the long journey to peace, to Life

Several years ago I was given a dream that felt comfy and exciting.

Through a painful process and time, I learned the importance of patience and trust.

I thought surely God must be cruel because I even prayed the desire would go away and still, it remained.

How could I possibly be given such a desire and yet be waiting, still, more than a handful of years later?

I felt tortured -- gutted and raw -- and in that vulnerable state I was faced with a decision.

     Do I keep trying to make this dream happen?
          Or do I simply wait and trust?

     But what if it doesn't happen?
          What if it turns out my dream is something I made up?

There were times when I wanted to run away from everything in my life and even crawl into a me-size grave and fall asleep forever.

It seemed easier to just divert my eyes from the dream and even ignore the tugs at my heart. 

I nearly destroyed my marriage and gave up my child, thinking I wasn't good enough for the dream that hounded me, and perhaps I wasn't even good enough for them.

I gathered us three and we pursued a new place to live with wide open spaces and sunshine nearly everyday. I felt free and started to learn what life is like without the familiar memories from my growing up years. I thought I needed a fresh start and a new me.

Within two years we turned ourselves right back around and ended up in the last place I ever wanted to be -- Home.

The community where I was raised now felt scarier than ever. Everyone remembered the "before me" and I feared they wouldn't see the newness of me.

As it turned out, though I could sense the change deep below the surface, the "new me" was still only a seed. There would be a handful more years to live through until I would bloom and beauty would unfurl.

God asked me if I would stay with the man He allowed me to marry, even if I was sometimes irritated or annoyed by the discomfort of living with someone different than me.

My answer was a vehement "No!" at one point.

He had asked me numerous times to let go of the dream I tried to coerce him into making happen. Time and again I'd try to let go, only to fail over and over again; I just couldn't make this wanting go away.

I tried to coerce my groom to give up on me, convinced I was otherwise just postponing the inevitable because surely he would get frustrated with me enough to eventually give up.

Eventually, I realized my groom was right. What seemed like a good thing had become an obsession. It was my fear of thinking I wasn't good enough that was infiltrating into every single aspect of my life, including my interactions and relationship with him.

I needed to consider letting the dream go and trust that I am good enough, as I am.
     But how?

After actually trying to make my groom go, I finally realized something profound: He stayed.

     No matter how many glasses I threw and broke . . .
     Or how many times I careened out of our driveway and down the street in reckless anger . . .
     Or how much I yelled unfair accusations and ugly, colorful words at him . . .

The man who committed his life to me actually stayed.

I finally understood he was honest all the times his words said my curves were attractive and my edges weren't all there is about me. Most especially, I finally understood my groom's love is genuine when he gave me the space to process out loud.

Even though my behavior certainly hasn't been "good," it turns out I am good enough -- as I am. 

I courageously received his love, choosing to believe him and set my doubts free. After nearly 14-years, I finally married him last summer . . . this time, in my heart.

: : : 

Over a year ago I imagined sitting on a front porch with my hands cupped around a warm cup of tea, and seeing storm clouds slowly make their way across the sky.

I could feel the angst in me as the storm clouds began to whirl and twirl, and I considered making my way inside my house where I would find safety and comfort from my groom. Since he had become a person who I (finally) found rest in being with, my initial reaction was to go inside since a storm was about to brew and let him calm my restless heart.

Just then, I felt a stirring in me to stay, as if it were an invitation.

     Wait.

More storm clouds. More whirling and twirling.

     Will you stay? 
          Even now . . . in the midst of the storm . . . will you stay? 

     Will you trust Me? 
          I will teach you to rest, in the midst of the storm . . . now, as it is . . . 

The clouds thickened and the sky grew ever darker in my imagined moment, and I started to consider what happens during a storm.

I thought of the moment when the storm clouds part and the brilliant colors poke through the darkened canvas of the sky. That parting in the sky doesn't last long and it's sometimes really easy to miss, especially when we're tucked safe inside where it's more comfortable to weather a storm.

Brilliant orange and pink colors make their way through the clouds, though their beauty is not always indicative of the end of a storm. There is beauty in the midst. And we could miss it.

As if it's a reminder to Hope, the call to stay teaches us we can trust and rest. 

This vision grew a passion within me to encourage others to stay . . . to Chase Hope in the midst of the storm -- not necessarily for the storm to end and the hard story to be pretty-bow tied, but rather to stay long enough to see the beauty in the midst of the fog and the grey.

     To hope for His glory to be revealed in some way, even if it's not as we would design it to be.

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion?
Come to me.
Get away with me and you'll recover life.
I'll show you how to take a real rest. 
Walk with me and work with me -- watch how I do it. 
Learn the unforced rhythms of Grace.
I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. 
Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."
(Matthew 11:28 The Message)

: : : 

Soon after the storm vision, I was given a dream that I tried to fling wide onto someone else . . . anyone else. It kicked at my insides like a strange-feeling butterfly just waiting to bust out and fly.

     I itched and scratched, restless and irritated.

This dream just didn't make sense. It wasn't comfortable or exciting. It was annoying and just sounded like work that would interrupt my now quiet, and rested soul. I didn't need to prove anything or achieve anything anymore. I was happy and content with life, as it was.

     Still, I itched.

This irritating "dream" kept kicking me in the belly like a fetus in utero. Though I didn't want to admit it could be real, I simply had to pay attention to this.

     Develop a magazine . . . and name it, "C'est La Vie" -- life, as it is.

     Use this to envelope others around what you've discovered:

          . . . that you can trust me, and you can rest
          . . . even in the midst of life's storms.

It was settled. I would yield.

The journey I lived brought me to a passionate understanding that I can trust Our Creator -- God. I learned that I can rest, even as the battle rages and the storm billows.

I began to believe I am good enough, as I am. 

"Strong" was redefined for me.

I now see Strong as the courage to hold all things loose and to trust God -- hoping -- not for a happy storybook ending, but rather for peace

     . . . even in the midst of the storm
     . . . even if the storm never ends
     . . . even if the dreams my heart longs for never come true.

God gave me the desire to develop a magazine that seeks to dethrone the typical, glossy ones telling readers how to have the perfect body, the perfect children, the perfect house, the perfect marriage, the perfect sex . . . the perfect life -- as if theirs simply isn't good enough, as it is.

"C'est La Vie: The Magazine," the dream God planted within my heart and that I resisted, will be birthed about the time my 10-plus year dream of having another child will be born, the dream I tried to make go away and that remained through the years -- even after my hard surrender.

