a birthing of a God-sized dream

Stories connect to other stories and suddenly there's an afghan-length of thread to sort through with the beginning knit so tightly with all the others that it's unrecognizable. Such is the way with how to navigate where the journey began for me to discover the simplicity, breadth and depth of love.

For a long time I tried to be a fixer -- of situations, of circumstances, of hearts, of people. I lived a lot of my first 35 years as an anxious person who tried to control every single thing, including people.

The truth is, no matter how hard I try there's quite possibly someone I won't please, or something that I've overlooked, or a better way. Still, I expended an inordinate amount of energy on a highly unlikely outcome of perfection; it was a bit like insanity.

Eventually I realized how completely exhausting it is to constantly be on the lookout for brokenness. I sat there with all that wasn't whole and considered what it might mean to simply and fully loose all that I grasped with my hands.

Like a bird set free, my unfurled fingers gave permission for dreams and wants and visions to fly away . . . for me and even for others. 

This unfurling made space for new things to find their way in my hand and new people to find their way into my heart; things and people I hadn't anticipated or even considered.

In the loosing, I went through a period of grief in which my tendencies were shaken. Muscles were learning a new way of being, no longer constantly constricted. I learned to be patient with myself as I navigated this new way of living. Still, I found myself afraid of the openness that became of the new-found space in my hand and was tempted to grip those fingers tight again. The joy I felt was almost too much to bear.

The restful state I was living in was almost dream-like and I feared waking up from a slumber that resembled a fantasy-like world because, surely, I thought, the bottom would eventually fall out. I was afraid of living happy-clappy and not being prepared enough for the hard times, so I tried to brace myself and quickly realized that it was the reverting back to a constricted way of living.

Slowly, I discovered that there are people surrounding me who actually love me as I am; I don't have to do anything or be anyone differently.

There are people who see something in my brokenness that is more beautiful than I'll ever see. 

People who think that I am perfectly imperfect. People who accept me and adore me. Period.

I had slammed the windows shut and bolted the door tight so many of those people would stop looking at me and talking to me and thinking of me. Because I imagined I was a nuisance and a pest, a hypocrite who wanted to change and who couldn't. And then one day I thought about how lonely it feels to always be by myself, running from here to there and making it a sport. So, I chose to open the windows and let in the cool breeze. I opened the door and let in all the people. It was one of those moments when I decided to test God and see if I really would be okay.

And it felt like nakedness, I tell you.

Letting people in made me want to scream: Hand-me-a-bathrobe-please! Because it's scary to be standing there all red in the face and raw from the tight-grip life. It's vulnerable and incredibly uncomfortable. Yet, those people knew all of that about me before I did. And they stayed. I didn't need to send out invitations to welcome people back in, they were just there -- smiling and cheering for me the whole time.

I used to not want to be seen anywhere I went. 

I'd wear a baseball cap and flit my eyes around people to the "others" I presumed were more important. I avoided fitness centers and churches and coffee shops and parades. I wanted to be among but to actually be incognito. Secretly, I wanted to be seen and known, and deep inside I begrudged the people who just didn't try hard enough to see through my tough-girl image. I had created a story in which I made myself the victim and everyone else the villain.

I realized a lot as I considered all the people who remained in my life even though I tried to hide. Though I cannot control the future, I can choose how I react to today. I can hold my hand open and my fingers loose for whatever might find a new perch with me, or let what needs to fly away simply go, all the while living in a state of rest. I can trust God with me, as I am, and with my life, as it is. I learned that love looks at a person with empathy and says, "I get you more than you realize" and "I've been there, too".

Love allows us to hope even when we fear.

Love bolsters us in the midst of fear in a way that doesn't hide the truth of potential reality
     . . . and love reminds us that it is safe to celebrate joy, as it is.

Love knows that we're all humans starving for grace.
Love knows that no one is better than another.
Love knows that we all have something about us that makes us needy and needed.

I started letting my face show and my voice be heard, and you know what? I didn't die. My worst fears didn't come true.

I was most surprised at the head nods and me-too's that I heard, affirming that I belong and I matter. 

As it turns out, that feeling of nakedness is actually quite freeing (though I promise you that I won't be making it habit to streak bare-butted across my neighborhood.)

Nowadays I like the girl I see in the mirror; I love her, in fact. I accept her and treasure her, as. she. is.

And nowadays, though I honestly still struggle with grasping for control and find that my muscles twitch in a restless-like way as they continue to learn how to rest and simply let things (and especially people) be, as they are, I am passionate about encouraging others to loose their tightly gripped fists and to simply accept their lives, as. it. is.

When we decide not to fix the brokenness and simply be, we reflect that we trust that the One who created us designed us with deliberate intention.

And when we embrace ourselves as we are, our lives reflect a living worship; the real kind that says, "I receive your love. You are enough for me."

Might we embrace our stories as they are.
Might we seek to know God and find peace.
Might we redefine strong and bravely live naked, trusting Him -- as we are.

: : : 

I said "Yes" to a crazy vision that didn't make any sense to me.

Slowly, passion and joy for this God-sized dream unfurled.

Birthed today, this here is a collection of hearts who have chosen to embrace life, as it is --
     . . . this is C'est La Vie: The Magazine:

Visit C'est La Vie: The Magazine on Facebook. 

on beauty and success

Happy girls

are the prettiest.

            ~ Audrey  Hepburn

He shows me the quote while we're browsing in a store and I nearly well up with tears. 

I get it now. Pretty isn't what I used to make it. 

