on the messiness in relationships

There are a few people in my life who I would rather not be around.

Mostly, my reason is because of how their fear affects me.

I sense certain people get paralyzed to voice their perspective of something I've said or done out of worry that I might close my life off to them altogether, yet they stew and wring their hands all because they made assumptions about me that may or may not be true. Imagining this makes it difficult to be around these people.

I get that I can be difficult to understand sometimes. I can be harsh. I can be inconsiderate.
     That said, a lot of the time what I say and do can be completely misunderstood.

Even though certain people don't actually tell me they're making assumptions about me, and I have no real definitive idea what it is they are even all worked up about, I feel badly about myself and they probably feel badly about themselves, too.

Just like that, we've made assumptions about each other.
We're all a brambled mess, each of us.

In these times, I wish I could just bolt and never look back.

I can't stand how certain people make me feel. Yet, I know how I feel is my doing not theirs.

Fear is nasty in how it can color our perspective.

It can make us freeze up and avoid interactions with the very people we treasure most in our lives, sometimes even tempting us to think our lives would be better off without them. I'm sure there are a few people who feel that way about me.

The thing is, relationships are connections not by our design. We can think we were responsible for the connecting when really, we couldn't be further from the truth.

I learn a lot when I'm around people who I sometimes don't like, the ones who I want to blame for the reason my skin itches, and who everything within me makes me want to avoid.

I venture to guess, they could learn a lot from me, too.

     What if I'm bold enough to speak up when I sense someone is disturbed by me?
     What if I'm brave enough to invite them to go there with me . . .
          even if what they have to say might hurt? 

They might not feel comfortable to be honest with me.
They might still yield to their own fear.
They might tell me I'm altogether wrong.

I have to be careful not to expect my speaking up might change things between us while remembering that if I don't try, the discomfort between us -- imagined or not -- will certainly never get better.

Ultimately, in all relationships, my motive can't be to comfort me. 

When I sense someone is uncomfortable being around me and is weighing his or her words ever so carefully, I want to be willing to ask because I care more about their heart than about what they might think of me.

I can't give up on people, especially the ones who annoy me with their unspoken fear. Besides, I wouldn't want them to give up on me.

     We simply can't give up on each other.

There's so much we can learn from each other, even by sitting amidst the discomfort and letting it be.

To those who fear, might you be bold enough to speak up?
To those who are uncomfortable around someone else's fear, might you be bold enough to stay?

on holding onto hope

The Boy-Man is identifying with his father more and more these days.

It hurts me to watch this process of his growing up. Boys are supposed to need their momma's. (And does he think I don't notice that he's been trying out calling me simply, Mom?)

Deep in my heart I know this growing up and apart is good, so very good. It's a moving from being dependent to inter-- and in--dependent. 

For this child, I see inter-dependence in action as he is attentive about the needs of other people within our family and the world around him, versus being exclusively focused on his own gain. He's learning valuable executive function skills, while also being incredibly connected to others.

The Boy has a different view than a lot of his peers about most everything, which might be why he sometimes doesn't seem to fit well. I'm okay with this more than I used to be as I've been deliberately trying to fixate on more of his heart and less of his habits.

I've worried that The Boy-Man won't be able to survive on his own as I've cleaned up his crumbs and reminded him time after time to use a napkin, yet that fear is ever more loosed as I watch him increasingly resist my accolades and instruct me on exactly how to grocery shop since his dad and he usually are the ones to do the job. The Boy tends to care more about speech intonations than whether he can replace the sheets on his bed. Yet, I can count on him to give me the lo-down on the morning news, reminding me to pause and consider the world beyond my own.

My groom is a good model to learn from when it comes to both inter-- and in--dependence. He puts my needs and our son's needs ahead of his own, while also doing whatever he needs to do for himself. He's certainly not one of those men who don't know how to make up a grocery list or cook a meal. He makes connections between my quick kiss, hurried state of being and changing of my outfit, identifying nine times out of ten that I'm disappointed with my body or recent choices that I've made and therefore distance myself from him out of shame.

I watch and listen to the environment and tone in our home. The emphasis is more on others versus personal fulfillment and achievement, and being all lookatmeish as I can tend to be, I give credit to The Man (and ultimately, of course, to God).