Having a second child wasn't something I necessarily wanted. It was a dream I believed with all my heart God wanted for us. I wanted it so badly just because I thought it would prove He is real. I imagined saying, "Look! See? God did this! He is real!"

If there's anything my journey taught me, it's that I don't need a baby to prove God is real. 

"C'est La Vie: The Magazine" reminds us that our greatest offering is to unwrap the grace to simply be -- as. we. are. -- and to trust God has purpose for life -- as. it. is.

His heart cry is for us to know we can trust Him . . . we can rest.

     What if I didn't say "Yes"?
     What if I didn't stay?

     What if I didn't choose courage to see what it is God had to show me?

It makes me want to throw up even thinking about how different my life might look right now if I hadn't chosen to surrender my comfort and step with God into the fog-laden path of life.

Deep contentment and joy for life has finally overwhelmed me. I might not always feel this secure, even though I know He will always hold me and keep me safe.

Even if the deep fears that try to niggle at me end up coming true, I know there will be sufficient Grace when I need it.

I don't have to imagine the worst in an attempt to prepare myself for a possible hardship. God will comfort me and He will be enough. Besides, I could never prepare enough for what His Grace wants to show me.

Even in the midst of the storm, He will cascade beauty across the canvas of our sky.

Christianity as I knew it was disassembled in my life. In its place is faith -- genuine faith.

After many years, I finally came to see the wait for my dream as a gift. I didn't need the dream to happen anymore. The journey was about so much more. I now know I am treasured and deeply loved -- as I am.

After such an ugly and hard journey of stubbornness and fear-living, a beautiful peace washed over me to accept my story -- as it is. 

"C'est La Vie: The Magazine" is about to make its debut, and soon thereafter will my second son.

I don't need to see what either of these dreams end up looking like in order to love them now.

Joy and gratitude has come to me without needing to see the proof. 

As these dreams grow their lungs, I imagine them scream: Look at what God did!

     I can already hear their screams of Glory . . . of Life.

Linking with Jennifer

on life and death

I think we should be talking about a topic that, generally speaking, a lot of us tend to avoid.

We let the moments of our days burlap-cover and tuck underneath what fear says we can somehow protect. We force-feed ourselves with various remedies that we think will manipulate a kind of growth to make our heart superhero-strong from pain.

Just below the undergrowth that we use to camouflage the tender shoots of our heart is a unique, one-of-a-kind treasure that was specifically designed for this crazy, mixed up, wild-like world. Yet, we don't believe it.

Acknowledging death in the periphery of our vision, we shirk off any consideration that our hearts matter and we try to better ourselves with busyness, expecting it will actually give us life.

Fear partitions us from our senses, keeping us focused on protecting ourselves at all costs.

We sacrifice the gift we can unwrap in tasting flavors mixed together because we're so famished for attention and we have this idea that we need to look a certain way to have what we crave.

Engaging with our children or even noticing them as they play feels like a waste of precious time and we want to do things that really matter, so we sacrifice the gift of seeing and feeling all that play and the perspective of a child can give us.

. . . and the list goes on.

People have shared their experience with me of how quickly time goes and they have encouraged me to hold onto it and to treasure the moments before their gone. Though they've been well-intentioned in their advice, I've always felt like their comments were itchy, like a wool sweater. I want to appreciate it for its warmth and comfort, yet this heaviness I experience with this kind of advice is sometimes too much for me.

I'm discovering that time is not something we can control. The vulnerability of not being as strong as we would like to be is what scares us the most I think. We fear the imperfect of our humanity, that we will miss something about a moment, or that our choices in how we allocate our time will somehow be wrong.

I believe that we were created by God who fully knew that we'd make mistakes. To go a step further, I believe He purposely created us this way.

We would be wise to face the hard fact: we will always miss some. thing.

We were purposely created as imperfect beings. This may be simple truth to some people, yet for me I somehow managed to misplace my focus for so many years. I spent my living days aware of my imperfections and thinking that my purpose each day was to fix me, or at least make strides toward fixing . . . toward perfecting what isn't. I thought God tasked me with the responsibility of fixing His mistakes or what He left undone.

My fear of complacency has been like a worm that wreaks havoc on a body, including the neurological system. I was afraid that if I accepted my imperfections then I was resigning myself, giving up on what I could be, and that I won't have what I hope for if I don't put in the effort to get there.

Did I think that my hope was used as some sort of carrot to be someone better?

Did I think life was a cruel test of will? 

Perhaps it's the American way, or maybe it's just me, but somehow I thought success was a constant highway of always improving, always growing, always striving; while, maybe, someday, arriving . . . at least mostly.

In the Spring I was faced with a question that rocked my world:

     How have I spent my life so far?

Truthfully, my own answer made me cry. Because, for so long I wanted to be someone who I'm not -- at least not yet. I've held such hope in my heart that I'll be someone different or better and so I've focused on being her, instead of simply me.

I didn't consider Who gave me my hope . . . Who will lead me to see it fulfilled . . . Who wrote a part for me in the plan for this world.

When I stood at the altar nearly 14 years ago and committed my life to my groom, words stirred in me that have stuck with me. They were words that made me consider how limited my time with him will be and that is what I focused on more so than the other part -- the part that said, "I love you so much I am giving this man to you as an example of my love for you."

There weren't expectations that I be someone who I wasn't, just that I know I am loved. That I receive the gift.

Back then I was ten pounds heavier than I am now. I didn't think then that I had any weight that I needed to lose. Now, if on any given day I'm a bit squishier or pudgier than the previous day, I somehow think I need to hide from the man who said he'd love me until death and who shows it to me everyday with his steadfast stickwithitness. Because, I've learned to eat even more healthy and to take care of my body even better than I did before. Knowledge has side-swiped me from living free to living focused.

I've focused so much on the end -- on when our end will be and how it could be any time, or on what is good for me and will help avoid this or that disease.

I've focused on so much that I thought would protect me that I limited myself from simply falling into the moments and receiving them. 

Living free is vulnerable and scary. I've seen people have the proverbial rug pulled out from underneath them, gutted by utter surprise at death or disease and I've not wanted to be left in a lurch like that, so I've done everything I could do to prepare myself and protect myself.

: : : 

This summer has felt a bit more like winter to me in that it's been a time of restful sitting on the couch with a cleared agenda and calendar. That my family and I haven't had plans has actually felt refreshing, like the comfort and warmth of a blanket.