Something profound has happened in my heart and I can feel it.
     What was once closed up tight is now broken wide open.

When my groom showed me that quote in the store and smiled at me, I smiled back and thought about how I really do get it now. 

I've always been younger than most of my peers. I couldn't wait for grey hair and fine lines to make me look older; surely then people would think I'm credible and good enough. When I landed a biggish-feeling job early on in my career, I held my breath hoping people wouldn't find out my age. I imagined people dismissing my capability just as soon as they found out that I was so young.

I wanted attention in all the wrong places.

Because of my determined and intensely focused way of being, I thought I could get whatever opportunities and experiences that I thought I deserved. I was under the impression that we ought to do whatever we can to make our dreams happen.

In my world, dreams were fulfilled through hard work and discipline. I believed we can accomplish anything we put our mind to. I considered dreams to be like cookies that I could decide to reach in and take for myself, or decline and miss out on altogether. Now I realize it's true that hard work pays off, but not always in the ways we imagine or the ways we want.

Even if we do what we can and find our dreams unfolding before our eyes, every choice comes at a cost. Sometimes we underestimate the extent to which our choices have on others and the very life within us.

My approach to life was to do whatever I could to protect myself from the threat of pain, even if it meant missing out on certain experiences. I thought there were insignificant parts of life that should be dismissed and my attention should only be on what matters most, like working hard at making everything right. 

Success was, to me, all about being better and fixing what is wrong. 

I knew that nothing is perfect and so I looked for brokenness in everything. I spent my days hammering the stakes in ever deeper to keep my tent from flying loose to keep the bad guys out.

I was so aware that each day is fragile and not for certain that I focused so much on the possibility that I might get sick and die young, or that the people I treasure might suddenly be taken from my life. Fear encapsulated my heart. I focused so much on the seemingly big stuff that I distanced myself from moment-by-moment experiences and denied myself happiness.  

Rules and expectations were my guide, making me rigid. Twig-like.

The threat was always high that I'd burst into a wildfire at any time. I was so thirsty for joy, yet nearly every drop of happiness evaporated on the surface before it got much of a chance to soak in deep to provide life-giving moisture to my dry and brittle soul.

I walked around a cold person who was nearly dead inside. 

Things happened in life that hurt and I was disappointed that I couldn't control the bad guys or keep the bad things out.

I had been under the impression that I was a superhero of sort and angry that I was made a fallable-human. I patched up my insides as best I could with such thick armor, making it so that I couldn't feel anything. 

Since I couldn't control things and people, I tried to control myself. I chose foods specifically because I read or heard they were good for me and made conscious choices to eat things that tasted like dirt and cardboard, only merely tolerating the taste. I made an idol out of certain drinks and foods touted as cancer-fighters. I didn't even consider if I actually enjoyed something.

Every decision I made was based on rules I created, all in an attempt to control fear's grip over my life. The cost of perfection nearly cost me life itself. 

Joy was something I didn't allow myself to seek or experience until it remarkably found me in a regular, everyday moment that I realized right then was anything but regular and every bit significant.

Something as simple as watching my son eat plain vanilla ice cream with colorful sprinkles made such a profound impact on me. Vanilla had always seemed so boring and not worth it, yet when I considered the flavor of the bean's tiny seeds, I began to understand the treasure in the taste, and though they add no nutritional value and cost extra, sprinkles are simply fun. Joy-full, actually.

Like the flick of a light switch, I knew something needed to be loosened in me. 

I realized that no matter how trivial or inconsequential-seeming something might be, if a part of life makes me smile it really does have value.

Suddenly, I remembered the time when I had eaten a tiny sliver of lemon cake that a colleague brought into the office one day several years ago. I remember that teeny-tiny bite being quite possibly the most delicious flavor I had ever tasted. That memory heightened my senses to life and I wanted more of that.

Turns out, it takes time to loosen the grip on a tightly sealed lid. Though I craved fun and freedom, my muscle memory was to clench tight in fear. I was willing to choose joy instead of chase perfection, I just didn't know how. I feared whether willingness would be enough.

I feared the cost of loosening my grip. 

I had been treading water for so long and felt like I was gasping for air. I knew that I needed to swim with the current and trust that I would survive without all the armor that was merely weighing me down. But, surely, that would feel uncomfortable!, I thought.

Living the way I had been wasn't doing me or anyone else any favors. That my family was still a part of my everyday was nothing short of a miracle. Rules and the try-hard life weren't making me advance any faster to my dreams, and especially not because I was good. Living that way simply made me exhausted and depleted.

Slowly, I let myself experience more the gift of grace has to offer. 
     I began to open myself to the love of the people who are a part of it all. 

I became more mindful of my reactions through my senses and became overwhelmed with gratefulness and contentment. I considered that life really might be enough, as it is . . . even though it it might not be how I would have it. And I considered that I really might be enough, too, as I am.

I considered that maybe my imperfections and the imperfections of life are actually perfectly designed and that I can trust God knows what He's doing. Maybe I could rest.

It felt a bit wonky interacting with people and life felt sort of clunky as I learned to navigate what it means to be me and not someone I think I should be.

For so many years I wanted to hover and hide. I allowed myself to die a bit on the insides as I waited for the eventual to seize me. And then one day, as I lay in a heap on my living room floor crying a hot mess, I heard myself say: "I just want to LIVE!"

Life bloomed.
Beauty unfurled.
Success was completely redefined.

