Finding Strength in the Strangest Place

Psalm 46: 1-5  

God is our refuge and strength, 

a very present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear, 

though the earth should change

And though the mountains slip

into the heart of the sea;  

Though its waters roar and foam,

Though the mountains quake 

at its swelling pride.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
The holy dwelling places of the Most High.
God is in the midst of her,
she will not be moved;
God will help her when morning dawns.

I love this Psalm.  It paints in my mind's eye a very vivid picture of God's strength in the midst of chaos.

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

His presence is familiar.  It's always there.  It's very present.  When I feel like the world is spinning out of control (out of my control, if I'm honest) I look for Him, and He's always there.

Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth should change, and though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains quake at its swelling pride.

Think about this picture.  A mountain slipping down into the sea. I can picture the turmoil, the swell, the white foamy water.  It is not a peaceful picture.  It feels overwhelming and frightening.

It says, "Therefore we will not fear . . . " no matter what things look like around us.  No matter what is being destroyed or falling apart or changing.  We will not fear.  I will not fear.

And then there is the next beautiful line of this Psalm.  And every time I read this line . . .

every.

single.

time.

it makes me catch my breath in awe.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God

I am not a theologian, and I don't know exactly what this means, but this is what it says to my heart. 

In the midst of destruction and chaos and uncertainty, there is a river, the depth of which cannot be imagined.   It is unfathomable.  It provides life.  It provides protection.  It has a determined course. It is a force to be reckoned with.  It is the Lord.

And I'm pretty sure THAT is why the thought of it takes my breath away.

When I read this one line, "There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God," I feel instantly at peace.  And oddly enough, I feel bolstered.  I want to raise my fist and shout, "YEAH, That's right!  A RIVER!"

The holy dwelling places of the Most High.

God is in the midst of her, she will not be moved;

God will help her when morning dawns.

All that to say, there is a river, a foaming, raging river, yet it is there I will find strength, and comfort and peace. There is a river, and I am wading out into the deep of it.

Less of Me

This morning at church Mike and I were standing close together, singing (or something we call singing) and soaking in those moments together when I felt this incredibly deep sadness come over me.

It's difficult to explain, so I won't try, but I just reached around him and whispered in his ear, "Will you pray for me?"

Without hesitation he wrapped his arms around me, placing one hand behind my head and pulling it next to his so he could pray into my ear, over the sound of the song we had just been singing. Of course, he had no idea why I needed him to pray, and honestly, he didn't ask. In reality, *I* had no idea why I needed him to pray, but that didn't deter him. He just prayed, trusting the Holy Spirit to supply the words.

The music shifted and the congregation around us began to sing these words,

Set a fire down in my soul
That I can't contain and I can't control
I want more of you God
I want more of you God

I want more
I want more
I want more of you God


Oddly, I could not bring myself to sing the words.

As I stood there in silence, I felt the Holy Spirit speak to me, so gently, but so firmly, as he so often does.

He said, "Carol, you don't need more of God. You need less of yourself."

Such truth in so few words. But in that truth, I found such comfort.


All that to say, perhaps these words are just for me today. But perhaps they are for you as well.


He must become greater and greater and I must become less and less.  John 3:30 NLT

What Would Happen If You Just Loosened Your Grip?

This morning I woke up to go workout, but with a last minute cancellation from my workout partner, I found myself fully-dressed, caffeinated, and wide-awake with a good hour and half before I had to wake the girls for school.

So I spent that time listening to the Lord. The Lord does speak to us, despite what we may think to the contrary. He spoke to me of trust and my lack thereof.  He whispered sweet endearing words, assuring me of His love for me and my value to Him. And then this song came into my mind, and I sang it, out loud, in my squeaky early morning voice.  

These are the words to the song:

I confess my hope 
In the light of Your salvation 
Where I lose myself 
I will find You're all I need

Sing my soul of the Savior's love 
Sing my soul Unto God alone 

I will meet You here 
In the life we call surrender 
Let the world I know 
Be the glory of Your grace

You alone are God 
You alone are God 
We declare the glory of Your name 

Holding On

I try so hard to hang on, to control things.  I have fooled myself (many times) into believing that by controlling my own life, I have found freedom.  I can do what I want, what *I* think is right. I can course correct, make adjustments, go my own road. But the reality is that nothing could be farther from the truth. There is no freedom in being in control.  There is worry, and anxiety, and heartache. There is bondage.

Where I lose myself, I will find you're all I need. There is rich, deep truth in that sentence.

I sat across the table from a friend of mine a while back. Her life was out of control, spinning in a crazy chaos and she said to me, "You know, I'm just white-knuckling it. Just hanging on the best I can."  And I said to her, "What would happen if you just let go?"

All that to say, What would happen if we just loosened our grip? What would happen if *you* just let go? The scary part is removing our hands. Letting go . . .

I Peter 5:7 Cast your cares upon Him because He cares for you.

What are you holding onto today that would set you free if you released it?

Trusting Requires I Lose Control

When I was a young woman, 20 to be exact, I fell in love with the Church.  I'm not saying I fell in love with Jesus, (in truth, and sadly, that didn't come until much later), but I did fall in love with the Church.  Having come from a somewhat difficult childhood that was often chaotic and stressful, I found comfort in the rules and structure of church.

The Church offered me boundaries and a feeling of control that my heart and mind craved.  It taught me how to read my bible in a structured way, how to pray in a structured way, even how to worship with rules and decorum.

