Hope unfurled

Through a long and painful journey, I learned that if I wanted a life of rest I would need to be patient. Trouble was, patience wasn't my thing.

For so long, if I wanted something I would go get it.

Even my groom told me once I'm a "Go-Getter". I took pride in that. And part of me still does.

If I saw a problem, I would niggle my way to a solution, or at least do something to make it work even if it wasn't the right way.

Answers to my questions weren't solid in my mind. I'd niggle until I was a little more satisfied, as though there is always a compromise to be made.

Rules were always negotiable to me; guidelines for the general population. I always assumed once people told their own story, there was wiggle room for adjustments.

Being patient seemed like a waste of time to me.

     How can I sit still and wait when there might be something I could do? 

It seemed utterly ridiculous for me to just wait and see. 

     If there was a house I liked, I'd jump on it for fear it might pass us up.
     If there was a job description I found interesting, I'd apply for it.
     If there was a dream I held, I'd pursue it.

Yet, tucked underneath the surface of my sometimes admirable "Go-Getter" personality was a fear-based way to my approach of life.

All my trying hard to get what I wanted, or what I thought was right, was really because I feared life would pass me up . . . that maybe I wasn't good enough. And so over and over again I tried to be.

I didn't really consider God allows certain experiences to occur for purposes we'll never understand. I didn't grasp Him wanting the "best" for His children and consider myself as one of them.

When I realized just how anxious I was living and how I'd constructed a tight-gripped life, I was at the bottom of myself -- suffocated in feelings of exhaustion from trying all I could muster to make things happen and discovering I simply couldn't.

I asked my groom and a few close friends how else to live, because I knew no other way but the try-hard way and finally had discovered that really is no kind of life.

Finally, I decided to test God.
     If He really is real, then I could stop trying so hard. 

If He really is real, then I could sit back and sip a cuppa, even in the mist and the fog, and even in the whirl and twirl of the storm. I ventured to believe He would hold me, and even if something bad-seeming happened, He would make beauty out of it.

This consideration overwhelmed me and gave me courage to see aspects of my story in different ways. So I choose to stay on my proverbial porch and loosed my ideas and plans for how life should be.

     I let Him do what He wanted to do and I chose to trust Him.

I surveyed my life as it was and determined that no matter what happens, I could trust Him. After all the choices I'd made and all the awfulness I'd put people through, I was still treasured and beloved.

For years I held a deep seeded belief in my heart for two dreams.

     I hoped we would have another child.
     I hoped my father and I would have peace.

On the baby I hoped for, it felt ridiculous in every way when month after month of begging and cajoling evolved into years -- nearly a decade worth.

On the relationship I hoped for, that too felt ridiculous in every way when month after month of no contact evolved into years of tense, awkward, distant, and tangled communication -- much more than a decade worth.

I ached for these dreams because I believed it was God's will. Yet, mostly, I wanted to see it all come true so then I could know for certain He really is real.

I imagined all sorts of things, including a script which wasn't mine to write. I nearly convinced myself these dreams weren't going to happen and hoping for them was a waste of time.

Still, deep inside my heart stirred the words: Chase. Hope. 

     It seemed so silly. So foolish.
         
          After all this time? Still? Why? What's the point? 

The journey was long and finally I surrendered to the possibility that I could be wrong. I was exhausted from trying to make these dreams happen and even from anxiously anticipating that they might come true. I considered that maybe things wouldn't turn out the way I imagined or the way I thought it should be and it was then that I realized He is real. He showed me there is great purpose, even for pain.  

I could have made the choice to trust Him and still come up empty handed so to speak. Even that wouldn't have been true, though, because the true Rest I experienced in surrendering my life and patience to Him was so much more than any dream could ever fulfill.

It wasn't because I chose patience and loosed the dreams that they became true. 
     It was because of God's plan, period. 

There's so much more I could say about all of this. So much more I want the world to know and understand, mostly about God than about my story.

In the process of loosing these dreams and choosing to trust Him, God taught me a new definition of strong:
   
     To bravely choose to trust Him for Now, as it is
          . . . even though we hope for something more.

God taught me to Chase Hope -- as risky as it is. 