Not because of anything I did, but because of the gentle love of God . . . for me. 

on contentment (and how to be a Warrior)

Once upon a time my mother would occasionally ask me if I was happy, and I would cringe whenever she did.

I would defend my life choices and try to convince her (and even myself) that I was indeed, happy, even though I wasn't really. I lived discontent and frustrated. Mother's just know these things about their children, and try as I might to fake her out, I couldn't.

My mother wanted her daughter to be happy and she was poised to give me whatever advice she could to help me get out of a situation that made me unhappy. Still, I cringed because I wanted her concern to be greater than circumstantial-happiness.

I knew that it is awfully selfish of me to pursue happiness over what's right for my story and quitting a challenging marriage, for example, wasn't something that I thought was right for me.

I craved inner peace, even though I didn't know it back then. 

When other people start questioning our lives or even making suggestions, we can tend to get all tripped up and find ourselves defensive, or think the easier way is to go it alone and to shut everyone out. So I tried.

I lived so restless and dissatisfied and pined for control -- for. so. long.

I thought I needed to be better and different. I couldn't accept myself and that bled into not being able to accept others, either. I lived for so many years with a scowl and nasty look plastered to my face. I was angry at the world for doing all the wrong things when I was trying so hard to do the right things.

Anger made me resent living. I tried to do everything and have the attitude I was supposed to have or should have. I was too ashamed for not being where I thought I should be.

     I didn't honor or even pursue my heart. 
     I didn't even try to get to know me. 
     I was so mean to me.

Whenever people asked me my "favorite" anything, I'd stumble and fumble for a decision, claiming that I didn't have one, because really, I just didn't know. I was more focused on what I should like that I didn't even consider what I liked or wanted in life.

I'd complain about what I saw and judge everyone, yet I wouldn't be able to articulate what I would want, even if I could have anything I wanted.

I didn't accept my story and instead wanted to run away from it. I envied people who went on trips to far away places, yet I didn't stop to think about all that a trip like that would require and whether I would even think it's worth it if I were given the opportunity.

Nowadays I reflect something far different than I did all those years ago. Sure, happiness alludes me a lot of the time, but it's more than that -- it's contentment.

     I am content with my life, as it is, and with myself, as I am. 
          And truly I tell you, this is no small thing. 

No matter what happens, I know that I can trust God, even when life looks ugly and feels brutal and the storm clouds begin to whirl and twirl in front of me. I can trust Him because I've seen beauty come out of what seems broken and impossible.

It took a long time for me to realize that we weren't made to go it alone. We weren't made to keep a closed heart. We were made for so much more.

My heart is full of joy because I am so overwhelmed with gratitude for every single bit of this, as Glennon says, "brutiful" life I've been given.

I've discovered that there is purpose in all of life and that it isn't up to me to decide what should happen just based on my own feelings or want or comfort. 

There are lives affected and influenced by how my own story unfolds and though sometimes I'd rather be the writer and producer of my own story thankyouverymuch, I know deep inside that so many would miss out on what their own story will become because our lives were interwoven. The same goes with my own life and the importance of the story of others' who I get to know, if even for a moment.

Every single person I meet has happened on and for purpose.

Once I discovered that we are all on-purpose people, I began to truly rest. I began to find contentment with my life without trying to change it or wait for it to be different until I finally decide to embrace it.

Perhaps the most amazing thing that has ever happened in my life so far is this contentment. 

God loosed my white-knuckled hands that nearly suffocated everything and everyone. He gently steered my attention to see the perfect ways He created me and my story, and he helped me to simply live instead of stroking-out from such an intensely focused try-hard life, or flat-lining from giving up entirely.

I learned that I am happiest when I am doing what I like. My heart beats louder and stronger when I'm doing what I enjoy. It requires that I sometimes ignore the Facebook feed and ignore all that everyone else is doing; that I sometimes live with blinders on, at least for a little while I'm gaining strength to run my own course.

When I live my life and let my heart pursue it's desires, I live the Me that God created. 

I learned that I honor Him by noticing His creation -- the part in the clouds that give way to light, the giggle of a baby, the wag of a dog's tail, the touch of my groom's hand, the smile and nod by a friend that communicates I am understood . . . the flavors and colors and experiences and hobbies that feed my heart.

I learned that it takes courage to trust that when we let others in, we won't lose ourselves. That, no matter what someone says about us, suggests to us, or smirks about in front of us, we can still be our real selves. 

God did some profound things to get my attention. 

I don't bother so much with theological discussions these days. Or Bible memorization. Or even church attendance. I don't call myself "religious" and actually can't stand to be referred to as that.

I don't concern myself about what people might think of me anymore. Or get all wrecked inside when I get a nasty look or tone from someone. I am letting people be messy, mistake-prone humans. I've chosen to live by faith and not by the attention from others.

     I am leaning into grace for me and for all of them.

I am passionate about teaching my son that he matters and that everyone around him does, too. And I can't help but to encourage others to see the beauty in their story, as it is.

I simply and fully choose to trust the very personal God who made me and live a simple and restful life.

When I look past how the world or people think I should be, and instead remember that someone will always disapprove of me and I will always come short in some way, I give myself permission to consider that the messiness doesn't mean I don't matter.

When I give myself permission to simply and fully be, I live as the Warrior who He called me to be.

the hard work of Now

We sometimes try to prepare ourselves for what we think might happen.

We say we're just bracing ourselves for what might be when really we could be just wasting our time. It could be that our suspicions are really just our fears in disguise, pretending to be someone they aren't.

What we think might be or could be, really might not ever or someday be.



