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. 

a trust thing

When you chase so hard after something you are certain is part of your story --

. . . and you find that it's not what you wanted, necessarily,
          it's just what you believed would be true . . .

. . . and all those years of worrying that you might possibly be wrong,
          that there's no guarantee your dreams will ever come to be . . .

. . . and something monumental actually does happen . . .

. . . and it happens in you . . .

Such was the case with me.

: : : 

I wanted to believe.
I wanted to know God is real.
I wanted to know in my own knock-my-socks-off way.

I thought I wasn't good enough, that perhaps He was annoyed and irritated with me like I was with myself, and like I imagined so many other people were with me.
   
All my fears, all the anxiety I carried around with me . . . it all became asked of me as possibilities to consider.

     What if my groom dies while we're still in the midst of raising him?

     What if our son dies?

     What if we die and leave him alone?

     What if I lose my job?

     What if I get sick and die?

     What if this dream never comes true?

     What if I never have the close relationships I longed for all those years?

To face fear is the only way to move through it. 

To avoid it or be quiet about it, only allows it to stick around longer and take up residence, keeping me frozen.

Do I trust Him? That is actually the real question to all my anxiety.

I always made every anxiety about Me.

I tried to ensure certain possibilities by eating a certain way, or working out a certain way, or learning all I can to fix all the things.

What if it isn't really about me?

What if someone in the crossfires of my story actually needs to be there for God to do some miraculous work in their lives?

What if the challenges my groom and I face with our son are really the way God will draw Boy-Man to His heart?

What if my imperfections are a way for someone else -- possibly someone who isn't even within my close knit circle -- to see the Hand and Face of God?

Do I trust Him with life, as it is?

: : : 

I think about the times I've lived reckless, the times I threw my hands up and pitched a little fit, pretending I didn't care. I contrast those choices with how my life is at this very moment and I am utterly amazed, incredibly humbled, and in slack-jawed awe.

Where my life is at is nothing short of a miracle. It is most definitely a reflection of the Hand of God, there is simply no other explanation. Because, I certainly haven't done enough good to be here, and it certainly can't be luck that brought me here.

My life is a reflection of Grace that says I am loved, as I am. 

There is nothing I need do to earn favor when my heart longs to honor Him, even though I can tend to selfishly want what I want.

I've realized that I can trust Him.

I can be naked, fully exposing who I am
     . . . and I will be held
     . . . safe and secure.

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 swing dance of parenting

He's learning to husband me and it's beautiful, though sometimes it hurts.
He's occassionally out of line and out of place and a bit wonky.

He puts on a front, pretending not to care about any thing, including the things I know he really truly does care about. I'm reminded of myself and how I pretended for so long, how I erected a facade to portray a stronger than I was image.

We're not sure what to do with him. My groom and I wring our hands in angst as we try every approach to reach him, including stepping back and letting him be.

Parenting is a responsibility that requires stick-with-it-ness.

Maybe one of these days we'll say something that will make a difference, so we keep trying.

He's only ten and yet, he's going to be the (much older) big brother. Our life reflects a very different kind of story than most people we know with their kids scripted to be 18 months to two years apart.

We didn't script our life, though I wanted to and tried to -- many a times.

And here we are, battling it out day by day with this tween who knows we cannot make him do a darn thing.

He puts up a stink when we say things and someone told me the other day that it's good, he's learning to stand up for himself. I tuck that away in my Hope-file.

I'm learning to love him as he is and not pine for who he might someday be, because this could be it. These hard days could be our only days and I think . . .

     What if these are the glory days? 

I look for a reaction from my every day attempts, as if what I say will illicit some sort of chemical reaction that will be positive and perhaps puff a colorful cloud.

I'm looking for something to make me feel good, to know that I am doing the right things and making a difference.

I take what he says so personally and if I haven't said something in just the right way, I've often thought I am not good enough. I don't worry about being a bad parent as much as I worry what kind of a person he will become because of me.

I often have to remind myself we all have something -- we all could use counselors in our lives, and . . . perhaps God will use my weaknesses as my son's mother to draw him ever further to His heart, where He is the boy-man's God and not me.

God is bigger than the expectations and criticism of the world. I have to remind myself who each day I will serve -- them or Him . . . my comfort or Him.

I have worn the letters right off the keyboard in my tap, tap, tapping for a cause, a cure, and even confidence. I've choked myself with the pressure to solve and diagnose every reason for why I can't seem to right all that is not working.

Exhausted from all the attempts to fix all the things and all the people, I decided to try God.

     "You can trust Me," are the words that stir in my weary heart. 