I've discovered that I actually want to be home, even though it's not exactly the way I want it to be. Traveling and hustling with plans to do this and that really is just one big headache and my typical attempt to avoid the discomfort of imperfection.

I've discovered that I'm loved, even though I'm a wreck a lot of the time and as much of a yo-yo emotionally as the weight of my body. I've felt like new life is hidden just underneath the burlap and that an unfurling will happen, even though it's not quite happening when I think it should.

In the midst of feeling like each moment I live is one step away from falling on an icy patch and feeling tempted to be timid even to breathe, much less walk, I've realized that like my legs, my heart actually feels better when I exercise it instead of focusing so much on keeping myself safe and secure.

I found that by accepting the conditions of each moment, I am able to really live. And by that I mean, to embrace joy in the midst of the jaw-gripping, fault lines of life.

There's a young man who died recently, sparking so many conversations about people's perceptions of other people, particularly of biases as it relates to race. So much of the world noticed because the killing seemed unfair, judgmental, and irresponsible. People have been angry and rightfully so, yet I wonder if they expected some sort of perfect that hasn't transformed humans in spite of the strides that have been taken around human rights.

There's another young man who died recently, sparking another kind of conversation about how experience and success should somehow making him exempt from incurring pain or harming another person.

And then there's a third young man who died recently, sparking attention from a smallish-size group. Though not a nation-wide news story, people stood in lines for hours upon hours yesterday to pay their respects to a roughly 40-year old young man's family -- a village bartender -- who suddenly died of a heart attack.

I feel badly for the families of these men. I feel badly for their having the weight of sadness and for how these deaths have affected so many other people connected with them. I even feel badly for seeing goodness in all of these stories, because declaring any smidge of beauty in the brokenness feels so trite and dismissive of the pain people are experiencing.

Yet . . . I believe there really is more beauty than there is brokenness in this world . . . and most especially, that brokenness always gives way to beauty -- that it's purposed, even though we sometimes can't fathom how or even begin to pretend that we agree.

In the winter-like summer that I have experienced this year, I have hibernated and learned to rest. While doing so, I have contemplated the fragility of life and the risk of love and life.

I decided that I want to live, even if it means I'll experience brokenness.

I decided that holding my heart hostage from joy is more torture than any loss could ever be.

Death will happen. I will likely come when I least expect it. And though I am sometimes tempted to consider which way is a better way or which is a crueler way, I want to stop doing that as often and instead just breathe -- while I can -- sipping, savoring, and sometimes even slurping down the moments.

I'll sometimes evoke all my senses and might even taste life as I drink it in, yet there will be times when I'll gulp it right down with the mindlessness of a 1,000-thoughts-at-once frantic human being.

Maybe talking about death more would help us to be more comfortable with the imperfect nature of how it comes upon us. Maybe it would help us not to be so consumed with the idea that we can somehow perfect our handling of it.

Like parents do with children, we will mess up life.

We will forget to watch our tone and we'll even forget to wash our hands. We will forget that we really don't want the cookie and we'll reach for vices that have become our habits.

Life isn't something we can perfect or get through without pain. Though we want to be better, the truth is that we will die and we will die imperfect.

I don't want to spend all my energy trying to perfect me (or others) when I'll never finish the job anyway. 

I've decided that if Someone decided this world was worth having me a part it, then I can trust that Someone knows better than me.

That Someone wants me to embrace what is, as it is -- even what isn't exactly right or how I'd like it, including myself and other people.

Who am I to question Someone's Art?

Linking with Jennifer and Bonnie.

responding to a mother's worry

My mother wrote to me last night with what she called, unfounded worry. She asked me to forgive her if she steps out of line and said:

"I don't want interfere and I don't want to make things my business that don't belong to me. 

I worry about you because I am your mother and I love you. I cannot pinpoint why I worry. I have no definitive reason that brings me to this worry.  

It is not person or situation specific. It is just an uneasy feeling I have. 

. . . I just want you to know how important you are, how much you are needed and how much you are loved . . . " 

: : : 

Even though fear was rummaging around the walls of my heart, and . . . 

     I wasn't completely comfortable with what I had to say, and . . .
     I wondered what I could have possibly done to make her be worried, and . . .
     I wanted to run and hide, and scream and shout in defense of myself, and . . .
     I sometimes forget to count the gifts . . .

I scripted a response and sent it . . . in the midst of the fear . . . because:

I'm learning to honor myself, as I am
     . . . and I'm learning to honor others, too, as they are.

: : : 

My response to my mother's worry went something like this: 

Mom, 

I know you love me and that's a great gift -- to know.  

I truly appreciate you and how you care. 

Let me assure you that there's no need to worry. Though, mother's have this sense and that's not to be ignored, so for whatever reason that brings you to "worry" I'll just trust that you'll choose peace. I've been on a journey of rest and it's been deep and profound. Perhaps I've been distant. 

Why do people feel compelled to walk a certain line or stay outside of certain bounds? That kind of thinking isn't free to just love and care and express genuine concern and is what inhibits many of us from peace and what causes us continued restlessness, wondering what should we do? how should we act? what should we say? I've been deliberately choosing not to live that way and to be more open with my heart, though it's hard. I'm tired of the rules that imprison me; rules that I create and have based my life around that has ultimately inhibited me from living in joy and peace.

I want you to know that life is good, Mom. Truly, it's good. 

Now, in my mid-30s, I'm navigating who I am, as I am, versus who I think I ought to be. This may seem like a time to reply: "well, that's how you should have been living, silly girl" Yet, it's not how I've lived and that's just how it is. I think a lot of people my age get to this point in their lives and start to realize that we haven't been true to ourselves, and those who don't get it probably just haven't realized this about themselves. This is my story right now: learning to live freely as me and not focus so much on the imperfections.

I'm deep and often times too much for most people including myself, yet I am learning to trust God for my imperfections and trust my husband for his love. These two are profound lessons I'm in the midst of learning and it takes a lot of energy and strength and much of my heart just to live in this space. Perhaps that's a lot of the reason why I might come across as distant; there's just not a lot of words I can muster and not a lot of room in my heart right now. I'm okay with this and I trust I'm good enough in this moment, as I am. 

I hope you'll be overwhelmed with a peace that assures you that I'm in a good place. 

love,

a

Linking with Jennifer

on holding dreams (and my self) loosely

I'm developing a different kind of muscle memory these days; the kind that rests more than it clenches. My whole being is learning to loosen the grip I long held on everything that nearly strangled life right out of me.