He taught me to pursue it with reckless abandonment of fear that I might be wrong, that I'm not good enough, or that it just might never come to be. He helped me realize I will never be "good enough" to get everything I want to be just right or just how I would prefer it to be. 

My story involved a lot of waiting and wondering and wrestling. I learned the important of patience and most of all, that I can trust God no matter what. He helped me understand that He loves me, that I am good enough, and I can rest. These aren't just cute sayings, they are truth. 

Ultimately, I didn't even need the dreams anymore. 

     Yet, after all the sojourning, my hope has been unfurled. 

The peace I hoped for between my father and me has come. Shame and fear no longer have a grip on our relationship. We have been freed to accept each other as we are. Love between us has been birthed. Truly I tell you, this is no small thing. 

Within days from now (or perhaps even hours) our long-awaited and much hoped for child is expected to be born.  

This story is not about the baby or a righted-relationship, or even about being patient or letting go of all the trying. It's about what God did in the process and the truth that He is so very real. 

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

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. 

close

Standing on the fringe. 

That's what it felt like to me.

Like I was just a smidge outside of His perfect will, or calling, or whatever you call it.

All I could think about was that I was so close. Yet, all His Spirit kept whispering to my heart was: you are so much closer than you think. 

I was there. In His presence. In the glory. As in, IN. I was, and am, that close.

That I've been or might be forgotten is what I've feared, though I hadn't actually labeled the fear as such. Anxiety would sweep me up in a whirlwind to hurry up and make visions happen because I might miss out. It'd be my fault, or my doing, or something that I'd done or didn't do that would cause me to miss out on something my heart truly desires.

               Hurry. Hurry!
               Choose now.
               No matter whether you're ready, just choose. 
               Just do it. 
               Do it now. 
               Hurry. 
               Hurry! You might miss out.

These were my steady mantras. Manifestos for me, or something like that.

Fear-driven. That was me.

Driven. Intensely driven.

Anxious.

I'd call it passion. But really, it was fear that causes my anxious way of living.

I've lived an angry life for a very long time. My anxiousness comes out in anger. I have a tendency to be irritated and annoyed and downright angry at everyone and everything, and mostly myself.

               So close, but not enough. 

That's what I've feared.

               Standing on the fringe. 

: : : 

People ask God to be a part of their day. To join them or be with them, or whatever.

I think it sounds so crazy.

               Isn't He always with us?
               Isn't He always there?
               Isn't it He who ordains all things? 

Truth tells me this, yet my tendency is to ramble and rush and react. When really, I can rest and rely and relate.

I'm not crazy, as in totally not someone who belongs. I do belong. I am good enough to be a part of this world.

Muscle memory develops in time. My muscles are learning how to respond to the truth that I know and not just react to truth out of fear that says I must, or should or need.

All muscles need rest in order to grow. My heart needs conditioning as much as it needs rest. This is the discipline God is teaching me.

He wants me to rest, as I am.

I've been obedient. I've done all that I can with what might someday be a manuscript. And I've done all that I can with what might actually become of a God-sized dream of a magazine.

I believe the heart of C'est La Vie: The Magazine (or whatever it might really become) is a community that will unleash and free people to live their life, as it is. This community will do this by bolstering one another to know we are not alone.

I can rest that what I've done in defining the mission and articulating the vision for this dream is enough for the rest to be.

What I've done is enough for me to rest and to see: how it develops . . . how He brings it together . . . how He grows me and it and all of us in the process.

I can rest that I am good enough (as I am) for Him to continue to develop this and me and us.

               I can trust Him. 
               I can rest. 

This is what is requested of me now: to rest and not rush.

I understand even more now that this, right now -- this choosing to rest and accept me, as I am -- is my worship.

My choosing to submit to God and trust that as I am is enough . . . that I am a part of glory that already is and already will be . . . I'm that close . . . is my real and raw worship.

Amen.

Linking up with Lisa-Jo 

(even though five minutes took 15 today)

on stepping back and submitting to rest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

: : : 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

Linking with Jennifer and Bonnie. 

staying here

Father, we come.

anxious for Your healing.

hopeful, yet wondering if maybe we could be wrong.

what we long for and envision You doing just might not happen.

we look, and what we see niggles a thought that maybe the grass won't ever turn green.

maybe what was once fresh-fallen-white and now is crusty-brown will just turn muddy-muck.

we realize the possibility that our story could get even yuckier yet.