All along I've thought it would be me leading him. I'm stepping back and considering how perhaps it really is the child who will lead me.

___________________________________________________________

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion?
Come to Me.
Get away with Me and you'll recover your 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 (MSG)

on public school and my fears for our son

We took our son out of public school in the midst of third grade and decided to home-school him for reasons that even we weren't certain about.

That year was hard and we were asking lots of questions.

We didn't know what to do about our son not paying attention or following directions. We didn't understand what was going on, and our suggestions to be partners with his teacher in talking through his issues weren't responded to as we had hoped. It wasn't his teacher's fault, necessarily; she had lots of other kids and priorities that limited her time to give our son the attention we thought he deserved and needed.

This was our first go-round with parenting and we didn't know all the questions to ask.

Suddenly we found ourselves faced with the option of homeschooling and after taking a crash course in the how to's, we decided to have our son complete his third grade at home. People probably wondered what was up with us and what could cause us to suddenly veer left. When family voiced their concern we simply kept on with what we thought we needed to do at the time.

Could we have kept our son in school like most other kids and fight the good fight? Sure. But we didn't have to and so we chose not to.

Fast forward two years.

After test upon test to determine whether our son has a learning challenge of some sort, we found out what we already know:

     Every person learns differently. Period.

We still don't have any answers to why our son continues to not pay attention or follow directions.

Maybe his stealth strong-will promotes a decision-making in his mind of what he thinks is important and not important.

Maybe he tries to be creative in answering questions and approaching school work, thinking he can try a different way.

Only God knows. And truly, the why doesn't really matter, anyway.

Did homeschooling him help? Did it enable him? We will never know.

Should we have kept him in school? Let's not go there.

All I will say is this: I do believe there is a lot to be said for developmental readiness. Also, and perhaps most importantly, there is not one right or perfect methodology for teaching our children.

Homeschooling did things for our son and our family we can never fully define. 

     I watched joy and creativity find its way again.

     Time together was simplified and savored.

     Frantic was a thing of the past.

By having our son home we've had the flexibility to do things we wouldn't have been able to do if he were in school. We have gone together on a few of my business trips and discovered parts of cities -- partly just for fun and partly because they have connected to something interesting that he studied.

The place where I work gives us access to facilities that allow our son to hone his sports skills and we've seized those opportunities. College students use those facilities, too, and so my son and my groom have met people who they otherwise wouldn't have met if our son was in school.

There have been good things about having our son at home for the past two years and there have been challenging things.

My groom is a hero in the eyes of most people when they hear he has been the primary teacher. I just nod my head in agreement, because I don't know if I could do it either. Yet, according to him, "you do what you have to do". He says those words because he cares deeply about his commitment to love and fatherhood and he is passionate about exercising his gift of teaching and helping. My groom doesn't necessarily care more than me, just differently than me.

It wasn't always easy for me, though. I sometimes judged my groom's approach and scowled when I wanted happy-clappy lunch hours and evenings instead of continued lessons that sometimes fall on our son's seemingly deaf ears.

Life is about learning. It's not always comfy.
     Growth is a necessary part of the process and it hurts.  

This past school year we were faced with the sorts of challenges similar to those of kids the same age as our son's. Motivating our son to care enough to try hard is difficult and we often feel helpless. This is his challenging thing right now and though we hope it won't be his forever thing, it is for now.

We decided at the beginning of this school year to use this year as a preparation year for our son to return to public school next year. He will re-enter as a sixth grader in the Middle School -- aka, the dreaded years. Honestly, I'm excited for him, yet I'm also quite afraid.

     I'm excited for our son to learn from other people.

     I'm excited for him to influence other human beings on a daily basis.

     I'm excited for our son to come home and tell us all most of the details about his days.

     I'm excited for him to get called on and be challenged.

     I'm excited for our son to raise his hand with confidence.

     I'm excited for him to have variety and multiple teachers on a daily basis.

     I'm excited for our son to navigate his interests beyond athletics.

With all there is to look forward to about the differences between home-school and public school, there is also so much that I fear.

Surprisingly, it isn't the infamous and much debated Core Curriculum that I'm afraid of, or the teachers having so many students and so little time, or that our son still hasn't figured out how to follow.the.blessed.directions (!), or that he will have to face the consequences of reality discipline. It isn't even the social stuff that comes with puberty, or the pressures of life.

Sure, those are all things concerning me, though to be honest I'm mostly afraid our son will decide we're a couple of loons and he will decide to be who he wants to be, and who he chooses to be won't be who we think he was created to be . . . and that I'll mostly be right about all of this, because it's quite probably how it will go.