A lot of my days were spent so focused on growing that I overlooked who I was. Laughing at my mistakes was something I couldn't imagine doing. I intensely and perfectly tried to be someone I wasn't and missed out on simply appreciating and enjoying me. Rules became my Ruler; my rigid and legalistic ways become my god.

God is so much bigger than me and any of my rules. He allowed me to reach a point of exhaustion where I fell in a heap and said:

     "If there's work to be done in me, You do it.
       I'm too tired to try anymore to fix me! 
       I'm choosing to just be me, as I am
       I'm trusting this is enough." 

In the midst of my giving up with trying to be better or different than I was, my hope was restored and I was given a fresh anointing of peace. And I was able to see that rest is the kind of offering that honors Him best.

To simply live, as I am . . . this is the heart of worship.

It took a long time for me to realize that no one and no thing could fulfill my dreams and give me the kind of life I longed to have. I was angry and agitated for so long, disappointed by all that I thought would give me happiness and peace.

It took brokenness for me to discover that I am loved far more than I ever considered.

It took a depleted heart for me to trust God and rest . . . to live. 

Each new day -- moment-by-moment -- has become an opportunity for me to unwrap God's grace, His true gifts . . . such rich evidence of His love for me.  

Even in the midst of uncertainties and questions that tempt to evade our very peace, we can trust that God loves us and He's got us, and everyone else, too. He knows just how far to let us go and just how far to take us in the valley; we can take a hands-off approach to fixing us (and fixing others).

We can rest.

Though it looks like God is cruel in allowing detours, delays, and disappointment, we can trust there's something He has for us to learn in the process that we've called waiting and simply call it: living.

: : : 

Join me at God-Sized Dreams for more on how I'm learning to hold even my dreams loosely. 

Also linking with Jennifer. 

where I'm at these days

I've been somewhat quiet for awhile now. Here and in life.

I had mentioned at some point on Facebook awhile back that I was on a "mini-sabbatical". I didn't have an explanation for it, all I knew was that it was necessary and needed to be immediate. I still go on social media every now and then, but only when I want to and mostly only for a few minutes, at most. I've missed most of what's on the feed and I'm less wanting to be in the know about all things.

Some friends have wondered if I even care about them anymore. Their questioning of my heart has wounded me and worried me. I do care quite deeply about them all, yet my heart has undergone some serious repair that has adjusted how much of it I parcel off. I need to honor this and take the time my body needs to not just recover (because I hope I never recover from a change like this), but to recalibrate my very life. I need to let God do what He wants to do in their life, too, and loose even them. God weaved us together and I need to trust that nothing is lost with Him, not even friendships.

After being so lookatmeish and longing for attention for so long, what I seek now is the quieter moments where there's more space for living. Some people call this the margin and some call it whitespace. Name aside, it's the wide open sky of life where there isn't anything clouding my personal view.

I've been waiting around for so much, so many unrealized dreams, and I realized that I could miss the importance of these days -- these glory-filled days.

     . . . these days when my quirkiness reminds me that I am creative

          . . . when my dreaming reminds me of uncertainties
          . . . when hardly anything I do or say is right, reminding me that all is redeemed

     . . . these days when my waiting actively perfects my patience.

God is so personal in how He loves us, speaking our language and communicating to us in ways He knows we'll best understand.

I've lived with a personal conviction to pursue excellence in all things. The thing with passions is that they can become tangled up in all we do, like a vine that chokes and strangles life itself when it's meant to support growing beauty. My passion to excel led to a tightly gripped life. For so long my muscles flexed to the point that they didn't know how to un-flex. I became stiff and rigid like the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz. More to the point, I became dry and brittle.

Relaxing was something I simply couldn't give myself permission to do and furthermore, is something I didn't know how to do.

And so began the year of doing nothing aside from living moment-by-moment. It was the year of not going to church. The year of sitting on my couch weekend after weekend when we weren't in the ice rink or on the road to the ice rink. It was the year of bi-weekly housecleaning. Of multiple days off from working out. It was the year of no baking and hardly any dinner guests. Of avoiding invitations from friends. Of saying no to just about everything.

Last year was about learning to stay put and simply be. It prepared me for this year, to accept what is and embrace who I am -- to learn to live.

Along the way I have faced a few things that needed my attention, like confession and repentance, surrender and patience, fear and joy. All throughout my journey I felt the invitation to "Come . . . Rest . . . Be." You'd think it'd be easy. And for some, perhaps it is. But God's shown me that we all have something. For those folks there's probably something that they struggle with that I don't, and so I can rest from comparing or shoulding myself to be better or different in any particular way.

There is a manuscript that I began and dragged my feet over finishing, stalling until I finally surrendered to the sheer pain of trying to resist it. At that point I so much wanted it to be done that I nearly bludgeoned myself to death with a self-imposed deadline that was more fear based than faith. I miraculously met my specific goal, only to find out that "it isn't done". Though I did all I could do, there's still time to be lived and a process to go through until all the words can find a rhythm to them that makes the message ever clearer. I have to wait on this part. I have to live. I have to breathe. I have to rest.

And so, when all around me I see people announcing book deals and launching their first, second, and even third or fourth book, I take a deep breath. I pray for them to fall deeply into rest, even as life whirls and twirls all tornado-like in front of them. I lift up their fears and anxiousness, and I intercede on their behalf to sip and savor the sweet moments of life, resting as they live.

As it turned out, writing the 68,800, or so words I puzzle-pieced together was the easy part. I actually siphoned off bunches and bunches of words and filed them away for other potential projects. What took the most out of me was the obedience part. The doing. The disciplined doing. The doing even though I feared. The doing even though I ached just to have it over. At the end, I'd had enough of it and sensed that I needed it out of my hands and so I shipped it to a few friends. My heart knew it was, again, all about obedience. Yet, my head wanted affirmation that what I did wasn't a waste.

Crickets. Just crickets.

Silence from my friends was a clear gift of grace, actually. Through my wondering if all my effort was junk or if I actually made sense, I discovered a whole new element to my senses that I hadn't ever experienced. At first I thought maybe I was all mixed up, but God taught me that sight isn't just reserved for the eyes, and hearing isn't just reserved for the ears. The same with tasting and touching, they aren't just reserved for the tongue and the nerves. We teach our children that there are restrictions and rules to the senses, defining them so matter of factly. Yet, imagination and creativity were a part of God's design. He gave us a heart and a soul that defines in ways Webster and others couldn't ever. I'm learning this.

