a growing of us

You're only four days old now and I still can hardly believe you're here.

Sometimes it feels like I'm floating and it's not because I am just a tad bit back logged on sleep. Is this truly not a dream?

The joy I feel is just so unbelievable.
The peace I feel is just so remarkable.

I carried a hope to be a Momma to another and you've been a long wait for me.

Watching you nuzzle and guzzle what God made my body provide for you, I am reminded of all those times I thought I was broken.

The doctor says you're just a few ounces away from your birth weight, gaining and growing quickly. I smile and then I tear up, knowing you won't be this tiny with squished up legs for much longer.

I watched your daddy take over and undress you at the doctor's office today, and then change your diaper one and then two times. He is so patient, concerned more about being gentle with you than rushing in response to a waiting nurse. I think, if only I could be half as good at changing diapers! Then I remember . . . 

Comparing isn't the way to live our own unique lives.

It's the changes that I notice most in these days since laboring and birthing you that astound me -- in me and in all of us.

With each contraction I experienced during my labor with you, I felt such a calm and profound peace as I focused on letting go and surrendering to the process. As I pushed you out and into the world, my loud, gutteral, uninhibited screams were more than just a response to the physical pain.

I screamed for the wrestle of surrender, for the receiving of grace, for the journey of hope, for the love being birthed in me.

Since that day I looked at you astounded that you really are here, I continue to feel immense joy and peace. I look at you and know that it's not about being worthy or deserved, it's simply about the plan God wants to accomplish.

I can truly rest from trying to be someone, I can just live, as I am. 

I don't have to do every thing right, I really am good enough. 

Your brother has been opened up to love. His heart is private and how he's been touched by your life already is in deeper ways than we could ever fully know. From the moment he learned of your budding life, to the moments now when he looks at you, something profound has been happening in him.

Your daddy and I are true partners now, not competitors or trying to prove anything to each other. We appreciate each other and love each other no matter our irritations or annoyances. Letting us be partners and friends on this journey is no small thing for me, let me tell you.

It could be the nearly 15-years of marriage and 11-years of parenting together that has taught your daddy and me to work together in coordination and cooperation, like sinews, yet I know it's more than that because we could be 30-years in and not have what we have today. 

God has given us courage to face the days with perseverance and to choose commitment over comfort.

This is a special time and I will not rush it away. I have already been out of work for over a month as we awaited your birth. Under the surface, there was a deep birthing of me during that time. I will be home for several more months and I am determined to not pressure myself or obligate myself to anything beyond our growing together.

I will nap when I need to, surrendering the compulsion to singlehandedly tend to you.

I will let your daddy in, and all the others who want to know and love you.

I will resume running because it is nourishment to my wellness, not to hurry away the remnants of my pregnancy with you.

This time is different. 

I am becoming the me I was designed to be; I am content and grateful for my life, as it is. I am at peace with all the parts of my story I had once wished were different. 

I'd say we're both quite blessed.

learning the ways of rest

I was deceived. For years I was under this misunderstanding of Grace.

Scratch that. I didn't know about Grace. Really, I hadn't heard of it.

For years I judged women. Admittedly, I still do.
     Mostly, I judge myself.

So when the Physician's Assistant asked me four weeks before my due date how I was feeling, and I told her the truth (because I've learned its importance), I wasn't quite ready for what she offered me.

I had a plan to be out of work on a set date and even that plan was a generous helping of rest I hadn't ever considered nearly 11-years ago when I was last pregnant and down to the wire, so to speak. Back then, I worked until Noon on the day of my scheduled induction . . . two-weeks after my due date. Yep. I sure did.

Everything had been going so well and I truly didn't even consider an end date for work except unless something happened that would require being taken out of work, or actually being in labor.

This time, I mostly had the same viewpoint; except, I thought about how difficult it is to go to work each day and wonder if it'll be any day, and I thought about my nearly 11-year-old Boy-Man and how I'd really like some time together before we become a family of four. So, I planned to take a "vacation" starting the week preceding my due date and just continue a stay-cation until the delivery, at which time maternity leave would begin.

Knowing our "plans" can get sidelined, I was prepared for the possibility of potentially getting taken out of work earlier than expected, or of something going quirky that would derail all of my highfalutin plans. So, I kept my ideas loose-ish.

What I hadn't considered was being offered to be taken out of work "to rest," and it not necessarily being because anything is wrong. 