He probably will decide to live differently than how we've raised him. At least for awhile.

I'm afraid our son isn't ever going to stretch before practice or after practice, or drink even one sip of water all the livelong day, or eat anything other than peanut butter or poached eggs on English Muffins.

I'm afraid our son will do his own thing whenever he wants and won't ever realize how working hard does more than one can ever imagine.

The thing is, we can't protect our son from the bullies of the world, or discouragement, or make people pay attention to him. I can't force my son to pay attention, or to follow directions, or to take notes, or to ask questions to verify his understanding. I can't make him drink and stretch and eat the way I think he should. I can't make sure my son actually learns what I think is important and not what I don't think is important.

I can't ensure my son will achieve his dreams or become who I think he was designed to be.

It isn't the school I have a problem with as much as it is Myself.

It's my fear keeping him entangled in my grip and keeping me up late at night, contemplating the next guilt-trip I can impose that might "inspire" him or "light a fire under his butt".

I fear my son becoming someone who totally isn't the storybook character I often forget I didn't script him to be.

As much as I fear and want to hold him back from the meanies in this world and the crazy, mixed up education system that just confuses me all to pieces, I need to let him go. Not for the "social" reasons so many people are focused and concerned about for home-school students, but because he needs to make his own choices and discover his own need for God, and that it isn't a sign of weakness to need Him.

Letting my son go feels irresponsible in some ways, a little bit like throwing him to the wolves, so to speak. But, I can't protect him forever or guarantee every late-night lecture and early-morning hug will stick and give him the courage and peace (and instructions) he needs for his life.

I can't solve his problems for him or create a sunshine and rainbows kind of life for him.

     Life will be hard. It will hurt. He will make mistakes. 
          All I can do is trust God's got him.

God chose me as the mother for this specific child, knowing I wouldn't know how to do even the basic kind of math or be able to explain how to write (other than to say, "just do it as you feel led").

God chose me, knowing my son would need to be taught to clean up his crumbs from the lunch table, even though I don't always clean up my own from breakfast.

God chose me because He has purpose for me, in spite of my imperfections.

I trust God's got my son, no matter where he goes to school and what he does.

     If my son needs to fail, then may God use it.

     If I need to disappoint him, then may God use that, too.

After all, I didn't create this person, God did it. And so, it all comes down to the smallness of my faith I am most afraid of, my struggle to trust God's ways, and how much longer my fingers will stay white-knuckle gripped.

a prayer for the naked and afraid

We're all hurting. All of us in our own ways.

You know our hearts and the exact place to elicit a response in us.

Help us to look at the ugly parts of our hearts where Your Hand reaches.
Help us to resist the urge to cover up what hurts in an attempt to make the discomfort end.

Give us the courage to let You have your way, with us.
Give us the courage to trudge one more step in the muck.

Help us not to stay frozen in fear and bewildered at the ugly.
Help us to step, trusting You won't leave us to drown or suffocate.

Humble us to surrender our want for Your glory.
Humble us to say "Yes" to one more moment of what feels impossible.

Might we be people who want to see Your glory more than our comfort.
Might we be people who trust You for the humanly impossible.

You are good, even when nothing looks as we wish it would.
You are good, even when nothing makes sense.

Lead us ever more to knowing Your love for us.
Lead us ever more to knowing Your love for all.

Heal us from our own addictions and obsessions and shouts for comfort.
Heal us from our own pride.

Teach us your definition of "Strong" in our naked moments of today's living.

Amen.

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

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.

Chase

There was a time when I thought I knew what it means to be "fit" and nowadays I'm embarrassed to even say how I defined it to be:

Ripped abs.
Eight-mile runs.
Sugar-free eating habits.

Those were the days when I was convinced that I was broken and need to be fixed. Everyday involved taking a fine-tooth comb to my very existence and identifying everything that needed to become better about me.

I wasn't enough.

All the ideas I had of who I should be seemed so attainable, yet just far enough out of reach to keep me occupied all the livelong day with trying and trying and trying harder to become who I wasn't.

Restlessness had its way with me. Anger, too. And eventually, exhaustion.

Because, something's gotta give. Always.

It could've been my marriage. And it almost was. The number of times I nearly destroyed it all and threatened to leave are too many to count.

The number of times I quit trying and resorted to saying things that just reflected a cold, bitter, exhausted, lonely, and sad heart are quite possibly equivalent to as many steps as it'd take to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.

: : : 

One day last year my groom said something to me along the lines of how much happier I'd be if I would just stop trying so hard. He encouraged me to be content with me, as I am -- now.