And so, these are the days when I'm breathing differently, sleeping differently, and overall positioning my life differently. These are the days I'm learning to experience and not exploit or explicate. Our family calendar is practically blank, though it doesn't mean that we aren't dreaming and discussing ideas and options. We're careful in our considering, letting time settle our thoughts and sifting them together at an unrushed and less frantic pace. I'm really not nearly as busy as people think I am, and for now I'd like to just keep it that way . . . they with their preconceived notions about me, and me with my little secret.

Sifting always gives way to hidden things. We're finding glitter in our togetherness of sifting. We've not been panhandling for gold, it's more that we've been panhandling for grace, my groom and me.

I'm craving community, though honestly I'm not ready for it yet. And so, we sift and stir and sip and savor these moments, these things of which glory is made of . . .

     . . . the all day long smiles and belly-busting laughter
     . . . the reach-up-my-skirt-while-I-cut-the-peppers-and-make-me-giggle moments

I'm forgetting to bathe the dog and instead learning more about how to throw the lacrosse stick . . . I'm folding laundry and reading novels instead of pounding out miles upon miles in a run . . . I'm listening to The Boy-Man read his own work-in-progress book and pondering all we've gained from our choice to keep him home with us all during his fourth grade year . . . I'm preparing for community in our son's return to playing for our hometown youth ice hockey club and all the politics and personas and particulars that will come of that . . .

These are the days of saying no, thank you to potential job opportunities and moves. The days of learning to stay and be still and let things just settle -- for the wind to die down and the clouds to part and the storm of life to streak beauty across our horizon. The days of hearing a song on the radio and knowing so fully just how much I am loved, of finally getting it and falling in love all over again.

These are the days of tasting again all that delights me and realizing I honor Him when I choose the things He gave me pleasure for and not restrict myself from joy. Of waking up later. Of whispering and saying less because my mouth would rather rest and my eyes would rather feel.

When I say these are glory days, I don't mean to imply these are grit-free days, because they aren't.

It's painful to learn to rest. My legs literally ached for two weeks straight as they developed the muscle-memory to trust more and try less. It hurt my body to simply be. The process has taken time and I still haven't arrived. I'm still quiet and less about making plans.

I still fear people will think I don't care about them and it pains me to even consider their potential thought, yet I know that my honor belongs to One . . . and by learning to rest and not be all things to others, maybe my void will give Him room to move in their life, too.

And so, I'm living these days without a plan or even an inkling of what's next. All I know is that these days I'm living . . . in joy.

Linking with Jennifer and Bonnie. 

on stepping back and submitting to rest

Two weeks ago I thought I finished a manuscript for a book that I'd actually initially avoided working on for a long time and eventually dove into heart deep.

The words came easy and I knew I had a message to share, though when I stepped back to examine what was there, I noticed that there are pieces missing.

I still believe that I have a message to share, yet I also believe that it isn't quite time.

In a fit of exhaustion I had sent my messy manuscript to a handful of friends, in spite of the fear that they'd cough and say, This? Seriously? This? 

I knew that I had to get what I had away from me.

          The work needed to cease, so I could rest.
               I needed space, so I could see. 

Fear wanted me to keep the words back and hold them tight. I sensed it wasn't quiet time for there to be a book yet, however, I knew without a doubt that my writing on this was complete.

I needed to get what I had in the hands of a few trusted friends. I just didn't know exactly why.

All along, my writing wasn't about the book. It was about honoring the story that I've lived and my heart knows I need to share. It was about honoring who I am and that as a person who processes with words, this writing of what I did was necessary.

Yet, fear told me I needed to know that my hours upon hours of early morning writing wasn't wasted. That the huge amount of space this smallish project took up in my heart and my mind wasn't foolish or meaningless.

Fear gave me a longing to know that it wasn't wrong for me to be sharing so much of myself, to be so divided like I was, so taxed and consumed by the writing for pieces of me to have been so partitioned off from my groom and our son.

Fear wanted me to forget about faith. It wanted me to get my answers from people instead of from Him, so I shared my words with the few people who were with me on many parts of my journey and waited for a response. I tried to tell myself that whatever they thought didn't matter, but convincing myself to wait patient didn't dismiss the restlessness.

I was fighting rest and the fight has left me dogged and ragged. I've been disappointed that I still have a process to work through to see this project through. I worked hard at getting to this place. I wrote and obeyed and honored the call. Still, I can't make it be time for the end product to be.

This is the place in this book writing where I've done all I can do.

I now need to submit to rest and simply let it be.

               I can still pursue hope, but it needs to be as I rest. 

: : : 

Just this morning I said no, thank you when invited to apply for a new job at a big-time university where I'd likely learn a lot and be positioned to really grow my career. I did this because I can't stand the thought of how exhausting that all would be.

What I know is this moment, right now. Not today as a whole, but right now. And right now I know that I feel exhausted even thinking about pursuing something like that.

Tomorrow is a different day and only God knows what feelings it will bring. In this moment, I feel incredibly achy and heavy. I literally have side effects from a fight I've fought for too long.

Fear has had its way with me far too many times. I could portray myself as the victim, though I'd be lying. I've had a role. I enabled it. Nearly every single choice I've ever made in my life has been led or guided or informed by fear.

I've fought the rest God has wanted of me. And . . . now is the time for me to yield to it.

          Now is the time to accept the pain
               . . . to face it head on and to submit to it, as it is. 

For too long in my life I've lived a white-knuckled existence -- fingers gripped tight around everything. If I couldn't control it, I'd try to cajole it or contain it . . . using whatever word I could think of that ultimately still meant control.

I've rushed in making decisions and found my way first in line, standing tall and pretty and all put together, just so that I'd have the opportunity if I wanted it. I didn't actually give much thought to whether I actually did want it until after everything was all positioned just in case.

Yeah, I know how messed up that sounds. Because, it is. It's also exhausting to have to go back and re-position and make adjustments like that.

My biggest fear is that I'll stay this way and never know how to really live.

A leader takes a step back and lets others go first. She carefully considers before she chooses. And she chooses for her first, quietly and contemplative. She doesn't need to tell everyone her process or procedure or predicament. She doesn't rush to conclusions. She comes to her own contentment through making good choices for her-self first. She isn't guided or pushed around by fear.

