughs). 

It happened by choosing each other over and over again. 

It happened by listening and really HEARING each other.

It happened by having honest conversations when it was needed (instead of letting splinters of hurt/miscommunication grow deep and fester).

It happened by making time for each other (even when we were busy and overwhelmed).

It happened by being humble (and apologizing) when we got it wrong.

It happened by giving the benefit of the doubt and having each other’s backs. 

It happened by loving each other well (and our kids, spouses, parents and siblings, because we also chose each other’s family). 

It happened by buying each other random cards and gifts just to show we care. 

It happened by sending a million different texts.

It happened by years of creating history and shared stories (and inside jokes that still make us double over with laughter). 

It happened by being flexible.

I happened by seeing each other at our best and seeing each other at our worst, and loving each other still.

It happened by inviting and pursuing (even when the sink was full of dishes and crumbs were on the floor).

It happened by celebrating and cheering for each other with our whole hearts. 

It happened by learning how to communicate well (and what we each needed to hear when we were having a hard time).

It happened by showing up for each other in the very hardest moments of our lives and sitting in that pain, because there’s nowhere we’d rather be. 

I know it’s easy to see a friendship from the outside looking in and think it’s easy, or simple, or just fell into our lap. 

But it didn’t. 

This friendship was built on choices.

A million different times of choosing each other.

What you’re seeing is the fruit, but let me tell you there is a story behind this magic. 

And if I can have it, you can have it too.

Love,

Jess

Photo by Yanapi Senaud

If you love this, you will love Amy Weatherly and I’s new nationally best selling book I’ll Be There (But I’ll Be Wearing Sweatpants) https://amzn.to/3MJtpKU

You know what it is to be able to relax and exhale, when you’ve had to perform in order to “belong”.

You cherish mutual friendship, when you’ve been in relationships where you were the only giver and they were the only taker.

You hold tight to the people you know you can trust, when you’ve been burned before.

You know peace is precious, when you’ve been pulled into drama.

You’re grateful for honesty, when you’ve experienced being lied to.

You value confrontation and talking things out, when you’ve been left before without explanation or an attempt to clear things up.

You’re honored by being included when you’ve been left out.

You can tell when someone truly cares about you, when you’ve experienced the pain of being in a friendship with someone who makes it all about them.

You recognize being built up, when you’ve been torn down.

You appreciate being given the benefit of the doubt when you’ve been hurt by someone assuming the worst.

You treasure friends who have your back, when you’ve been the brunt of gossip before.

You value being seen, when you’ve been overlooked.

I don’t know about you, but I value my real friends so much more, because I’ve done fake before.

Fake hurts.

Real connection heals.

Every broken story has led me cherish the friendships that heal.

Written by Jess Johnston & Amy Weatherly

Photo by Crosby Hinze

The ones who try really really hard.

The ones who read a post about being a good friend and their heart hurts because they ARE good friends and they never quite feel like it’s reciprocal.

The ones who do the right thing even though they know it may go unnoticed.

The ones who always pour out, but don’t always feel poured into. You give and give and give and sometimes you get tired.

Sometimes your feelings are hurt because why doesn’t it seem to go both ways. Sometimes your heart hurts from disappointment and it hurts deep. You’re resilient. You’re strong. But sometimes you just get tired. So so tired.We just want to say we see you.The gifts you give leave ripples and make marks and change lives in ways you may never know earth side.It’s not for nothing.And even if no one seems to notice I guarantee God does, and he’s proud of you. And sister, let me say one more thing, it’s okay to rest. It’s okay to put down all those things you hold together for the ones you love. It’s okay to give less sometimes and for some seasons. Take care of you. Because you matter. You really really matter.

Love,

Jess

Photo by Isaac Johnston

You’re not just getting a coffee, you’re connecting hearts.

You’re not just texting, you’re being a part of each other’s lives.

You’re not just spending money on that trip, you’re investing in your connection.

You’re not just showing up for a party, you’re letting them know they matter.

You’re not just spending a couple hours by the pool, you’re building history together.

You’re not just going to their kid’s birthday party, you’re showing them that what matters to them, matters to you.

You’re not just buying that gift, you’re showing them you love them.

You’re not just answering that call, you’re valuing them in your life.

Its not just big things, it’s the little things over time that build deep friendship.

Love,

Jess .

The real honor of friendship is being invited into someone’s REAL. It’s getting an invitation into the nitty gritty, the not-so-pretty, the hard stuff, the vulnerable stuff, the weird stuff, the unpolished stuff. It’s being welcomed into a home where the sink is full of dishes and the laundry is covering the couch.

It’s entering the places of heart ache and pain. It’s being invited to the hospital room when your friend is still in her mesh underwear from birth. It’s sitting crosslegged in old sweats on the floor and laughing till you cry. It’s carrying around secrets that you’ve been trusted to keep. It’s listening and hearing. It’s holding space for each other.

It’s answering phone calls just to talk something through.The highest honor of friendship isn’t found in beautifully planned events or brightly filtered photos.

The highest honor of friendship is messy and dingy and real. It’s in unfiltered photos of laughing so hard your double chin is showing. It’s loving each other’s babies and holding each other while you ugly cry. I can’t stress this enough:If you’ve been invited into even one person’s real, you are blessed. Cherish it.

Written by Jess Johnston

If you love this, you will love Amy Weatherly and I’s new nationally best selling book! https://amzn.to/3N1fu2B

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez

I know what your wife wants for mothers day. Ready?

*Drum roll*

Whatever it is she told you.

I know, I know, it seems too simple, but, just trust me:

If your wife tells you what she wants: get. her. that.

If she says she wants you to leave with the kids for 8 hours, get her that.

If she says she wants chocolate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, get her that.

If she says she wants a nap, believe her. She really really does want a nap.

If she says she wants to not *think* about what to eat for dinner, do not let her think. Get her a think-less dinner.

If she says she wants a beer at 8am, get her that.

If she says she wants a certain bracelet/t-shirt/flower do not *I repeat* do not overthink it, get her exactly what she asked for.

EXCEPT, (and this is important) if she says “nothing”, do not for the love get her that.

Love,

Jess