You could have a journey that takes us deeper into the knee-deep valley of cold and darkness.

we walk around scouring for signs that our hope isn't lost forever; that it's just dormant.

You are our Foundation that guides us as we walk, looking for signs that there's growth.

we plead for signs to show us we're healing; that there will be redemption in all this waiting.

our eyes are fixed forward with faith that our hope-filled heart isn't just dry wasteland.

still us to stay here, Father.

shift our eyes to where the waiting is and where the signs of winter still loom.

may this be our offering to You: to accept this place, as it is.

amen.

on learning to patiently wait

i've been picturing myself sitting on a bench with my jacket and boots on and my bags packed right next to me, waiting for the bus to come around the corner to pick me up.

God's got big plans for me and i'm going to be ready, so i've been waiting and i don't want to move from this spot.

i haven't wanted to be bothered for anything -- not to do work or chores around the house, not anything. i've been focused and ready. i'm stomach-flutter anxious like anyone, but i've done my homework to know my strengths, and i how to pick out my seat on the bus.

i've got these big, mountain-size dreams and i just need the bus to come and take me there. 

but i've got this life now, as it is.

and i'm learning that my choice to live this, right now, is my offering each day.

i haven't done this particularly well. i've sat and moped because the bus hasn't come yet and i've wondered if maybe i've missed it. i've seen other people get on and be all happyclappy with singsong and cheer that they've got a ride as i feel stuck here waiting for mine. i've wondered why we aren't on the same one and why i have to wait here doing this job when i ache for another of a different kind. 

i have so much hope in my bag that it's about to burst at the seams, yet i sometimes feel trite and foolish and not practical enough. i'm not a fan of reality though i'm learning to be real, and that just seems so silly to say. 

i don't so much like to stay in the box of how things should be and for rules to be the reasons why we don't pursue or try things. i push and question a lot, and it irritates me when people make excuses not to try new things -- like waiting for the right time to have kids and how that time never comes, or saying we're too busy to pursue a dream and how we'll never not be busy.

i know the slew of excuses that keep people held back and i don't want to be one of them, so my bags are packed and i'm ready to go. 

i don't have time in my day as it is to pursue the crazy launch of a magazine, or write a book, or go to conferences, or even lap up every last drop of all the wonderful blog posts my dear friends write.

yet . . .

i've got dreams on my heart made specifically for me and i want to be ready to take my seat when the bus comes. so i've been sitting here on this bench with my bags all packed.

but . . .

there's an office for me with a job to do and a house to maintain and a boy-man to raise.

and . . .

i need to trust that the right bus will make itself known when it gets here for me.

i know that delayed obedience is disobedience and i know that exhaustion and frustration is the consequence doing more than i need to do right now. i know this well because this is what happens when i live with more focus on tomorrow than on today.

when i'm brave to accept this moment, i find myself with more energy than if i just sit and wait in one place. so i have to trust that i won't miss out if he asks me to make pancakes today, or linger longer to hear another story, or give him another hug. 

even though i'm restless, i need to live by faith and be patient in today. 

just because i have these dream doesn't make me exempt from now. i have to trust this, right now will prepare me for that, whatever and whenever it is.  

when i live as though this is not meaningless, i actually give fuel for the dreams.

so i'm going to trust that i'll be sustained for the journey, 
     and, i'll be sustained for today. 

and i'll remember that today matters just as much as tomorrow and do this one before me, as it is.

this is my worship.

linking today with Ann. 

hero

you go through your days with hope that it will be easy, i know.

this is my waking thought most of the time, too.

it's not wrong of us. it's a comfort catching kind of thing. and we're all allowed to want that.

so when the day turns sour and your hope gets a flat tire . . .

     i'm right there with you in the sad of the day.

i want it to be better, too. i want it to be easier and smoother.

i want to make it all better for you. and for me.

but i can't always solve the problem or create a next time not like this.

i have to let life run its course.

i have to let you feel pain, and us -- together -- feel the inadequacy.

our stickwithitness is tested in these days. our patience refined.

we're sorrow-filled for our grief and our heavy disposition, yet somehow we continue . . .

     we keep on.

we say yes to another day.

with the ounce of courage in our pocket, we accept this:

     life . . . as. it. is.

we're heroes, i'd say. and the pain that we feel is really okay.

so let's be patient and trust that the hero-making of each day isn't at all meaningless.

it's grace.

this is our worship: to be real -- as. we. are.

linking with Lisa-Jo

Peace

I wanted something revealed differently about Christmas this year.