I told my PA how exhausted I am . . . how the baby is "so low" . . . how I'm incredibly uncomfortable . . . and of the regular-ish (Braxton-Hicks) contractions.

She reminded me of the magnitude of pregnancy and encouraged me to consider resting even more than I'd so diligently and deliberately focused on (and was) doing.

     But, it just seems so silly . . .
     Women have babies all the time . . .
     There's not really a compelling reason . . . 

     What will people think? 

My perception of pregnancy had deceived me from reality.

I thought mean things like:

     Women who didn't enjoy their pregnancy weren't appreciative. 
     Women who complained about the discomfort of pregnancy are weak. 
     Rest is for the weak ones.

Yeah, I was a judgy one -- tight-fisted, insensitive, irrational, and incredibly intense!

I'm not sure I ever considered all that pregnancy requires of a woman's body, especially in the last month of pregnancy. I'm not sure I ever considered kindness, either.

So here I am with nearly two-weeks until this baby's due date . . . with a tween-age Boy-Man who is so happy to have his Momma home . . .

     And I'm still learning the importance of rest . . .
          I'm still learning the ways of Grace.

You can preach truth at me all the livelong day to loosen my grip and rest, and I'll nod my head in agreement that I get it. I write about it. I preach about it.

But growing is a process, and it requires my patience.

Even though we know truth it doesn't mean our "muscle memory" automatically reprograms. 

Though I am willing and aching for a life with less fear-based living that is the reason for my tight-constricted way of living, I'm definitely a work in progress and still growing. 

     I'm continuing to chase hope for my "muscles" to further develop . . .
          that I will live less clenched and rule-based.
   
     I'm learning to be patient in and with the process.

Maybe this whole experience of letting go and saying "yes" to the opportunity for rest, offered by one sensitive, understanding, and wise Physician's Assistant was one of those moments that will bring me ever further into living the kind of life I believe I was created to live.

I was hardwired to be a hard-worker, a "go-getter," and (at least slightly) Type A. This is a good thing. It helps me get things done and accomplish goals. Yet, it isn't all of me.

About my concern of what people might think?

I'm hoping that like my Physician's Assistant ultimately did, others might look into my eyes and with honesty say:

     "I get it. I so get it. And, I'm with you."

Because, as much as we all know loosening our grip is important, and we want to grab our friend's by the shoulders and shake them until they get it, I have to believe we're all a work in progress . . . we all struggle to fully rest.

And one of my biggest realizations?

    There is no shame for the difficulty in ever more fully learning this truth.

It was a couple of friends who stood in the gap for me, holding space for my continued growth. They walked alongside me in my struggle and didn't judge me or make me feel inadequate.

These few friends didn't try to fix me. They didn't tell me to get over it and command me to "simply" loosen my grip.

These few simply held space for me by opening their hearts, offering unconditional support, and let go of judgment. These friends honor the necessary part of the process.

As one dear friend prayed for me, I also pray, for us all:

"That the paths you are so prone to go down -- the ones of production, the ones of appearance, the ones of showing yourself worthy -- that the rigidness of those routes would soften, and that what spills out the edges of that would find new ground and new ways to make paths . . . for newness of life to grow . . . and a new strength to come from giving over to the work of God."

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

joy in the midst of the battle

I wish I could say the battle is over and I've won when it comes to the body image tug-o-war my heart and my mind push/pull over.

The truth is, the battle is real and still very much alive.

That said, I have gotten to a place where I am more content with myself than I ever have been. With myself and with my life, as it is and as my story book reads.

I now accept my curves as symbols of physical strength to play with my young-ins and run distances to see the glorious view. I look at these curves as providing "reserve" to my body in the event that I ever get physically weak from sickness.Most of all, these curves are symbols of freedom to eat what I enjoy and to not restrict myself like I often did with rules upon rules for what I can or cannot eat and when.

I now accept my edges as symbols of my "need" for Grace and Christ's strength that is given power through my own prideful, rough, tense, judgmental, and sometimes terse way. These edges can come across as demanding or belittling or a bit too forthright, though they are softer and even I am surprised sometimes.

My weaknesses are a humbling opportunity to be reminded I will always be human. On a fairly every day basis I am reminded the battle is real.

When friends or acquaintances comment on my growing belly and how I am carrying this pregnancy, I try to soak in their words. I am human and like most people, I appreciate all the wonderful comments. The truth is, though, those comments eat me up. There has been a time when I've wanted more and more and was never satisfied, like an addiction.