Recently, I found myself expressing relief to my groom that I wasn't pregnant, even though we've been "trying" (in a loose whatever, yet hopeful kind of way). With some careful and gentle excavating of my heart, my groom was able to help me uncover that fear wants to hold back my hope . . . because it's just so overwhelmingly painful and risky to love.

Experiencing our son's maturing, now nearly a decade into life, I've wrestled with wondering what my place is within our family and most of all The Boy's life. I've wondered what my ultimate purpose is, forgetting that it changes with time.

I nursed our son and deliberately kept to a thoughtfully orchestrated schedule. I held him and sang to him. I read to him and wrote notes to him. I've whispered affirmation to him as he's laid his head on his pillow each night, praying over and with him. I've done so much more than this measly list, and yet I wonder what my role is now and what it will be as time presses on and he distances himself even more.

The memories I have of my relationships with my parents are thicker now that The Boy is older. Fear gets tangled up in my moments with him. I thought I was over all the hurt that I had growing up and it seems as though it's resurfacing all over again. A part of me wonders if it's just a matter of facing and accepting my story now that I'm at the age I'm at, but fear snarls at me and tempts me to jump ship so that I don't make the same mistakes . . . yet, how would leaving be any better?! I know I sound crazy and might even be half (or mostly) crazy, so I settle on one big jumbled thought:

     There-Is-No-Way-I-Can-Possibly-Do-This-Again-And-Someone-Please-Hold-Me!

My groom will likely have The Conversation with our son about what it means to be "A Man" in the pubescent sort of ways. He's the one who coaches him with his sports. And he's the one who teaches him about everything else, including all his academics. My groom will teach The Boy how to balance a checkbook and pay the bills. And he'll be the one to teach him to drive. I often pray, Please Lord don't let him die young! because I'm just so afraid of messing it up.

My groom is the teacher and I'm the nurturer. Though we both flip-flop our roles on occasion, and mostly it's like a dance, I try to remember not to be my groom and instead, to simply be me.

I am learning to make myself available to listen to the Boy-Man's stories. Even if I've heard them before or know what he's about to say, I am learning to be interested in what he has to say. I'm learning to be a sounding board for him and to give him an opportunity to practice knowing something and presenting his ideas and thoughts.

The Boy is slipping away from me little-by-little. He stands like a limp noodle when I give him a hug and wraps his arms around my neck with affection much less often, unless he thinks he can take me down in some aggressive and stealth, ninja-like way. He scolds me and keeps me accountable to doing things the right way. Yet, when we're in a store I notice that The Boy reaches for my hand and pats my bottom like his father does, gently wrapping his arm around me. He'll sit closer to me sometimes at night when we're watching a television show together and he sometimes pats my knee just as affectionately as his father.

It's a clunky time for me to know my role and I'm sure it's becoming increasingly wonky for The Boy. He notices things about me that he never noticed before and the whole idea of what he might be thinking scares me because he can be so quiet, yet so talkative at the same time.

There are books upon books that have tried to explain all that I see happening right in front of me, and there are millions upon millions of women who've gone before me and experienced the gradual growing-apart of a Boy-Man. Probably every single woman has questioned her place and role as her son has grown, so I can trust I'm not alone. When I dig deep, truth tells me that I will continue to have a meaningful role in The Boy-Man's life. Yet, I also know that growing always hurts. The truth isn't always enough to set a person free.

I still hold tight to a dream that we'll have another of our own someday, though all that I'm experiencing now sometimes makes me think that hope is too risky. In telling my groom that I was relieved to not be pregnant, what I really meant is that I'm relieved that I don't have to face the push-pull of relationship and the vulnerability of hope.

I forget that even though the moments won't last forever, it all matters.

I forget that my commitment to centering us around the table together for most every meal encourages conversation, enveloping The Boy into more than just a part of my day.

I forget that sharing my heart with him makes him actively involved in the moments of my life, teaching him about the grittiness of grace.

I forget that I also help to condition the environment in our home and that my expression of joy helps him to see moments as gifts.

I forget that the way I respond to my groom's affection is teaching The Boy how to be brave and to boldly love.

I forget that how I receive love teaches him about the sensitive nature of a woman's heart, preparing him to consider perspectives different from his and to slow himself enough to bolster a woman to be, as she is.

I forget that one prayer can make a profound impact, even long after it's spoken and remembered, and that it isn't my job to measure the worth of anything that has breath.