A sudden ah-ha moment or a shaking of my senses.
Something to challenge me differently.

But, my vision was consistent with the year lived and nothing seemed especially *different.* Sure there are twinkly lights and more things to do. And more importantly, a celebration of an important birth was nearing.

The truth of the season isn't any different for me. It doesn't feel different. Because, it is what it is to me more times in a year than packaged up within the confines of this season.

Still, I wanted Different.

In the past several months I've talked about *different* a lot. I wonder if it has been my longing and anxiousness, or if it truly has been a calling.
One thing is for sure, it's about perspective and mine has been different. Widened.

I've used the word See a lot. And for me there's simply no way to describe the stretching of our bodies wide open and hearts placed in eye chambers.

Hot water raining down on me, I say it aloud--I want something specific. 
I want a perspective of this season that is Different. 

And there it is--Peace.

Clear as day I knew what it was all about. What I've experienced in the past year is why I don't feel especially different. Grateful, yes. Enamored, yes. Adoring the story, absolutely. But, not a ground shifting and life changing kind of *different* like many people write about this time of year.

As I unwrap the word a little bit, I realize that it is Different. It is completely Different. It's a soul-prayer beginning to answer through the space of living.

One day not too long ago, a woman commented in this space that she was once anxious, too. She wrote:

I also struggled with "how long" it would take and then just realized it would take as long as the Lord desired and that became okay with me. I am not sure exactly what changed my heart from being anxious to receive, to being perfectly content with waiting. But I am so grateful that happened. 

"You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you." -- Isaiah 26:3

This beautiful soul has peace for His will.
She was willing to wait for whatever He had for her story.

I read her comment a dozen times over and still marvel at her peace. Reading her words again and again, my heart longed for that kind of peace.

A willingness to wait. 

And so, as I prepare for Christmas this year I have been enamored specifically by Mary. I've thought about how her story was so far beyond what she ever imagined. The truth of that is so powerful that it still barely allows me to speak, in awe over His goodness for us.

Praying for a friend to have peace, I was reminded of the gift in that request. For, peace truly changes every. thing.

For this *different* perspective--
     my worship is in unwrapping the miracle of Peace. 

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awakened dreams

I knew I should give thanks.

Choose Gratitude. 

My heart reminded me that the miracle happens after the thanks-giving.

Still, though, I was stubborn.

I didn't want to be a good girl and do as I should.
     I wanted to stomp and pout.

The changes in my job that I first learned about four months ago now only boiled up bitter stew. I had been excited for different. But the delay gave me an opportunity to reconsider.

Time festered questions. I urged them to reconsider, too. Yet, having not a specific reason to suggest pause, only kept the conversation going and the plan moving forward.

Months of convincing myself that I was happy with this life and declaring that I don't need *more,* I berated myself for the heart cry having returned. Why do I want? Especially when my groom isn't aligned with me? One child is certainly enough.

Waiting can be torture for us impatient types. 

Visions and dreams become achingly painful in the *whirl and twirl* of life.

Realizing that specific dreams are still alive, made me feel shame at my weakness. I thought I was strong enough to denounce them.

Yet, He gives. And I must trust in the purposes of my heart's desire.

Choosing gratitude is worship. 

And sometimes, so is admitting that it's a hard choice to make. One I just don't feel like making. And yet, He stays close by and delicately softens my heart. Physician of Soul.
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{Grace} Unwrapped...

...the waiting over and changes to job responsibilities announced...

...Seeing there can be goodness in these changes...

...Knowing that this isn't the final stop...