When someone tells me the weight I've gained only appears to be in my ball-shaped belly, I fear the coming weeks when my face might blow up and I'll be rounder in more places than just there. Where will their comments be then? Will people just lie?

As I appreciate all the comments -- I really do! -- I have sometimes wished folks would steer clear of always commenting on my physical appearance as the first thing they say. But, they don't. And it's my problem, not theirs.

A few months ago I started to just give thanks for the way folks say that I "glow".

I decided to hope it's Joy they see, as if it is seeping out of my pours. 

Joy was a hard-pressed thing for me to receive, truth-be-told. I wish it wasn't, especially given the long and painful journey of aching for that which I hoped for, believing in my soul it would be and yet having to wait for so long to see it realized.

I went through years of anger and doubt, confusion and anxiousness. Friends who didn't have children when I had my first have since had a handful, and all the while I sat by and watched, waiting for my day for just one more.

I assumed something was wrong with me or I wasn't good enough for the dream I held so close to my heart and couldn't shake no matter how much cajoling or convincing I did to myself. No matter what, the dream I carried was so hope-filled, even though I couldn't make a speck of sense out of it.

When I learned we were actually expecting a second child, I was so afraid to receive it and tried to protect my weary heart from premature joy. Yet, I knew in my soul there was something to be joyful about. There weren't any guarantees I would actually hold or raise this babe, though there was life, as it was. Even now I remember this with only a handful of weeks until the due date and after a night of having a dream we lost him. There is life, Now -- as it is.

I choose joy, because, this matters. 

     Even the journey . . . 
     Even my aching and weary heart . . . 
     Even my struggle with compliments . . . 

The process of pregnancy and parenting is realizing just how not in control we are. It's a wrestle of self and we often sabotage our opportunity to see something beautiful in an attempt to be good and to get it right (whatever that means or looks like).

So on days when I want to crawl into bed and throw the covers on my head (if it weren't so darn uncomfortable!), and I walk down the hallway at work with my head hanging low and mumble to my colleagues in a less than enthusiastic tone, I reach for Grace.

On days when I meet up with a good friend and she says with a smile, "the baby is growing!" and points to the evidence of my increased belly size and I just scrunch up my nose, I reach for Grace.

These are the days when I'm reminded I am a human who is loved, as I am. 

When I'm moody, tentative, or insecure, I remember I am no better or worse than another person. Even if someone else doesn't share the same struggles as me, mine aren't to be denied or dismissed; we all have some. thing.

Might this alone be enough to give us comfort in community? 

We all have a shared frailty as humans. I remind myself of this, constantly. This is what helps me to let my rawness be seen and to be real about my struggles.

It isn't with everyone I open my heart to, it's those who ask with a genuine heart and those who I sense really do care.

I try not to judge or be angry at the ones who aren't honest and who aren't as invested in going there -- to the heart of the soul. 

I remind myself how difficult it is for me on a daily basis, sometimes most especially with those who know me and can see right through my tendency to want to tuck into my turtle-shell.

I don't have to perfect a lesson or even perfectly loose my issues, even though I make unfair expectations and grow impatient and annoyed with myself.

For so long I was tethered to negativity, self-criticism, and anger. The ties have been cut and the contentment and joy I experience deep in my heart is so much richer these days -- this is enough, as it is.

God brought me here and it's Him I give thanks. With each struggle, I am becoming ever stronger.

the heart of humans

Last week many people across America experienced the coldest night of the year. So many of us are all still recovering from being inundated with snow and we're grumbling about February's brutal wind and downright frigid temperatures. I'm one of them.

This is a year unlike most when I am finding myself like so many others, anxious and feeling like I can hardly wait for Spring to arrive.

My seasons have felt all mixed up this past year, at least it felt that way in my heart. Last Summer felt a lot like Winter -- dark and cold-seeming -- and then for a brief moment Fall felt like Spring -- hope blooming and unfurling.

Life has been revived in my heart and through my soul.
Life has been reproduced in my body and through my marriage.

Life is growing inside of me.

My family and I are anxiously await the arrival of with a precious long-awaited and hoped-for miracle of a baby boy. This third somebody in our family is something I was certain would be a part of our story. For years I ached and longed to see that which I believed would be true really come true. Though weariness found its way with me and so when it really was finally upon us, I felt a resistance and a fear that perhaps it was too good to be true.

Before this baby wiggled and tumbled inside of me, I was anxious at the thought of potential unrealized death lurking below the surface. I could barely imagine it swelling and thriving sight unseen. Much is how this literal season of winter feels and so evidence of life is something I've been aching to see. Trees are stripped bare and all evidence of life seems to have its head buried underground or hibernating in a warm place.