Truthfully, I really am relieved not to be pregnant with a second child right now. Sometimes even the risks in life are incredibly overwhelming to consider. My heart just doesn't have the space for more than what's right in front of me.

I still hope, but even that seems like too much. Nowadays I hope differently than I used to. The hope I have today is that I'm actively being prepared, each moment-by-moment, for the dreams my heart struggles to hold. My heart is constantly reshaping and growing into each new moment as it comes and I have to trust that God knows what's best for me and the world I'm a part of.

For now, I'm choosing to rest . . . and accept this life, as it is.

I'm choosing to live. Because, this really is enough. And for this, so am I . . . as I am.

when Holy feels a bit crazy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this was my worship.

Linking with Jennifer today.

 

how choosing whimsy helps us grow

There's this new found joy I am experiencing about the sprinkles I recently added to my life.

Or, as Bob Goff calls it, my choosing of whimsy.

Driving in my *sophisticated fun*, I have discovered a brotherhood of sorts.

I notice fellow MINI drivers and they notice me. I am not surprised anymore when they beep or wave as we pass each other. Like motorcyclists. Or cyclists. Or truckers. It's a nod to the fun we're experiencing. A connection we share.

Sometimes choosing whimsy opens us up to community.

I might look a little foolish in the winter when if we have snow again. But, my own little world has gotten a little bit bigger as I watch people on the street notice a different kind of car among them, and I notice the drivers passing by who have chosen a similar kind of whimsy. Instead of rushing by, I am more aware.

In my noticing, grace has made me see how I, too, am noticed. We all want to be noticed in some way, including me. There's a part of me that is uncomfortable about this because I sometimes feel shame over this truth and who I am.

Sometimes whimsy shows us there's no shame in living our real selves out loud.

Choosing *practical* is sometimes living with boundaries. 

It closes us in so tight that we don't even notice others. Our self-imposed rules box us in to ourselves and our tiny little world.

I just want the freedom that comes along with being noticed. I want to live uncaged, as Mary DeMuth encourages. God is doing this in me through my whimsy.

He has given me courage to choose Fun. Risk. Different.

And when what was not-first gear-but-actually-reverse-(!) makes a little dent, He's softened my heart to choose grace and actually appreciate that lasting impression. Because, life is good and we all make mistakes--myself included.

I've decided that if this whimsy has some hidden quirk and falls apart in the next month, I'm not going to chagrin myself for choosing it. I'm going to choose gratefulness for the courage to trust that it was a good choice for me at that time.

We can't always see what is best for us. But we can choose freedom. 

And this is worship.

So I lift my hand and wave. To the whimsy. And grace.

Thank you, Lord, for whimsy...community...freedom...

     and for continuing to show me what worship is all about. 

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risk

There's this element of *wonder* in choosing what's more right for you.

As much as your heart may elude confidence, there's always a bit of trepidation.

Truth is, you could be wrong.

It is a risk to follow faith. And that is the point.

To live is to die.
   ...to your own plans. to your own certainties. to your own fears.

Doing that job--the one that doesn't seem to make any sense, and yet just feels more right for you than the other...

Raising your hand for that leadership position in the church or the school--the one that begs of your time and attention, and yet ignites this passion within you...

It is always a risk to put yourself out there. 

To live not by what we can understand and analyze with clarity. But to live by faith...

Risk is always required.

Today's post is part of my friend, Lisa-Jo's fun challenge each Friday to 

     "Write for five, short, bold beautiful minutes... 

     Unscripted and unedited...

     Without worrying if it's just right or not."

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a secret way to a closer marriage relationship

What I'm about to say isn't like me. It could be controversial.

I have a challenge for you. An invitation. 

In my marriage, I've learned to be thoughtful about the ways I spend money. Just buying a shirt because I see it and it's cute, and it's on sale, isn't wise.

Choosing what's wise isn't always usually fun.
I've acted like a child at times and wanted what I've seen.

And so, what I wear today is classy, simple, professional, and in total under $50...

Except for two things.

Objects that I'm wearing that you can't see combine in total, costing much more than my entire outfit.

A store I swore I'd never shop in because of the high cost and the marketing of sex appeal, found me in it. And I spent a pretty penny.

Why?

For my marriage.

Sure, sex alone won't save my marriage. And nor will pretty panties.

But, I gave it a shot.

I thought about how maybe Victoria's *secret* is for Marriages.

Maybe I'll gain a perspective I hadn't considered.