...how He accepts me just as I am, cranky and all...

...awareness of dreams to remind me He placed them there...

...reminders that I can't just decide my heart...

...trusting that the spilling over of my heart is for purpose...

...believing His timing is perfectly Divine...

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when the seasons blend

Leaves are beginning to fall with the slightest wind and they harden quicker at the curl. Shadows cast are longer. Days shorter. Morning's darker.

But Summer still remains, at least for a little while longer. There are still drippings of flip-flop-wearing-days left on the calendar, though Autumn's First Day is official in just a few more sleeps.

It's an in-between time when Summer and Autumn blend.

Like color, this blending makes something different. The process of converging together is a moment often too quick to notice. 

Sweatshirts are appearing and shorts-wearing lingers.

It's a play outside after school and throw the football kind of season--temperatures more comfortable for play, while sweat still glistens to make cheeks rosey and skin warm.

Apples are out and sunflowers remain.

Mums (and even pumpkins!) are resting on porches, while summer's beauties are still deep rooted.

There's something really special about the blending of two seasons--when we can't quite let go of the one and yet we're sorta reaching for the next, readying ourselves.

Right *Now* is a time before the true hunkering down and cozying-up for the brisk coldness of winter.

I think of my life and wonder what is to come. As the trees are soon stripped bare and I stand naked like them, I consider this time, and I breathe deep. Preparing.

In my own heart there's this incredible Joyful Anticipation for the unknown--a trusting for what is to come. A readiness for change. And yet, I feel this comfort in the Now-season of life. A peace for what is.

There's beauty in this blending of Anticipation and Contentment.

I'm discovering that it is here, in this thin place--where He knows the purposes of *Now* and *Next*--that holds such mystery of faith; evidence in things unseen, and of His power and purpose.

This is the teeter-totter of a little child just readying herself to walk.

This is the breath just before he is born.

This is the moment of anticipation.

This is important and necessary preparation. 

There is Joy here. And fear, too. Uncertainty takes off her bonnet and sits quietly, waiting for the door to open and a harvest of new blessings to unfurl.

All of these emotions are welcome and invited to take part in the *Now.*

I breathe in and give thanks for Seeing the color of the seasons in my life blend Beauty. 

I've tasted and I've Seen His rich bounty of blessings. And now I wait in patient, {Hopeful} anticipation for what is to come.



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Patient Anticipation

His excitement is for Every. Thing.

He doesn't even know to consider what *More* there is to experience.

The Boy-Man lives All. In. Now. 

We planned for it--a day at an outdoor water park.
He even counted all the rides, knowing there would be a lot of fun in store for us.

Still, though, after one ride he wanted to do it again, and again, and again.
He just might have been satisfied at one.

And after the second ride he wanted to do that again, and again--
Even after having stood in line for a long, long while.

It didn't matter to him--he knew fun had arrived, and he wanted more of what he just had.
He didn't think he needed *More* in a different way.

The father knew differently, though. He had a plan and he needed his child to be patient. The thing was, the Boy-Man just couldn't See beyond his Now.

He couldn't trust there was More Fun to be had.

He couldn't trust in his daddy's plan.

The Boy-Man just couldn't get beyond where he was at the moment. He would have been happy doing the same ride 20 times over. He didn't think he needed more.

He couldn't even imagine *More.*

I am the same way sometimes--I don't trust in my Daddy's plan. 

The difference is, I can imagine what *More* there might be and I sometimes live too far-sighted. My child-like perspective has grown wider.

To the child, where we went was his Disney World--it was enough for him. 

And to me, all I could think about was how much fun he'd have at the actual-Disney World.

I was anxious for his awareness of the great-big-World to grow.

Really, though, the Boy-Man's world is just the right size for him right now--
he is All. In. Now...and that's a beautiful thing.

I See...

There's Freedom in the letting go of what might be and basking in the moment of Now. 

I learn so much from A Child. 

Father, help me to be near-sighted and not to lose perspective of the here and Now. 
Quench my thirst for More and teach me to patiently anticipate your plan for my life. 

letting time tick on

I've been commenting to some friends about a transforming truth for me.  And now my own encouragement for others has spoken to me:

*Now* is important.  