We want to avoid hurt when the hard truth is that there will be pain in this life. Something will happen someday that we didn't expect and our current reality will be forever changed. We will feel like our joy was derailed.

There is no way to know for certain what will come around the corner next in our life, and there is no way to prepare for it.

Some have tried all sorts of magical fortune-telling escapades to prepare themselves and though I suppose it's possible, I suspect that knowing the future would dissolve any joy for now. Attention would be so focused on what will be, that what joy there is now would be hard to even notice.

I imagine all sorts of scenarios for my life. As a dreamer, it's hard to turn off the mind and just focus on now. "Be prepared" has been my unspoken motto. I get all antsy when I stay in the now, worried that I'm not considering what might be.

Crafting an imagined scene of my future takes me away from what is. I start to confuse what is really reality and start believing things that aren't certain, and that are therefore lies. It gets frustrating to sort out truth from possibility and inevitably I find myself all mixed up, anxious and angry.

Staying focused on the Now is grueling work. 
It takes strength not to focus on what might be. 

In my own life, as it is, I'm struggling to receive the precious miracle of life that is a baby growing inside of me. I imagine this life ending and it pains me to talk or even think with any expectation that we will one day hold this child alive.

I know that nothing is for certain and I know that life is fragile. It could be that I am being prepared for the inevitable by holding onto this gift loosely. And it could also be that I am trying to protect myself from potential pain that won't ever even be, causing me to miss out on fully receiving the gift that is Now.

It's a push/pull between our minds and our hearts to do the hard work of focusing on Now. Yet, I am committed to not missing out on what is. I don't want to waste today's gift of life, no matter what might or might not be tomorrow.

Let us commit to the hard fight of Now.
Let us live with our hearts splayed open wide, no matter what may be.

Let us refuse to imagine or expect anything beyond what is Now.
Let us accept life, as it is.

The power of one teeny, tiny word

On this Christmas Eve I am reflecting on the life I have and how I almost missed it and quite nearly lost it.

For so long I focused on being better than I was. "Grow" was on my daily task list, though it needn't actually have been written. It was a priority for me to improve myself, assuming that staying as I was would be irresponsible and a waste of time.

When I wasn't fixated on me, I was trying so hard to help others become better versions of themselves. I could see the cracks and holes in everyone around me. Like a mason, I assumed that I would not be fulfilling my obligation if I didn't do what I could to patch everyone up.

Contentment was something I'd never allowed because I didn't believe we should ever accept the imperfect.

Stress was a constant feeling that I experienced. There was always work to be done, either in me or in others. Rest was something I assumed to be reckless and wrong.

Innately, I believed strong was the mighty warrior who never gave up; the one who stayed in the ring and fought to the very end. Strong was getting better at holding up the weight, and seeing the ripples of muscles was evidence I would be ready for a storm. I feared my grit and guts would be overlooked during the quieter moments of life so I perched and flexed myself to be noticed, poised for battle.

I couldn't relax.
I couldn't even smile.

"Be ready", and "Trust no one" were the two mantras I lived by deep inside. I needed to be ready because I knew life is imperfect and each day is a battle.

Anger became my constant way of being.

I was mad at myself when I couldn't do what I knew needed to be done.
I was mad at everyone else when they didn't do what I was certain they should do.
I was mad at things and situations when they failed to meet my expectations.

Blowing up, lashing out, and distancing myself were my go-to tendencies when I didn't know what else to do. I wasn't ever "good enough" to make things become the way I believed they should be, whether it was people or possessions or even what I sensed was unseen and hidden potential.

I was disengaged with the beauty of life, devouring every moment as a battle for love. The possibilities of what I could become was what I thought was lovable about me -- not who I simply was, but who should be. I thought people had a far-off view of who I was supposed to be, yet never knowing for certain what they saw.

Exhaustion eventually had its way with me. I couldn't keep up with even my own expectations and exclamations. I began to consider the life I had around me in spite of all the attempts I made at giving it all up because I just couldn't get myself to be good enough. The hardness that had become of my heart began to crack as I noticed beauty in places where I thought there were only broken pieces.

Practically a dead girl walking, I was barely able to feel anything, much less even see love that surrounded me. I made myself the victim and whined at how "he", and "she", and "that moment", were the reasons for my distress. I neglected to consider the beauty that I could behold from the weaving of all moments without trying to better situations or become someone different.

Seeing the unraveling of beauty out of broken situations was an amazing sight. It became addictive to uncover it hidden deep within the darkest places. Gratitude for gritty, gunky moments welled up within me and though I felt silly and a bit crazy, I discovered joy and peace in a way that a "try hard life" never gave me.

Deep inside, though, I was scared to accept these gifts that came of all that was loosed within me when I knew that nothing lasts forever. I wanted to be prepared for the inevitable and the proverbial bottom falling out. I tried to guard and protect my heart from hurt, bracing myself with a strength that I thought was necessary and that would negate the power of any blow. Flat-lined was how I started to become, until I discovered that even that isn't living.

I considered that I could be wrong about what I imagined myself, and others, and life might someday become. In one seemingly random moment I decided that what I wanted most was to jump right off the train that I had let get out of control and simply sit on a bench, spending the time I've been given scouting for beauty and letting myself feel deep, abiding joy. Even in the midst of all that I sensed was wrong and broken, I discovered that I was strong for accepting what is, not for trying to make what isn't.

I considered the condition of things, as they were.