Maybe this really can be worship.

So, I did. His Christmas gift and one week later his anniversary gift, they were twice packaged in pretty pink bags. The gifts were for us.

I liked my choice.

I feel pretty. And, he thinks so, too.

(One of the best compliments is when my groom suggested I look better than the models in the flier that appeared in my mailbox for the exact thing I bought us.)

He watches me dress in the morning and I allude to what I hope will come later on when the *whirl and twirl* of the day has neared its end.

All day long, what I chose to wear is a reminder to me of the investment I am making in my marriage. 

It's an accountability partner of sorts to save some energy for him and not give it all away.

I remember to make him and us a priority.

It's personal. It's private. It's pretty.

Most especially, it's a perspective I'd never considered before.

Our closeness, connectedness and communication has all strengthened because of our choice for intimate.

Do something that you never imagined you'd do. 
See a different perspective. 

Live your story with purpose.

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See

When we say Yes, our vision is expanded.

The periphery of our imagination is shifted into front and center sight view.

Invitations become opportunities to See Him.

It's not about us and what we're capable of, though physical challenges sure have a way of giving us visions beyond what we thought we could do. Goals blossom and we become inspired to try new things.

Sometimes our trying some. thing. is for someone else's story, as much as it is for ours.

The saying Yes--the *willingness* to accept an invitation--
     helps us See ourselves differently,
          and most especially gain perspective of what He sees in us.

When I say that maybe I should start seeing myself differently, and ponder the person I consider myself to be as compared to who others see in me, I don't necessarily mean what you might think.

Being *willing* gives me an opportunity to See the purpose He has in my life. And I don't just mean one. single. purpose.

Purpose is wide and expansive. It's comprehensive of a life, suggesting that not a single moment is wasted.

Surrendering my plans is hard. But, when I allow myself to step out and try something that tugs at me, suddenly my plan becomes moot.

Shifting directions to something new, I can't help but learn. grow. discover.

Different experiences are His chiseling of me. 

Trying new things isn't about prideful accomplishments in self--
     it's about Seeing Him in the
          risk-taking,
               invitation-seizing,
                    fear-releasing.

And in Seeing Him, I grow in my trust of Him.

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living gratefully :: color

I took a risk today.

Stepping out from behind the veil of comfort, I said what my heart believes.

I'm not in the job that best supports my strengths. 

Sure, the current job I'm in is good for me...
   it helps me grow and challenges me.

But, it's not the job.

At 30-something years old, I'm not ready to be comfortable.

*Color* opens my mind to different possibilities. 

Thoughts and dreams are awakened.

It's *color* that helps me See my heart.

It's *color* that gives me reason to stand up and step forward.

Offering myself up to something Different, I declare that my life isn't all the same. There are vivid colors that are a part of this masterpiece.

What may seem to be me just might not be me, entirely.

Maybe this truth is why I struggle to pick my favorite color. Sometimes blues call my name, sometimes green, and sometimes even bold red and orange.

Only when I choose Courage, do I pause to consider those bold colors.

Color helps remind us that there are other aspects to living...
     ...other parts of ourselves...
     ...other characteristics, traits, quirks, and even strengths to consider.

If I just keep doing the same thing all the time and expect the same result, forgetting or neglecting to acknowledge that I've been growing in the living--then, I'm just not being fair to myself and to who He created me to be.

For color, I am grateful. And this is my worship.

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easy fears and hard fears

This has been a year of challenging my fears. Facing them head on.

First, it began with riding a bike. As in cycling. On a road. By myself. And, further than to the library like I did when I was a kid. I shared about how I was afraid I'd get hit and die.

I did it. (Rode nearly 30 miles. Not get hit and die.)

It didn't take long until I rode out there all big-like. I gulped a heavy drink of *bravery* and held my arm out to turn left, all courageous-like.

Next, I agreed to swim. In a race. As part of a team. I shared about how I couldn't breathe and I thought I was going to drown.

I did it. Just like everyone said I would. And I even said I'd do it again--next time to complete the race on my own.

Then I stuck my foot out there and said pick me for a job that was already predetermined. I knew it was important for me to apply, though it was scary as heck to do what my boss didn't think was good for me.

I did it anyway. And my Father was pleased.

Fear of creativity and lack of knowledge told me I couldn't capture beauty.

I hid my curiosity to view life behind the lens for so many years.