While in a store he even pointed out a small sign that read: "happy girls are the prettiest girls."

Those words, combined with the ones I had heard him say just days before, nearly made me explode in a million different pieces right there in front of him.

Just how is a person supposed to stop trying and start being when all she's known is a pursuit of working harder to be better? 

I felt naked and helpless. And truthfully, quite embarrassed.

My groom had called my bluff. He had known all along how completely miserable I was in my life and he made it known that I hadn't succeeded at hiding my true discontent from him.

Happiness was never something I pursued; I knew it was fleeting. I resigned myself to a lifestyle that gripped everything tightly and assumed that muscles get strong when they're flexed and so therefore, I was "fit".

It turns out that muscles actually get weaker when they're constantly constricted. They forget how to even work. Chronically tightened muscles signal to our body that we're in danger and keeps us in a constant state of defense, eventually exhausting and depleting our whole selves.

This isn't fitness. This isn't even wellness.

I tried to find out "how" I was supposed to fix what was indeed broken about me, only to discover that trying to further control myself was not the way.

I needed to learn flexibility and discover that being vulnerable -- raw and real -- is actually what is means to be strong.

I needed to learn to be patient with myself, and ultimately to be kind to myself.

I needed to actually face the real truth about who I am and not be shocked by my humanity.

I needed to become more aware of the beauty of my life, as it is.

: : : 

Once I reeled back from the realization that my groom knew the deepest truth about me all these years, I realized the most powerful part of the story: he stayed.

My groom was deliberate in his intention to fulfill his commitment to love me, and the best part is that he chose to love me as I am. I didn't need to change in order for him to love me. I didn't need to become someone different.

I still don't.

My groom didn't choose to love me because of a vision I had for myself.

The most powerful thing I realized is that I am loved for being me -- a sometimes messy, hypocritical, talkative, deceiving, angry, conniving, cajoling, questionable . . . and other times gentle, graceful, kind, sensitive, generous, encouraging, creative person.

For so many years I tried to be the best me I could possibly be. Perfection has lots of colors and though I never considered myself a "perfectionist," it eventually became obvious to me that my tendencies clearly fit the definition.

My Creator deliberately crafted me with imperfections and I have come to believe that He uses those rough and jagged edges of me for purpose; most especially, for me to realize that I am enough. My strength and abilities can't accomplish all I want or envision that they might someday; still, I am enough.

It took a long time for me to consider that I am perfect, as I am.

Where I don't measure up, God fills the gap. And what He wants to shape differently about me, He will reveal in due time and work with me to accomplish.

I can trust that God doesn't make mistakes and that He will guide this deliberately-crafted-imperfect-human-being on the journey that He has designed uniquely for me.

: : : 

I've been chased: hunted down and deliberately pursued.

God knew how far He needed to go for me to see His love for me. As I've seen His love, I've learned to chase hope with that same deliberate intention.

I've learned that the thing that I envision might not be the thing at all, yet I can still deliberately pursue that which niggles at me day and night, while actively living in a state of rest.

Now is enough, as it is . . .
     and I am enough, as I am.

For years I connived and cajoled to have a second child. I thought that not conceiving another meant that I wasn't good enough.

I learned the hard and painful way what real surrender is all about.

Eventually, I humbly discovered that what I wanted most was peace -- a life of rest.

I learned to hope when nothing makes sense.

And now, after seven years of begging . . . one year of pretending to surrender . . . and one year of real surrender . . . I've been given a most remarkable gift of grace: the news of a second son to be arriving in the middle of this year.

This gift didn't come because I surrendered and "stopped trying". God did this.

His timing, purpose, and providence is His alone.

The waiting and wrestling was never about a baby . . .
     it's clear to me now that it was about things so much bigger and better.

the hard work of Now

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The power of one teeny, tiny word

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anger became my constant way of being.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I considered the condition of things, as they were.

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

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

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

on holding dreams (and my self) loosely

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We can rest.

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

: : : 

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

Also linking with Jennifer. 

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

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

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

To all-y'all . . . 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I see life this way:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's a loosing happening in me. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     You are enough.
          As you are.

     We all are enough.
          As we are.

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

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

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

     This is our worship.

Linking with Bonnie. 

the power of freedom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      As.

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

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

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

: : : 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

: : : 

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

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

Basically, I wanted perfection. All the livelong day.

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

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

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

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

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

In all my wanting . . . .

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

I realized that my groom stayed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

: : : 

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

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

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

I am free. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Linking with Jennifer and Bonnie.