As. This teeny, tiny word tickled my heart and whispered into my soul. And soon, perfection started to loose in me; it wasn't my attempts that did it, and I haven't arrived at a place where I don't try for it. Still, in place of my daily grind for perfect, I discovered a contentment for me, for others, for life -- as. it. is.

God has done in me what I could not. In seeing all that He's done, I have decided that I can trust that He will do whatever else in me that He sees as necessary. I can trust that I am loved in such a way that I can rest.

I am now convinced that there is no greater way I can worship my Creator than simply by being -- as. I. am.

Giving thanks

Sitting in the quiet of the new day's dawn, I marvel at the fresh blanket of new snow.
I hold the moment as a gift and consider whether I'll walk, run, or blaze a trail on skis today.

Thick white powder adorns the trees making them look so sugary sweet. 

It's hard to imagine that just two days ago the temperatures were summer-like.

Lights glow from our neighbor's kitchen window and I suspect she is preparing a tasty feast.
In just a handful of hours the aroma of Thanksgiving will emanate from houses near and far.

Families will soon gather, smiles will be shared and dishes will be passed.

As hunger satisfies, chatter will quiet as slumber has its way again.   

There are some who won't share what my family will today.

I think of them as I recall the distress and unrest that was once a part of us. 

We celebrate the change that comes after a seemingly eternal wait is finally over.

What happens overnight or in a blink of an eye sometimes feels less miracle-like. 

Much of the world still sleeps as I think of all that has happened within me.
It is too early to see many of the tangible signs, yet life is whirling and twirling within me.

More than blood courses through my veins.
Joy and happiness, contentment and peace.

My body holds my own heart and now a small one of another.
Many days my reality still feels like a dream.

I sometimes dismiss the significance of this time since there isn't evidence in my shape. 

Still, cells are being multiplied at a rapid rate as limbs and organs are being formed. 

The wait was long, yet it was purposed for so much more than I'll ever even know.

Though doubt often niggled at me, trust was perfectly honed within me. 

The length of the wait doesn't make today any more or less of a miracle than it is. 

We are simply at the mercy of God for how our story will unfold and how we will grow. 

The seasons sometimes seemed so mixed up. 

There were summer daisies blooming when there should have been fall mums. 

Still, contentment came before this little one was ever conceived.

For this I'm most grateful because it truly isn't circumstantial for me. 

Forgiveness, peace and joy finally fill my heart and my home. 

Today and this moment, as well as the wait and the wonder, was all a deliberately given gift. 

Everything ties together for me as I look out at the perfectly white snow-covered trees. 

The shards of grief gave way to all that has grown within me. 

Life feels a lot like death a lot of the time and we wrestle at His ways. 

Still, peace eventually unfurls within us and for this I give thanks. 

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.

on learning to accept fear (Part 2: responding to a mother's worry)

My mother texted me the other day to express how "sad" it is about Robin Williams. I agreed and commented how mental illness is definitely very real.

She then said: "Promise me never to do that."

And I couldn't reply.

Sometimes the truth is too scary to face, so I hide.

I was afraid of my mother's fear so I chose not to respond to her request that I make such a big promise to her. Mostly I was afraid for her because sometimes the truth can feel like too much. I wanted to protect my mom from worry.

I've been paying more attention to fear these days.

I've been noticing that like children, fear just wants to be noticed. Even though fears can't just get what they want and don't have the right to push me around, I'm letting them be heard. I'm asking questions and trying to learn from them, even though rationalizing with or talking down fear doesn't always work.

Like the white hair, and wrinkles, and aches and pains that have been slowly making me notice that in spite of my feelings, I'm not 25 anymore . . . fear reminds me that I'm human.

I'm learning that I can rest when I simply accept fear as a part of life, kind of like germs that I can't just perfectly cleanse away. I make a choice to accept the risk that I might get sick and live.

No matter what we do, fear isn't something that we can make go away.

Fear isn't something to feel shame about -- neither that we have fear, or that we struggle to control it.

I hope that in time I'll become better at thoughtfully responding to fear instead of impulsively reacting to it and that my body will be strong enough for it the next time it invades me. For now, I'm learning to be honest that this conditioning takes a lot out of me.

I feel like a person who is just beginning a new fitness routine and is tempted to give up from feeling more exhausted because of the workouts. I'm learning to be gentle and patient and kind with myself as I develop the strength to stand strong in the midst of fear that is a part of life. Like wind, I can't control fear from happening, but I can do what I can to be prepared for it. Yoga reminds me of this as I contract my core muscles and stand strong like a tree, imagining that I can't be pushed or blown over.

I'm starting to accept fear and it's wonky ways. I'm also starting to accept it as a part of others, too, and how it spills over and makes a mess sometimes.

Though I couldn't promise my mom I won't one day take my life and I was afraid of how she might feel and what she might think if I spoke the truth, I decided not to let my silence be so deafening.

In my response to my mother's worry for me, I addressed it by saying:

I saw your text before I went to bed and didn't know how to respond, so I let it sit.

The truth is, I can't promise something like that to you. I can't promise that to anyone. Not even myself.

Does it mean you should be worried about my mental health? Not necessarily.

None of us are immune from random and seemingly sudden moments of onset anxiety and depression; however, I'd venture that the "sudden-seeming" nature is really a surfacing of the truth that's hidden below.

I've struggled in my own silent and scary ways for a lot of my life, and it's likely why I created "rules" that were my way of trying to fix myself.

I'm aware that my son and my husband and I could choose not to be brave in this life; we could choose to give up.