Until the prompt to try burned a hole out of fear right into *wonder* and I decided to try my hand at capturing life this way.

Then, I said maybe and soon that became a Yes. Now I am in love. And, I never could have imagined.

I shared with a decade-in-the-making-best-friend that I feel a tug for Different. The sharing makes me think now I have to respond to the tugging, and that scares me.

Sharing with one evolved into sharing with another. And another.

And then another. Friends who I actually haven't even *met* yet.

Admitting my ache to work to my heart cry and not strengthen my burn out skills is scary. It makes me aware of my fears that dreams won't come true. Possibilities seem so out of reach sometimes, especially when we've built our lives in a box-like-shape.

Several times this year I've stepped out and taken risks. My eyes have been open and I've been able to See so much through choosing Courage.

There have been *easy* fears and *hard* fears invited of me.
Slowly, the challenges became bigger and bigger.

I tackled fears invitation by invitation.

Still, though, Fear remains. All of it.

Just because you tackle the opponent doesn't make her go away.

I still don't have any answers or any big ah-ha reflections about Fear. All I can do is give Thanks. For every invitation--for every moment that I've Seen my Father show up in my life, in a big, powerful, personal way.

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I pay a-mortgage-a-month for a house I don't own

Two years ago my family and I moved back Home.

My groom and I were raised in this town. And our son was born into it.

I learned how to drive a snowmobile here.
I made mud pies and rode my bike down this quiet, lonely street.
I helped with hay by steering his truck while my dad picked up fallen bales.
I played violin and poked my bedroom ceiling with the bow.
I secretly kissed boys here.
I learned about potato picking and corn selling.
I got banged up and had my share of skinned knees.
I made my first forever friend here.
I learned how to run here.

I grew up here. Sort of.

The truth is, I've really only just begun growing up. 

*This place* where I did a lot of my childhood living, was a place where the fields weren't wide enough, even after I got married and moved to a house of our own.

And so, together with my groom and our two-year-old Boy, we set out to a land where I was wanted for my professional experience, and to where I hoped to grow.

We took a risk. And a choice that really was mine, alone; though I'd like to think it was made together.

I traveled to another state and bought a house without my husband. He told me this was for me. He never complained, though I could tell he wasn't thrilled. This wasn't his idea.

For two years we lived away from Home.
I thought I was happy-er.
I wanted to be. But I wasn't.

My groom would always tell me this was all for me.
And it pained me to hear him.

I resented the truth. 

Running away leaves a dust that clouds judgement.
I had ran so fast that I couldn't See.

And though I sometimes wish that choice didn't have to affect my family the way it still does, I trust that it was for purpose.

Beauty has bloomed in me as I've grown. I See it now.

Still, though, decisions have consequences and we're living this one. We are paying for a choice we made to come Home--a consequence of having decided to leave in the first place.

Every month we pay for something we don't own. A loan to cover the difference in the price we paid for the house we I bought, and the price we sold it for.

All to get us back Home--closer to family. Family who aren't perfect. But who are what we have been specifically given. Mercy in disguise.

I think of how the monthly mortgage payment of our first house--9 years ago--cost less than this monthly loan payment. And sometimes I think of what we could do with that money.

I think we could give it away--be generous. But the truth is, we wouldn't.
If we had more, we'd just want to do more--for ourselves. 

We talk about the cost of piano lessons for the Boy and wonder if we should stop--maybe he doesn't really like it, anyway. And we think about how we could use it to do *more.* But instead, we press on for our son to try something and see if he likes it.

Risks cost. 

And as I think about this, I choose gratefulness--for having taken our own risk in the move away from Home, and for our Father's provision to come Home, and for the fourth house we own now that really feels like *the one* (for now) and how it's really a gift we have no business in owning--
a true gift.

I choose gratefulness for my groom who gave me space to grow.

And, for this monthly payment, too; because, it keeps me grounded--reminded of His Grace, and so much more...the growth to accept my family just as they are, and for the gratitude I have for them and their purpose in my story.

So this payment for the thing we don't own, it's my sacrifice.
It's my worship. 

Thank you, Father, for the journey you allowed us, and the journey back, and the journey we have yet to See. 

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an invitation for freedom

It begins with an invitation.

Unchartered territory.  The unknown.

Fear is called out here.  An opportunity for *freedom*.

Opportunities can be *a risk* that requires stepping out {in courage}.  