My hormones are on overdrive these days and every sense within me feels heightened to the nth degree. As I read in our village newspaper of last week's storm and how our local school district was one of the few area districts not on the scroll of weather alerts, closing and delays, I found myself welling up with tears. My throat had a lump-ish feeling in it and my heart felt like it had doubled in size with awe. I can't blame all my awareness on these crazy hormones, though, for surely something more has caused this.

A relatively new Superintendent for our local district was interviewed and talked about the "careful consideration and planning" involved in making the decision to keep the school open this week when so many of the others were on the list of closings and delays. This new Superintendent talked about how the safety of kids was their top priority and though one could easily make a brash accusation that perhaps the District Office didn't consider this, reading the article opened my eyes to the behind-the-scenes consideration and perspective of these school administrators.

"The School adapted bus routes and made arrangements so that any and all kids that wanted a ride got one," read The Clinton Courier.

Walkers were considered, after all!

The article went on to say, "Messages went out to parents [the previous night], letting families know that bus drivers were instructed to make 'courtesy stops' at houses, so that students could stay indoors until their bus arrived."

And then there was this: "In one case where a student had to go down a long driveway, we drove a smaller bus up and picked him up at his house," said the new (caring!) Superintendent.

Our town is used to snow and cold. Winter has its way with us every year and so it wasn't a surprise that activity was abuzz in town that day in spite of the bitter temperatures. People did what people do, stopping for coffee and just bearing with it.

I ran one of those morning's last week when the weather blew in snow the night before and temperatures were cold, though not the coldest. The Village Department of Public Works crew was busy loading trucks with snow and relocating it. Sidewalks were plowed, street corners were made visible again, and pedestrians were more easily noticed with the snow cleared of buildup.

I pass those workers several times a week throughout the year, whether it be during winter's storm cleanup, or summer's street sweeping and rubbish removal. I wave to them each time I run by and they wave to me. I appreciate the work they do and mostly, I appreciate the camaraderie we share in caring for our Village. Last week when I waved, one of the men in a bulldozer honked at me. I was noticed and felt such love and gratitude well inside my heart.

There are other people I see while I'm out in the early morning, neighbors and faces familiar to me. Though I don't know most of their names, these are my people and I feel safe among them. Our morning routine of smiling, nodding, and waving at each other is a communion of sorts. Our breaking of the dawn together is like the breaking of bread. If I should fall or need an extra hand, I know these Villagers would help me and I would help them if they ever needed help.

This place where I live represents a messy collage of human hearts. The Village of Clinton, New York isn't unlike many other places in this world. We have our small-town issues, sure. But, reading about and seeing in person, how people consider and care for others reminds me that though we can tend to be complicated, competitive, conniving creatures, we are also bold, beautiful, beloved beings.

I didn't used to feel a warm, tenderness for the place I live. I felt wonky and out of place and wanted nothing more than wide open spaces.

Reading in our newspaper of the thoughtfulness and consideration people have for one another and being reminded that though this world can be so cruel, I know that this world can also be genuinely caring, reminds me that there really is something more that has caused this.

Even though it sometimes appears to be dark, still, and quiet, life will eventually unfurl and spring forth with evidence of its existence.

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.

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. 

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.

no more puzzles for me

Tendencies and habits are becoming ever more loose. That word has been following a lot these days and I wonder if there will be a time when I don't sputter it out nearly every other word.

I'm shifting and settling into a more restful place: More trust. Less fear-focused gripping on life.

Until this moment I have habitually intensely focused on connecting the dots of the experiences of my life and tried to figure out how all the puzzle pieces fit. I've been frustrated -- restless -- because I can't figure it out with certainty and sometimes not even with cautious optimism, so I've several times wanted to give up on even trying.

When unintended job candidacies have appeared and I've said yes to considering them, only to have hope feel like a rug that has been pulled out from under me, I've felt confused and I've struggled with thinking God is just cruel. I've felt tricked, to be honest, and not good enough, like I failed the test.

I got too afraid to {pursue} hope. 

I wanted order and certainty and to know how each piece was going to fit.

I habitually asked myself: How does this moment and these dreams even connect? 

I've pined for control and it's been a faith thing as I've struggled to trust.

Life shouldn't feel so chaotic. Right?
We should have order and organization. Right? 
Problem solving is important. Right?