That I haven't . . . that any of us haven't . . . is truly a miracle. 

I share this piece of my response to my mom because truth alone isn't enough to set us free

     . . . neither is love from our family, and
     . . . neither is time.

It isn't because we aren't good enough that explains why we continue to struggle in life, it's simply because we haven't arrived in a place where anything is perfect.

When we accept that we were made human, we just might begin to accept our brokenness . . . and even ourselves. 

Maybe, just maybe, we'll begin to simply be, as we are, instead of work to become someone we aren't (even yet).

Maybe we'll begin to see our beauty as the kind that in its rawness is sometimes hard to look at, yet reminds others that they aren't alone.

Maybe we'll begin to see our imperfect bravery of accepting ourselves as the most perfect beauty of all.

Maybe we'll begin to accept grace.

Maybe we'll begin to rest.

Maybe we'll begin to live.

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. 

an open apology, and an invitation to simply be . . . as . you . are .

I'm not sure how to address this . . .

To the ones I've embarrassed . . . 
To the ones I've judged . . . 
To the ones I've turned off . . . 
To the ones I've hurt . . . 

To all-y'all . . . 

I confess that I've been too much and not enough at the same time. 

I worried about this, knowing innately that something wasn't quite right, though not knowing exactly what or how to fix me.

The way I lived for so long (and might still have a tendency to sway toward) has been as an extremist. The kind who people look away from and talk about to other people. I've labeled my actions as passionate when really, I've been more than a tad over the top most of the time.

A heart can only take so much of this kind of living. Whether it's extreme happiness or extreme anger, living with such a level of intensity is too much for a soul to rest in peace.

Constantly flittering from one emotion to the next, I lived restless. To "abide" always seemed to me like "complacency" and that just didn't seem like the right thing that I or anyone should be. So I searched harder for what I thought I should be. I tried harder and harder to be who I thought I needed to be.

When I admit that I've lived like this, constantly wondering how I ought to live and to what, and where, and who my attention should be given, I realize that I sound crazy. Quite literally, I've felt it a lot of the time.

I tried all sorts of things to live differently and eventually realized that what I've missed is the "live" part. 

A lot of the time I just wanted to die and I spent my life waiting and even hoping that I would. Just being me, as I am, has always felt so weak when I thought there's more I could be doing. And sure, I could, but there's always a cost.

I thought that if I could just be certain that the reason why I don't have the desires of my heart isn't because something is wrong with me . . . that it isn't my fault why certain things are the way they are . . . that I can fix me and everything else, even if it's true that I've done something, then . . . maybe then I can live . . . but what then? 

Do I really think I'll have this peace-filled, joyous life more than I can have now? 

It's exhausting to try to be someone who I'm not.
It's equally exhausting to try to make someone else be who they are not.

To let things be goes beyond waiting. It ignores for a moment what might be or could be, and just let's what is to simply be. When I just sit back and let things be, there's a great sigh of relief from the intense pressure to perfect me, and you, and everyone.

There's joy to be found right here . . . 
   
     where we're mindful of all that is . . .
     where we simply unwrap it . . .

               and receive it . . .
               and marvel in it . . .
             
               as. it. is.

Personally, I believe that God allows all things for purpose and even when something or someone appears so ugly that there doesn't seem like there's any hope at all. I believe there are immense possibilities for the beauty that will be made out of everything. I think of these fuzzy little stuffed animals that existed when I was young that we could turn inside out and they'd become a different creature.

I see life this way:

     Transformable (also sometimes referred to as Redeemable)
     Brimming with beauty (in spite of any apparent brokenness)
     Hope-filled (even though . . . )

I've been so excited about so much in my life that I've wanted to share it with everyone.

That said, I confess that I have hardly considered what words I use that might trigger something in someone else and I have rarely exercised sound judgment. I've been reckless and abused my influence. I've spoken loudly and often, as if I'm on stage all lookatmeish.

I've assumed that I have a responsibility to preach people to conformity after I have been changed, myself . . . to take what I learn and turn it inside out for all the world to see.

I'm learning that I can let people be, as. they. are . . . even if (I think) they're blind.

Eyeglasses aren't meant to be shared.
The script that I have is unique to me.

I can't just toss my glasses to the next person and say:
     Here, take these . . . look through these and you'll see!

It hurts my groom when I share details about him and our life with people. I used to be flummoxed about this, and nowadays I really appreciate the intimacy that we share when we keep others out.

I'm learning that I don't need to share every single thing with every single person, including my relationship with God. My experience as His daughter is unique.

To blabber about what my Father says about me and my life is a lot of the time boasting and bragging doesn't do a bit of good for anyone. I wouldn't do this with my siblings and I wouldn't want my children doing it among each other, either.

My relationship with God is personal and private; not secretive, per say, just not necessarily appropriate for public display. I'm living by faith and less by fear. I'm resting as I trust that what I know is enough.

There's a loosing happening in me. 

     I'm learning to be quieter. 
     I'm learning what it means to live a life of rest. 

My heart is saddened as I'm aware of how I've turned people off and quite possibly hurt them without knowing it; maybe even knowing it and not caring.

For many unique reasons, some people have a problem with me and have chosen to distance themselves from me.

     Some might have blocked me on their Facebook feeds.
     Some might see me and look the other way.
     Some might cringe when I come.
     Some might wish I didn't exist.
     Some avoid my call or text.
     Some lie to me altogether.