I have a message to share -- a community to lead. And I've been sharing a bit of it as God leads, but I know now that I need to contemplate it more. Truth tells me that I won't ever fully or perfectly get it. But still, there's a process I've yet to go through and that God's yet to work through in me.

          My worship right now is in the waiting. 
               In the stepping aside and submitting to the rest. 

On the other side of this there will be something richer and fuller, and that is when the message will be clearer and credible.

The only way I know how to loose the grip fear has had on my life is to step back and let me be. And that means to let the pain be, too.

“When you lean into that pain, and lean into the questions, and stop pretending that they’re not there, and stop pretending that everything’s fine, when it’s not . . . there is the release that’s waiting on the other side of that. It’s a new birth all over again.” (Sarah Bessey)

And so, I'm stepping back. I'm putting the manuscript on the shelf, though I assure you I am not boxing it up. And also? I'm putting the crazy, God-sized dream I have of developing a magazine on the shelf, too.

Hope says these things will be . . . as He leads . . . just not today.

I want a faith-driven life instead of a fear-forced life. So, today I'm choosing rest.

Amen.

Linking with Jennifer and Bonnie. 

we're wanted

Father, we come.

wanting to play and yet with so much to do.

we hope someone else will occupy and entertain, someone who is more fun than us.

we hear the words, "will you play with me?", and we so want to

     . . . yet, there's all the things! 

     and . . . "just one more thing . . . one more minute . . . "

the relief came when his daddy came walking in the room and said he'd play.

we even sighed at the feeling of being rescued.

it's hard to confess our gratitude for this rescue.

we're being asked for, though.

we are wanted. 

     as. we are. 

slow us to see his eyes that long for us.

slow us to listen to hear his voice say our name.

slow us to feel his tug for us.

make less of our many things.

less distractions.

less us.

we are wanted and we have made them wait too long for us.

it is us who they want, not just him or something else to do to fill the time.

it's us.

it's time that we take our wanted place.

so, might we set down the dish towel and the spoon that stirs.

might we put a pin in all the things and pick up the video controller, even just once.

we're being asked for and we know it.

we're wanted, even with all there is to do.

doing less and being with them is kind of a big deal. remind us today.

and might our saying "Yes!" be our offering to you.

might we feed and clothe them with the love you give through our very being here.

loose us to fast our comfort of control and order.

niggle within us a wanting to be with them.

thank you for provoking us and prompting us to notice their want of us today.

amen.

linking with Jennifer and Emily. 

feed and clothe

Father, we come . . .

we come with hearts that seek to worship and honor You.

yet, we do not know what that will require of us.

our souls cry out to detach from our everyday itchiness for control.

our spirits long to dance with you in the Holiest of grace.

yet, we are human, and we are frail.

You, alone, make us whole and worth living among the others who have breath.

purpose-filled You make us. You, alone.

we mess up and muck up. still, You say we matter. 

so we humbly come.

we don't know what it will mean or where we will go.

still, we come.

we are all hungry and we all are naked. 

remind us we matter no more or less than another.

in our famished state we pine for something to fill us.

and in our nakedness we claw our way to comfort.

needy, we are.

only you can sustain us.

teach us what it means to feed and to clothe your beloved ones.

give us your grace to share our fill of you with others.

help us not to keep you to ourselves.

bubble up and over us so that we can't help but pour into the cups of others.

less of us, Father . . . more, so much more of you.

clothe them by our encouraging ways, by you being reflected through our caring and life-giving hearts.

may our hearts desire to worship you be fulfilled in us.

in Jesus' name, may your will be done in us.

Linking with Jennifer and Emily.

on deciding not to be a Christian

I had a conversation with a young man last week that left me feeling a bit queasy.

His question made me contemplate labels and definitions, and quite frankly led me to reconsider what it is I truly believe.

So many of my opinions have been shaded by the shadows of others; people who I subscribe to as experts, or who I think have more moxie than me. Practically everyone has fallen into this category for me, to be honest. I've wanted my self to become imaginary, picking up pixie dust and sprinkling it over my head. If I could choose any superpower I have said I want to be invisible because being me has simply seemed too scary.

Learning is something I've done with great passion and attentiveness. Not math learning or history from books, but the kind that would make me wise and better than I am. Improving myself was for so long a constant preoccupation and quite frankly, a sickly obsession. I have a close friend who says I know myself better than anyone she knows. Her comment is no longer something I am proud of, as it wreaks with such a putrid stench of self idolization.

I felt like I was dying a long, slow, gruesome death that leaves holes in the chest. 

A gutting out was the way I described it. Shame came hot and heavy and my eyes burned at the sight while my nostrils flared, overwhelmed by what I tried to portray as good when the truth was hidden deep within me. Pride is downright disgusting and too unbearable to face.

Slowly, I began to discover what love is and how it has absolutely nothing to do with what I do.

I could abort, abandon, and have an affair. Or, I could atone, accept, and be all there. Regardless, no choice would be too far or too short from His grip and truly, no-conditions kind of love. I believe this because I've chosen some of this and amazingly I've lived to tell the story.

And here is where the power of grace lies.

     Truth that miracles really do exist . . .
          Proof points, because I'm not that good at making things up.

I can't always pull out of the Bible and find where it talks about this or that kind of issue. And when I can, it doesn't mean that I can theologically explain its connection or relevance. I live a lot by what some may say is feeling or intuition, while to me it's really more like a leading. I have chosen to recognize the stirring and tugging I sense within me as Holy. I believe God took up residence within me from the moment He chose to make me. This is my choice, to believe; a choice that simply and profoundly wrecks me every. single. day.

My life is full of pain as I slowly learn to loose control and grow in my capacity to trust The Maker of me and all of this blessed world. Because, my comfort is often what I want more than doing the thing that I know is most right.

My life is admittedly a lot of the time all about me.

When I chose this kind of life, to say less of me, more of you, and uttered the dangerous words: Any. Thing., I had no idea what kind of crazy I was speaking and what the translation of that seemingly understandable and simple language really means. I had no idea that every single thing about my life would be tipped upside down, and over, and inside out, and spun around and around again.

I came crashing to the floor, smashing both my mouth and my face while I bled from the inside out all over the place. 

I still have lots of bruises hidden underneath the surface of the pretty my life sometimes makes. What might appear as easy or intense is so much more than anyone could ever possibly guess.

When people pray prayers like change me and heal me, they need to be prepared for what it really might entail. Because it isn't so much the circumstance He wants to fix, it's radical sight He wants to bless us with as He changes us.