And suddenly when fear gets in the way, opportunities become threats.

Taking a risk - stepping out in courage - is about being freed from the fears that bind us and hold us back.

We know we have these fears, but do we really want to get rid of them?

Do we really, truly want to be freed?

It's hard.

It takes time.  Energy.  Testing.  Stretching.  And, pain.

It's total dependency on God.  Fully surrendering our life, our fears, our control, for a better way of living.  A free-er life.

Much of what I am invited to *try* feels like a big risk.  What if I can't do it?  What if I fail?  What if I can't do it as perfectly as I think I should?  

I imagine perfection and without having experienced it before, this *opportunity* is a risk to my pride.

There are things I need to do for the sake of courage and trust.  Most of the time it's the saying yes part that is the most important part of the story.  I need to step up and have courage.  I need to be willing.  I need to trust.  We honor Him in this way.      

He will meet us when we ask.  It's a time of learning more about Him when we acknowledge our weakness and His strength.  When we let Him step in and lead us we are more able to understand how He loves us.

Don't let fear limit your story.

Let Him lead you into places where fear limits you.  Surrender your fears as He calls you into them.  Face them as He calls them out.

Ride your bike...with traffic...on a major highway.

Swim (when you've never swam before)...in a race...two to a lane...with a time limit.

Write a story...share it...and write more.

Connect with others...learn...grow...help - even *the expert*.

Speak Truth...to those who haven't been able to handle the truth...and trust God will stand in the gap for you.

See how your story can grow when it isn't limited by fear.       

There's so much more God wants from our life.

Being willing is our *worship*.

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Just today I've had two opportunities presented to me that could go one way or another, all because of what I choose to do about my fears.  


Do I let them limit me?  Or do I seize these opportunities and let God lead me...

    

*Keep on keepin' on*

Recently I've felt this invitation to take a *risk* - big bold ones. Lots. Of. Them.

For awhile now I've thought about living wholly-me. Genuinely, authentically me. Living just the way I was designed to be - unique gifts splashed across the canvas of the everyday life for the world to see. Not holding anything back. Being transparent. Offering my entire-me to be used, even if it means I might have to sacrifice something - a friendship, a relationship with a family member - taking a big risk by stepping out of my comfort zone.

Often times I think I'm too much. Too heady. Too conservative. Too ridged. Too intense. Too Me. And in those times, fear hovers above my head and hangs around like an annoying fly who just won't get the picture that I've had enough with all her buzzing in my ears.

Telling strangers *my story* isn't nearly as scary as telling friends - newbies or have-beens - or even family members. I can't hide from my family. And I can't suddenly de-friend a friend just because her discovery of a nugget of ugly truth about me is now in her purview. I care so deeply about what these people think of me because they will probably stick around, and if they don't - well, that will hurt even more because then I'll really know it's me they turned their back on. It's happened before. As much as I try to peg this, that or the other thing I did as the reason why he doesn't go out of his way to have a relationship with his own first born, I can't figure it out. I can't pin-point exactly how to change so that he'll be more comfortable. And so, my fear continues with others. Their void in my life would be painful. What if I can't figure out what I did that was so wrong?

Yet...the invitation is a big one. It's colorful. It's got my name on it. It was made just for me. I have an opportunity to make a decision that will definitely change my life, and likely so many others, too - if I choose to accept respond to it.

I encourage my son - a child I am charged with helping to become a future man - to make good choices [for him]. The meaning of that statement rings loud as I think of the invitation. This is a choice I can make - a good choice for me. To step out - Boldly. Courageously. Trusting that God has a plan. Exercising my faith - which He gave me.

I've recently been answering that invitation, although I'll admit it's been a bit timidly. I'm afraid of those fears that creep up. Yet, I can't imagine any other way for me to live. This is me.  And so, I will keep on keepin' on. I will keep on because it doesn't stop at one risky decision. If we're really living wholly and uniquely ourselves, each moment is a *risk* to choose not what is popular or comfortable, but what is important and purposeful - even if we don't see it right now.  This is where life blooms - in living free to be ourselves. 

Living free, for me, is taking a risk to finding my art through writing.  As I step out, I pray God will use me in ways only He can.  I pray God will intertwine my life with other lives he created - leading them (and me) closer to Wholeness, Healing, Freedom, Love and Grace for themselves, Peace, and Joy.