I'm incredibly sad at this, heavy-hearted, and quite a bit embarrassed. But what keeps me from running away and hiding my face now is realizing that they knew things about me before I knew them about myself. What difference does it make to run away now? They have already done what they've needed to do since I couldn't see what needed to be done in me.

The people who have remained in my life are examples of how I am loved. They aren't any better than the people who have chosen a life with distance between us. Some might have better off if they did chose another way, though I am selfishly grateful for their choice to stay and maybe even suffer right along with me in their own unique way.

I don't want to imply that I have that much clout in people's lives, because I don't. 

     However . . . I know the influence people can make
          and the ways that we sometimes toy with each others hearts,
          as if we can just pull and tug however we want. 

I've toyed with people and nearly destroyed so much, but thankfully God is so much bigger than me, and her, and him, and you, and all of us. I'm so grateful for this, even though I've resented that I wasn't chosen to be more than who I am.

Pride is a part of being a person. It's ugly and wretched. Yet, it's okay that we are because it reminds us who is God and plays a big role in keeping us all praying in our own way. God can handle our horridness; He really can.

So, to the people I've hurt, I'm sorry for who I was. I'm sorry for who I am a lot of the time. Yet, I can't help it, and I trust that you'll see that, too. I trust that you've found, or are on your way of finding your own peace.

I pray that we'll rest, all of us . . . that we'll live . . . in joy

     . . . even though there's brokenness, and berating, and blaming,
             and behavior that makes us feel like we'll never be enough.

Nothing we've done has gotten us to where we are at this very moment. It's a gift we've been given because we are loved by Someone far better than any of us will ever be.

     You are enough.
          As you are.

     We all are enough.
          As we are.

Our lives were weaved together for purpose that our being imperfect won't ever mess up. 

I'll just keep on breathing, because breathing is something I really can't not to do.
I'll just keep on living, too, because it is also something that I can't not do.

Whether together or apart . . . let's live, let's learn, let's love . . . as. we. are.

     This is our worship.

Linking with Bonnie. 

the power of freedom

For so many years I lived anxious and restless, never resting in the present.

One foot in the past, my heart longed to know why certain things happened in my story.

     Why did we lose a child? 
     Why did my father move away to not be a part of my everyday life? 

One foot in the future, my heart longed to know if certain things would happen in my story.

     Will we have another child? 
     Will we ever have a real relationship? 

I wanted to make things be a certain way, yet I struggled to let them be as they were.  

At the beginning of this year, a word was impressed upon my spirit. A two-letter word that I questioned in all it's simplicity.

God is loosing me from all that has bound me from experiencing life, from living in joy and abiding in peace, from experiencing his grace to live, as I am.  

      As.

In preposition form, it's active and present. According to Merriam-Webster, as is:

-- used to indicate how a person or thing appears, is thought of, etc.
-- used to indicate the condition, role, job, etc., of someone or something.

     as. she. is.
     life, as. it. is.

: : : 

I tried to make a lot of things happen in my life.

With enough coercion, maybe I could convince my groom to try for another child . . . 

With enough forgiveness, maybe I could persuade my father to give me more attention . . . 

With enough good, maybe I could keep my groom happy and not frustrated with me . . . 

With enough perfect, maybe I could get people to notice all my heart work . . . 

With enough intensity, maybe I could control the behavior of my child . . . 

With enough effort, perhaps even the response of anyone and the outcome of anything . . . 

I was a selfish brat who did whatever I could to get whatever I wanted, until I couldn't.

I was never "good enough" to make anything happen. And the painful truth is that I never will be.  

I'll never be good enough to measure up to any standard or make any thing happen while I'm this side of Heaven. And when there, it won't matter to me anyway . . . just as it's becoming less and so while I'm here.

Even when I was given eyes to see my father as a broken human being and forgave him for not being as actively engaged in my life as I had wanted him to be, I couldn't create the kind of relationship I wanted.

Even when a temptation would present itself and I was willing to make a choice that wasn't good for me, I couldn't create an opportunity to experience it whenever, or wherever, or however I wanted.

Even when my groom was finally ready to try for another child, I couldn't make myself conceive whenever I wanted.

Somewhere along the way I thought I could do whatever I set my mind to, whenever I wanted. 

I thought I could make things happen; that I could create and contain and control the outcome of anything. And then, through a series of real-life experiences, I realized that I can't control any thing . . . even myself.

     I can't make myself not crave . . .
     I can't make myself not want . . .
     I can't make myself not care . . .
     I can't make myself not whine . . .
     I can't make myself not control . . .

In frustration, I came to a place where I finally said: "I am a mess and I can't fix me . . . so what!" The place where I came to was to His feet, completely and fully and freely as. I. am.

I told God that I was done with all the trying to be someone I wasn't.

I was done with trying to pretend I was Him and live up to some superhero image. Though angry, I accepted that He made me with faults and failings and fears. I was finally willing to face that I am human. Because, I can't change who I am.

But, I didn't know any other way to live. So, I gave up even trying and said:

     "God, You have to do any work in me that you think is necessary . . .

       I can't make myself be someone who I'm not!" 

And in place of the anger, God gave me acceptance.

     . . . for my self
     . . . for my tendencies
     . . . for my faults.

I've been disappointed at people's inability to understand me, to know me, and to affirm me. And so I lived angry for such a long time. I hovered and tucked myself in a corner. With an angry look plastered to my face, I was satisfied at my ability to keep the doors and windows to my heart sealed shut.

But, God . . . is so much bigger than us.

And He'll do whatever it takes to show us.