And in seeing, we can never go back. We're for. ever. changed.

There is a tremendous a price for this. Habits that were familiar become a challenge to break, friends are sometimes hard to keep, and what was once a good choice suddenly becomes a throw-out-the-window type of thing, for the wholeness and health of our self. What was comfortable becomes clunky as we learn what it means to truly live.

I've found peace that comes when I do the very thing that niggles at me and makes me on edge; when I finger point the ache in my shoulder right where it hurts and stab it to speak of why it feels this way. Confession oozes out in the poking and prodding and miraculously, ribbons of healing cascade down and around through the cavernous places of my soul.

It sounds anything but what Holy-like pictures have painted glory to be. 

All this dying is something I thought was done and over, yet here I am facing it myself and I think: didn't someone else already to that for me? are you serious about this?!

The joy that comes in the new of my sight is overwhelming. I even thought it to be too much and said: what am I supposed to do now, and with this?

     Be still, the prompting told my soul.

          Eat this moment, as it is.
          And then come here, into this moment. 
          See my glory. And don't leave.
          Rest. Eat. 
          And then, GO.

So I took and I ate. And I gave thanks. And there I saw . . . beauty splashed across the dark.

I decided that there is no where else I'd rather be than here, in this place where all Glory be.

There isn't a definition that works for me to describe how my life is, other than to say I've been transformed and I've been given sight to See.

I challenge anyone to take the leap.
     Decide to live for Him and See.

The description of being a Christian is too complicated and confusing for most. It raises more questions than provides answers, and that makes me sad.

In thinking about the journey that brought me to where I am, it's more personal than any brand or name. It's a pull-up-the-chair-and-lets-talk-over-tea kind of thing. Be prepared for me to share all the juicy details and let me warn you, I won't be in the least bit brief.

I'm learning to accept me -- as. I. am. -- and truly, that's no small thing.

I ache with an impatient restlessness for big visions that make no sense for today. They seem ridiculous to say the least. Foolish and perhaps even a waste. Yet, I can't shake them and I can't explain them away; they simply are -- as. they. are. -- and I've found that to even try to denounce them makes me sicker than sick.

So when a college kid tells me all matter of factly that he's gay, and he's obviously troubled at accusations that he won't go to Heaven, and he asks me what I believe . . . next time, I'm just going to say: Grace. The kind that loves us, as. we. are. 

And then I'm going to invite him to pull up a chair, and sit awhile, and maybe, just maybe he'll encounter the One who made Him, as I share with him these very Real and humbling truths:

     Love bowled me over . . . wrecked my every being. 

     And, I sin just like anyone sins. 
          What I do isn't any bigger or less than anything you do, 
               and I'm certainly not any better than you.
   
     I make myself sick at the habits that I can't seem to break 
          . . . and I have only a glimpse at my piousness and hypocrisy. 
     
     Your struggle is your struggle, yet you resemble so much of myself and my struggles. 

And then I'll sit back and listen. I'll hear the flow of the blood in the beat of a human heart.

I'm not saying I'm a Christian again.

and this is my worship.

Linking with Jennifer, Nacole, and Emily.

a new kind of vow: As. We. Are.

I think we should come to the altar naked.

     No more of this beautiful white gown and glorified-perfect stuff.

Seriously, I think we should come naked: as. we. are.

     Messy. Dirty. Bruised.

     Self-mutilated. Self-shamed.

     Holey and drained.

     Ashamed and afraid.

     Angry. And even amazed.

Our vows should be of a different kind.

     Aware that we will surely swerve and sway and make mistakes.

So I'm proposing a new kind of vow.

     To our groom (or our bride), as much as to our littles, and each other.

A daily vow as much as a life vow.

: : : 

to my groom . . . my son . . . my self . . . and even my God,

my loving you today is a choice, and you need to know this:

     i will get angry even after i say that i won't.

     i will surely hurt you.

     i will be unlikeable a lot of the times.

     i will abuse and adulterate what we've got.

     i will put me first.

     i will have unfair expectations of you.

     i will be impatient, and impish.

     i will abandon my umph and stickwithitness.

     i will want to run.

     i will try to hide.

     i will want comfort more than i will want the hard work.

     i will make so much about me.

     i will want what i want over what i know is what's best.

     i will get everything so tangled and twisted, just as i will be.

     i will complain of not having what i want.

     i will pine for better days.

     i will come into my days scared and scarred.

     i will not promise that i'll always love with a generous and committed heart.

     i will, though, guarantee one thing: i'll always be human.

          i will live the definition of messed up, tripped up, effed up.

          i will be me. 

     i will boldly and brashly bring my whole self to the table, at least some days: real and raw.

     i will reflect my need for undeserving grace, unconditional love. true redemption.

     if that's what you're willing to want, then let's do this thing . . . this life . . . this day.

this is our worship. 

Linking with Jennifer.

when Holy feels a bit crazy

It was almost overwhelming, the awareness of her potential fear.

There are crazy people out there and to be wondered if I was one of them was almost enough to make me say: never mind, it’s okay. Thoughts of what she might think of me niggled at me.

I wanted her to trust that I wasn’t one of them, yet there was nothing I could do but to hope and to wait.

Several times I had felt the prompting to reach out to this woman who I didn't know and ask her to meet me for lunch. The prompt to do so felt as natural as the feeling of knowing I need to brush my own teeth. This was simply something I felt was a must do.

She didn’t respond after several silly-feelings attempts, and I started to think that maybe I was a bit loony until she finally said okay, in what felt whispered so thin. I don’t know what kind of thoughts she might have battled or fought, or what her life was like and how she might have been distraught. (Or, maybe she was just busy and it had nothing to do with any of that.)

The patience her quiet required of me – how I had no choice but to wait – was a test of my faith in every way.

I didn’t know why we were meeting and the urge to know gripped my throat tight. I was embarrassed for not having a plan or a purpose and for the silly I felt that I seemed.

Still, I knew in my gut there was purpose; I had to proceed. 

So when from the moment I saw her my stories started spiraling out, in not a trickle but a full out gush and I was tempted to put a cork on my mouth, there was no stopping the dam that had broke and the flood that ensued. She needed to know the things I had to say that day, yet I need not know why. And I needed to deliver them right in that way.

Though the words that I shared were easy to spill, I felt a bit of awkwardness as I became aware of the stranger seated close, his table so close to ours.