It isn't wrong to want these things. Is it? 

: : : 

Life is fragile and it could change in a blink of a second and realizing this brings with it an enormous sense of urgency to not waste a single moment; to do as I am led: to accomplish with success and to make a positive difference.

But, there's also an importance in acknowledging God's got it.

There's rest in the surrender of trying to solve and figure everything out. 

I don't want my fear of whatever He wills to compel me and drive me to have such order to my steps that I say no to the things that just seem out of place or out of shape. Because, all fits.

Nothing is meaningless, not one crooked-seeming piece.

Just as I know every color, shape, and size fits in this world, so too does every moment and experience.

When I feel a nudge to invite her to coffee, or her to lunch, or him to meet with me, I'd much prefer to step with confident assurance, trusting He purposes all things; rather than act like a factory assembly-line worker, examining for similarities and inspecting for cross contamination.

He's calling me to just do the next thing -- what.ever. it is.

So, however wacky or seemingly disconnected to the last thing, I'm going to step into this next thing; I have to, because if I don't, I just won't feel right. And I know this, because of the peace I receive when I just step, wait, and see.

Though the visions I have may just be a glimpse of what He really intends, and what my heart sees now may not actually come to be, I can trust that He isn't tricking me, He isn't cruel, and even a glimpse won't be wasted or meaningless.

     All is grace. As it is. 

(So I'm done with this puzzle. I've never been good at these things, anyway.)

this is my worship.

Linking up with SheLoves Magazine

see

when strength shows itself and you say so, i want to shrug it off.

what you meant as a compliment is too heavy for me and makes me too warm to have that laid upon my shoulders. i've felt it before and enjoyed it too much, and now i've been tempered by the indulgence of it. pride-taming does that. 

so when you say that i'm strong and all that, i want to take your face in my hand and turn you around and up and everywhere else but at me. because He did this. there is nothing i could ever do to have made me this way, and believe me when i say that i tried. 

beauty has cascaded across the dark canvas of my life (and of others) and i've been changed because of it. 

there was once a day when i wanted to die and truthfully, that day wasn't too long ago. My Father holds me tight and i know i'm here by His grace, alone. i know it is He who has kept me strong. 

i've seen my heart changed and how beauty has unraveled from choices i've made, even dark ones that still come with much shame. when you see glory like this, and magnificence, there's no going back and perspective is forever changed. it's happened to me. 

Joy shows herself and Hope becomes easier to step into when Grace is unwrapped. 

i wondered if He was true and then i chose to step into faith, and now my grip of fear is held loose to accept what.ever. may Be -- however grueling or gruesome the gift. 

so when you see strength, my heart cries that you see Him and not me. because all of this -- every bit of my life -- is all because of His grace. 

this is my worship.

Linking up with Lisa Jo today.

remembering to choose {Grace}

from the archives (1/5/13)

I screwed up. Again.

A statement I made to my groom and behavior I had hung up (several times) was slashed right through last night. I did what I said I wouldn't do.

Seemingly out of nowhere a lion screamed. Roared, actually.

And a bomb was dropped. A big one with a fat letter "F". Out of my mouth. Right in our home.

Then the lion cowered.

The thought crossed my mind and down off my tongue, "I'll be gone in the morning."

Yet the truth is, I'll never be out of his life forever. And truthfully, I felt a bit of anger for that. It's so true that having a child changes Every. Thing.

God has cemented our relationship through having a child. Glued us together. Even if we someday do separate. Because that's just how it'd be, the two of us always working together to raise this child.

We both shouted at each other and all I could think about was how The Boy is asleep in the room directly above us.

     And what comfort is it to live in a home where this rage boils up, out, and over sometimes?

I blabbered on and on about how I fail him, my groom. I messed up Again! and I'm a Screw Up . . . of so much.

He said he screws up, too, but I just don't see it. There might actually have been tears in his eyes as he sat down and shouted at me to listen to his screw ups. But they never were spoken about.

Suddenly, this thought came to my mind and I spoke of it out loud:

     Maybe my public display of screw ups brings me closer to knowing grace.

     Maybe it's how I learn more about true love

          -- acceptance for who I am, in spite of my failures.

I surmised how this must be evidence of God because to say that is far beyond me. 

Choosing grace was immensely hard. I resisted and squirmed my way out of it. But I could feel it, there for my choosing.

There was a battle in my living room last night. A true war.

I recalled to myself how earlier in the day I had made two public statements, at a wellness fair for work.