So, again, through a series of experiences, God showed me that I cannot even keep a lid on my heart.

I began to crave the communion of others -- a real community where rawness is sipped and savored. And in His faithfulness, God weaved me with the lives of others all across the world, people who have become my true friends. I discovered that I am not alone in my aching and my wondering.

And God gave me an overwhelming passion to tell others that they, too, are not alone.

God gave me a vision for a place where all of us travelers in the journey of life can lodge together without much cost, a hostel of sorts whereby we commune together, sipping and savoring life, as it is -- simply and freely, as we are. A place where brokenness is shared and raw, real life is experienced in abundant joy. 

I dream of opening the doors to an on line hostel called: C'est La Vie: The Magazine. A name quite literally meaning: Life, as. it. is.

The journey of even getting to this vision was long, even claiming it as a dream specifically created for me to receive and be a part of.

: : : 

For so many years I wanted a vacation-like life.

I wanted happy-clappy . . . sand between my toes (just not in other places thankyouverymuch) . . . a gentle breeze from the south with no humidity . . . and French-blue colored sky.

Basically, I wanted perfection. All the livelong day.

As I journeyed through my own story, I learned that vacation and perfect isn't real life. Trying to create a life like that is exhausting, depleting the heart of what life is all about. 

It literally took a recent awareness that I am at risk of a heart attack for me to realize that running and working out and being physically strong doesn't equate wellness, and that strong muscles can actually become weak by constantly contracting. In order to live, I had to rest.

The truth is, I spent what I was given. I gave away my heart and my hope with the expectation that I'd exchange it for happiness and certainty. And when I wasn't entirely understood or challenged for my view, I'd slam the doors and windows shut and hide myself from the world.

I was created to be an influential person and I took advantage of my gift. I can change the setting of any environment and I used it to blame others, positioning myself as the victim and giving myself rights I didn't deserve.

I wanted so much that wasn't mine for the taking, at least not for a time. 
I was an angry person for so long who resented everyone, including my own very life.

In all my wanting . . . .

     a different house . . .
     a different family . . .
     a different job . . .
     a different life . . .

I realized that my groom stayed.

Even though he could have left and wouldn't have been to blame if he did.

My groom stayed wedded to my heart and to our home.
And his staying spoke deep into my soul that I am loved, as. I. am. 

     . . . even with all my curves and all my edges.

I realized that my groom looks at me with a kind of love that accepts . . .

     even though I'd lusted for things that weren't a part of our real life . . .
     even though I hurt him time and time again . . .
     even though I made promises and broke them over and over again . . .

I realized that kind of love is Real, God-created and gifted love.

God showed me that I am welcome at here, even though I am sometimes a terrible, horrible, not so good person. I realized that I can be me, completely and wholly as I am. This is the greatest gift. This is freedom. This is love. 

God invited me to choose life. One that is free to live by faith.

Because of how I'd seen Him show up in my life time and time again . . .
Because of how I could see and understand love in a way I never had before . . .

     I was able to believe that I am purposed and I have a place here, as I am.

Because of the ways I could see I am beloved . . .

     I was able to choose to trust Him . . .
     I was able to stay in my marriage . . .
     I was able to pursue hope . . .

          even though I won't ever be good enough . . .
          even though I won't ever be certain my dreams will be realized . . .

God created me to be His Rock, a solid believer whose thoughts and perspective aren't shifty, based on symptoms or conditions. And He's helping me to live this.

He's changing me from being a raging lunatic to radical lover of people.
He's changing my muscle memory from clenching in fear to resting in trust.

As God looses my grip and I turn my back on the try-hard, rigid, angry, fear-based life that is really more like dying a little bit more with each passing day, I'm choosing grace that focuses on life . . . the Eternal kind.  

When I sit back and examine the first 34 years of my life, I see only a mere spattering of joy across the canvas, not huge sweeps of it.

I want to spend the rest of my life, however long that may be, on joy 
     . . . not jealously or justification.

: : : 

God looses us from all that binds. Though the journey may look long and we may wander off the beaten trail, we're never lost.

He knows just how far we'll go and lets us go as far as we need to in order for us to cry out for His rescue. And He always appears in just the ways we need Him.

As I've journeyed, God has taught me that I cannot make things be and that there is rest to be found when I embrace life, as. it. is.

I am free. 

     I can live.
     I can trust.
     I can hope.
     I can rest.
     I can be.

I'm not quite ready for the fullness of community, or the fullness of family that I hope for in the dreams God has impressed upon my heart.

I'm still recovering from the rigidity that I called life.
I'm still getting to know the life He's called me right now.

But, God is readying me for all that I hope for, every moment by blessed moment. I trust in His perfect timing.

I recently said to my groom that I feel like the seasons are all mixed up for me. He nodded his head as if he understood and that one moment warmed my heart, just as these words do for me:

There's planting and reaping and harvesting, and there's the practice of letting the field lay fallow for awhile, allowing it to prepare again to produce. For the first time in a long time, I'm practicing silence, laying fallow, trusting that the world will keep spinning quite happily without quite so many words from me." (Shauna Niequist)  

So even though the calendar says it's summer and my spirit feels like I've been stuck in winter, I'm patiently waiting as I hold my cup.

I'm letting my favorite person love me, and I'm letting other people love me, too.

I'm exhaling after holding my breath for so long.

I'm accepting me more and more, as I am
     . . . and our simple life, as it is.

I'm living free -- as me -- and this is my offering, this is my worship.

Linking with Jennifer and Bonnie.