I have already written a bit about this truth in this small space here where I cozy up and find freedom to live my story, made-for-purpose.

And yet, I'm still unwrapping the meaning of all of this.

You see, there's a few things I've got on my heart - things I need to do, places I'll see, people I'll meet - and I need to wait.

I can't rush the process of getting *there*.  Right *now* is necessary.  

The *now* in my life brings me to my Father.  

I'm not exactly good at exercising patience, though.

Just like the One Hundred Push-Up goal I have, *now* gets me to *there* -

             one patient-wait-right-here at a time,
             and one hefty push-me-up at a time.

There are reasons I need to wait on a few things in my life, and mostly I think it's to learn more about trusting my Father.  

He's a trust-worthy Papa, and I want to snuggle up and rest in His plans for me.  I want Him to be my Papa, not a fairy-tale-Big-Guy-in-the-sky.

My Father doesn't rush about.  He rests.  He invites me to saddle up next to Him, and to listen as He reads His story for my life.

He wants to use My story for His Story - for others' stories who He wants to weave with my life.

The *now* really needs to be my focus.

It's hard to wait, and I'm still not sure why it's so hard for me.

I keep telling Him I trust Him, and remembering He'll lead me wherever He wants me to go.

I'm learning to take off my shoes, put up my feet, lay my head in His lap, feel His breath, and just rest in His *now* for my life.

He tells me this and I find rest:

There's no need to rush in the getting there, my Beloved...be here with me, in the space of *now*.  There's purpose in *this* and I don't want you to miss this.

what if I'm wrong?

Sometimes God speaks to our hearts and gives us visions of what He has in store for us beyond the *now*.

We are required to wait.  And the waiting can be hard.

But *the now* in our lives matters.  It's important for *the later on* part in our story.  He designs our story with hope and there is purpose in it all.

It is our worship to be in *the now*.

Living in the moment, believing that we heard Him right and that there is beauty around the corner of *the now*, can be challenging.  And there is purpose in that, too.  He wants us to trust Him.  Always trust Him.

When He gives us visions for tomorrow He's teaching us about the patience He's already given us.  He teaches us about self-control.  He teaches us about His joy for now.  He teaches us about His goodness.

He teaches us how to trust Him more - for today's purposes and tomorrow's beauty.  And we grow closer to Him through the living.

Sometimes in the dance between the now and the later on - today and tomorrow - we can tend to question - what if I'm wrong?

What if I didn't hear Him right?  What if I'm mistaken?  What if my desires are outweighing His plan for me and all I'm hearing is my own wants?  What if I'm wrong?

This is where faith comes in.  The evidence of things unseen.  We must lean into Him - lean into our faith in Him.  Because we don't need to know.  We just need to live.

Lord, help me to be fully in today as I trust you for tomorrow.  You have purpose for all of this.

Patient Anticipation

There is so much waiting in anticipating.  It's part of the process, actually.  And I think there's so much to be learned when you really stop and think about it.

Hopeful anticipation for a conception.

Anxiously counting the weeks until the due date only to wait even longer until the cake is truly baked.

Enduring sleepless nights with trust that things really won't always be this way and you really will have rest again.

Helpfully guiding toward courage for those first steps.

Waiting for that first tooth to finally wriggle lose and come out, and wondering will it ever?

Counting down the days until Santa's anticipated arrival.

Wishing and hoping for that first real snow fall.

So. Much. Anticipation.  It all requires so much patience.

And then somewhere between First Grade and the rest of the years, life speeds on and you find yourself holding on and wondering: Are we really there?!


If we think about it for a moment, the reality settles upon us...

It takes so much for babies to be created and then born.  And it takes so much sometimes for a lifetime to be lived and then for life to surrender to death.  Sometimes it doesn't, though, and life seems cut short.

Yet, even when we think we're ready to say goodbye and we have given permission to our loved ones to receive peace and pass on, the anticipation seems grueling and we're still learning patience.

Patience.  One of the biggest lessons of life.  We won't learn it all from reading a book.  And we won't learn it all by the time we're 30 or even 31.  We won't learn it all from being a parent, either.  It's to be learned - a process to be experienced over time.