They were heavy goals and required courage for Real and truth telling:

     "I want to accept myself for where I am right now

          . . . and I want to not absorb other people's stress."

And there I was last night with a full blown out attack on myself for being

     

     A Failure. 

     A Screw up. 

     A disappointment. 

I was name-calling myself. I wasn't accepting myself. I was judging.

I thought of David in the Bible and how God accepted him before he screwed up. 

I remembered how He's been telling me this for the past few weeks, how --

     God purposed my life, knowing I will screw up. 

And then . . . suddenly the words between my groom and me stopped.

The air was quiet when there were so many words yet to be spoken.

I retreated to the kitchen for cereal and all I heard was the crunching. It was loud crunching.

I laid down on the couch in a room that I don't often spend time in. Awhile later my groom came in and asked if I was going to stay there. I said I would for awhile, at least. And then he said, "I'm going to bed."

No further words were spoken between us.

I stayed there. On a couch that I hardly ever sit on, in a room I hardly ever spend time in.

The dog was confused as to why I was there all night and why she wasn't in her crate. She licked herself for what seemed like forever and I was annoyed.

I woke up with a sore neck from a pillow that is too big for sleeping on and obviously hardly gets used, just like the couch itself.

We have a couch in a room that hardly ever gets used. And two rooms in this house just hold stuff, they don't really get used.

I woke up thinking of this and of the choices we've made together, so many of them. Most of them belabored and stressed out about, and then really they didn't matter in the end.

     The process matters, though, and so I stop and focus there. And maybe this is grace.

I got to the bottom of myself last night. It was awful. A huge mess.

Today is like a hangover day. Tentative steps will be taken and we'll feel the temptation to let timidity will be our guide (at least for awhile). I will be uncertain as to how I should act and what I should do. Because, grace needs to be received on both sides. At least that's what I wish. It'd be easier that way.

But grace is for the choosing and love is acceptance, even if . . . the other person doesn't choose it.

     Maybe it's really especially if . . . because,

Grace is undeserved, a true gift. 

It's possible my screw-ups and my (gradual, long, and hard) choosing to receive grace for myself, might be more important and speak more volumes to my groom (and to others) . . . than the actual apologies . . . or if I had the right or perfect behavior in the first place.

This takes courage to believe. This is faith. This is the thin place where He is strong.

I live with this man who might not See grace or receive grace . . . or maybe he does. I have no certain understanding or knowledge of just what God is working in his heart, or how he is receiving Him (or not).

But still, I can choose grace. For me, first. 

I can wear this grace with gratitude. 

I can acknowledge that I screwed up . . . and still, there is grace thankyouVERYmuch.

I can live out my gratitude and let my failures fall to the ground.

I can choose courage to believe He is Real in me,

and that these words that I penned last night were His:

You both are just as broken as each other.
Receive my grace. Choose it.

The beauty is in the broken, in the holed out bottom. 

Yes, you fail. But you are not a Failure.Yes, you disappoint. But you are here, just as you are, for purpose. You can believe it.

Choose grace.
Choose acceptance.
Choose to be loved. Just.As.You.Are.

It's true, you screw up. Every day. 

     Why do you expect that you won't?
     Why are you surprised when you do? 

Choose my love For. You.
Choose my grace.

Shame is your enemy. It is what triggers anger within you.
Your spirit knows shame haunts, destroys and devours your peace. 

     Don't let it.
     Stand strong.

When you are scared of yourself,
     and to look him in the eye,
     and to hold his hand,
     and to feel the mistakes between you,
Know that I Am . . . alive in you, right now . . . Real and true.

You have a tendency to live in a sometimes crazy, wildly intense place,
     but have hope, it's color filled and bright.
The shadows, darkness, and scary places hardly find you. Be grateful. 

You are equally as wounded.
You equally have need for me . . . through each other. 

And then, I remembered how I almost forgot. 12 years. Right now, this weekend. 12 years of married togetherness. How could I {nearly} forget? 

Then this, again, just like on our wedding day:

I gave him to you as an example of my love for you.
He accepts you when you disappoint him.
Let him accept you.
Let Me heal him. And you.

Who am I? Choose truth. 

And so again, I say "OK,"

     ( . . . even if a little hesitantly.)

this is my worship.

One year after writing these words I count them a gift to treasure. For, the truth is that I'll never "arrive" as long as I'm this side of Heaven . . . I'll always need to rest in His arms and trust He will work in me and in us. I'll always need to remember grace.