I teeter-tottered in my confidence as my tongue oared through, intently focused on where I knew where it needed to go -- straight past the weather and right to the heart and the soul of my story.

She was sweet and generous with her time and her heart and I had hoped she would get me and my ridiculous-seeming urge to meet. In a small, slight way, I could see that she was uncertain and that courage was hard for her that day. 

I didn’t want to pry in too deep, yet I had a deep sense there was something she needed to hear that day.

I noticed the pace that she ate, just as quickly as my words ticked off . . . so click-clack-quick. I wasn’t sure just what she needed to know, though I knew all of what I had to say would be necessary that day.

Yet, still, I worried deep within of why I was there that day.

     Why her?
     Why now?
     Why this?
     What for?

And then, it was as though the awkwardness finally slipped free.

Our fear and our worry found rest, and I could see how He was there. The moment was hushed. It was Holy. And for a brief moment I could see, even as my eyes filled with water.

I still know not why or for what purpose, though I still feel peace; especially in letting the trying-to-figure-it-out to loose.

I couldn’t not be me, I told her. And I felt free.

this was my worship.

Linking with Jennifer today.

 

Commissioned a Warrior :: her worship

The following is a post by Carol Hulin, a "non-blogger" whose worship is truly, no small thing. I've invited Carol here to this place and toast of her willingness to choose yes to an invitation specifically meant for her uniquely crafted and purposed life. 

God weaved our stories, Carol and me. He gave me eyes to see and a passion to tell of her worship. And He made it be today . . . her birthday, of all days! 

Prayer Warrior. A phrase you will not find in the Bible, yet is used extensively in Christian circles.

I cannot say I like those words. But they seem to follow me around wherever I go. You see, I pray for women. I am prompted to pray for these women. I HAVE to pray for them or I cannot sleep at night.

For me, praying for them is as natural as my heart beating without any conscious thought from me.

I just do it. It flows from me in ways I cannot understand. And I am not sure I want to understand it all; to unveil the mysteries of how God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit and prayer all intertwine together.

To pray is to release a burden inside me that weighs me down. That aches and churns within me as it seeks to be brought to the Father. 

But I do not stand like a warrior in full battle gear attempting to break into the throne room of our God. No, I approach Jesus more like a neighbour and we talk to each other over a privet hedge that separates our two worlds.

I just do it. It flows from me in ways I cannot understand . . . To pray is to release a burden inside of me that weighs me down. 

Amazingly, Jesus wants to hear prayers. He wants people to pray for each other. He wants intercessors to stand in the gap for others who cannot pray. Oh, how He wants prayers from us rising to Him so that He can present those requests, pleas and praises to His Father.

And out of that prompting, this shy, introvert type has contacted these women and said: "I'm praying for you." 

They have not thought I was crazy, but have embraced me and become family.

And it all started with one . . . 

: : : 

There I was sitting in a training event five years ago, minding my own business. Not expecting to be prompted to pray. 

The trainer, Melanie got up to speak. 

Wham. 

Immediately I knew I was to pray for this woman. 

I remember being confused on the whole praying issue and arguing in my mind with God and thinking: What, Me?! Are you kidding? I don’t even know her. You’ve got the wrong girl, Lord; surely not me!

Yet, at the same time there was a sense of "Yes, let’s do this."

I so wanted to be in Melanie’s corner, praying for her. I knew that even though we did not know each other, I could pray for her. 

I could help her, even if we lived miles apart and never got to know each other. 

What, Me?! . . . You'e got the wrong girl, Lord; surely not me! 

Eventually I felt prompted to email Melanie and let her know someone was there for her, raising her name to His throne. 

Thankfully she didn’t think I’d lost my mind. She has been gracious over those five years; she has encouraged me, thanked me, sent prayer requests to me, and become a friend. I’m even starting to dream of the next step, which is getting together in person and pray together.

Five years, one person. I did not think it was meant to be more then that one. And then, Wham . . . again.

: : : 

I had been reading Amy’s blog for a couple of months when the "wham" happened. It was a middle of the night have-to-pray-for-her kind of experience. 

The next morning I emailed her. She emailed me back -- thanking me and encouraging me. And our conversations and prayers since then have grown wonderfully deeper. 

Two to pray for. I was humbly honoured to put Amy and Melanie's names and needs into His hands. I could handle praying for two women on a daily basis. 

And then an explosion of sorts happened . . . 

Just when I think I have reached my maximum number, He brings one more along and somehow she fits in nicely, easily . . . never a burden.

He put a flood of women in my path all within a matter of a month or two:

Em . . . Kathy . . . Jacque . . . Crystal . . . Jessica . . . Tenley . . . Keren . . . Kris . . . Kristen . . . and Kristen . . . Lani . . . Denise . . . Lanette . . . Hillary . . . Sue . . . Martha . . . Jennifer . . . Mary . . . Anita . . . 

That’s a lot of praying and just when I think I have reached my maximum number, He brings one more along and somehow she fits in nicely, easily . . . never a burden.

Each knows I am praying for them and have been kind enough not to say No, "I don’t know you," or "I think you’re crazy!" 

Each has blessed me with their confidence and trust in me, helping to build up my self-esteem. Each has become a friend.

I do not know what the Lord has in store next. I just know He has warmed my heart and soul by bringing these women into my life. 

As much as I pray for them and hopefully help them, they help me grow, to connect, and to reach out. It is an honour to pray for them, it is a privilege. Something I do not take lightly. 

Praying for someone is sacred territory. 

     You never want to just say: Hey, Lord . . . 
     You need to, instead say: Please, Lord . . . 

For it is their tender hearts and souls being lifted to His presence and released ever so gently in to His hands.

As to whether what I do has any effect, I do not know. I just know that I am compelled, I have to pray for these women.

I am commissioned. 

All that matters to me is the doing -- being His Prayer Warrior by following His promptings. 

It is an honour . . . it is a privilege. 

It fills me with love in deep places to be entrusted to pray for these women that are His.

this is my worship.

ABOUT CAROL HULIN:

I live in Ontario, Canada. I grew up not knowing that you could have such a thing as a personal relationship with Jesus. Thankfully, I have had an ongoing, growing relationship with Him for about 15 years. I have a degree in TV Production and in Hotel and Restaurant Operations. I've worked as a Guest Services Rep for 25 years. My creative side includes: refinishing old and/or battered furniture, photography, studying the Bible, "closet" writing, and reading, reading, reading. I do NOT blog (!), but you can find me on Twitter.

Linking with Jennifer