Of course, as I type these words, I know that what the church taught me in my early days of Christianity was to love religion, but I know that the Holy Spirit found me there, knee deep in my religion, and rescued me, and for that, I am grateful.

In the last few years, I have come to understand how desperately I hold onto control, and the root of that is because  I felt so out of control as a child.  I find great comfort in knowing what is ahead. I'm a planner.  My lists have lists.  I have contingency plans.  I mean, why take the road less traveled? That's not a plan! And why plan for tomorrow when you can make a 5 year plan or a 10 year plan?  I'm not saying there is anything wrong with planning, to a certain extent.  It's when trusting your ability to plan overrides your trust in Jesus that there's a problem.  And that's where my problem is.

Sunday, at church, we sang a song that contained the phrase "trust without borders."

I felt like the words became the only words on the screen, an indictment to my secret character flaw, and the weight of that indictment sucked the oxygen out of the room.

From there, the pastor went on to tell a story of Mother Theresa and how when once asked to pray for clarity for someone, she refused, stating that praying for clarity was really just a way of wanting the security (and control) of a mapped out plan.  She stated (I'm paraphrasing) "Clarity doesn't require trust.   Instead, I'll pray for you to trust without boundaries."

And there it was again.  Trust without borders.  Trust without boundaries.  Trust without conditions. Trust without a damned plan.

It's not that I haven't been painfully aware of my need to control things, it's that I've been ignorant of the fact that my need for control has often replaced my trust in Jesus.

I read this excerpt from The Hobbit the other day on a friend's facebook wall and knew it was a challenge for me personally.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

So where does a girl go to learn how to trust without borders?  I'll let you know when I discover it.  But for now, I'll step out on the path, pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins some larger way, where many paths and errands meet.

All that to say, it's a scary place for a control freak, asking for the ability to trust without borders, for lessons of trust must inevitably come with opportunities to have to.

I Feel the Rush

I feel the Spirit of God moving in me today, a feeling that is at once  both exhilarating and terrifying.

It's a sense of anticipation and foreboding, which of course makes no sense whatsoever to my rational mind.

The closest thing I can relate it to is giving birth.  One minute the thrill of bringing a life into this world overwhelms you and just as quickly you are hit by the overwhelming realization of what it takes to bring a life into this world.


Knowing that God speaks to me, at all, is incredibly humbling. But knowing that He moves through me, searching me, going beyond the surface things the world can see, into the deepest part of me, that thought is overwhelming.

I trust the Holy Spirit. I trust the way He speaks to me. I trust what He uncovers in me and encourages me to tackle.  I trust His affection for me. He has proven himself to me over and over.

"And it is the Spirit who bears witness, because the Spirit is truth."- I John 5:6

All that to say, I trust the Spirit of God because what He speaks is truth, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, where truth is, there is freedom. I feel the rush of His Spirit today, speaking truths I need to hear. Sweet truth, liberating truth, His truth.

I wonder, what truth is He speaking to you today?

Ruled by Our Human Emotions - Happiness

Happiness is a  co-dependent emotion.  It is completely and totally dependant upon a right set of circumstances.  The right gift.  The right friendship.  The right marriage.  The right home.  The right job.  The right small group.  The right relationship with your kids.  The right car.

The list is endless.


Let one piece of our circumstances change and our happiness meter gets totally out of whack.

I even hear my little girls say, "I'm not happy."  

And when I inquire as to why, they say, "Btuz I want that doll," or "Btuz I want apple juice."

Even in their short-lived lives, they have learned that happiness, their happiness, is dependant upon getting what they want or what they think they need.

We, as adults, are equally conditioned to think that our happiness is dependant upon getting what we want or think we need.

But happiness is fleeting and fickle and self-serving. 

Joy, on the other hand, is completely different than happiness.  Joy is a contentment that defies the weighty gravity of conditional happiness.  It's an inner peace that passes all understanding.  It's a support structure for our spirit.  It props us up on really bad days, and it delights us and compels us forward on really good ones.

Joy is a gift that we are given.  A gift we must receive.  But sadly, we miss the precious, soul-feeding contentment of joy because we are so freaking caught up in worrying about our happiness.

All that to say, happiness is fleeting and self-serving.  Choose joy.

Just out of curiosity, what makes you happy, 

and what brings you joy?

Don't Let Anger Steal Another Minute of Your Life

I have written and rewritten this opening paragraph more times than I care to think about. I think my struggle has been to write about anger in a real, personal way that is both transparent and helpful and yet honors the right to privacy of others. Sometimes a fine line to walk, you know? 

In deciding to write a blog series about our human emotions, I knew there would be subjects that would be hard to talk about because they involve some fairly deep-rooted and not altogether pleasant memories for me. And at the end of the day, I don't know that I WANT to write about them, nor do I know if you NEED to read about them. 

So how do I write about anger?  I've written about anger before, many times in fact.  I've written about the physiological effects of anger. I've written about anger in your marriage.  I've even written about losing your temper (which isn't so much anger as it is a lack of self-control).

REAL ANGER

But the anger I am talking about is the kind that is deep-seated, often rooted in unforgiveness of an event or a lifetime of events.  The anger I'm talking about bubbles to the surface in ways that are often shocking to the person who is angry as well as the people caught in the wake of their anger.

It's that anger that is crushing and cruel and has one purpose; to seek retribution for the pain and injustice that caused its birth in the first place.

I've known many angry people in my lifetime.  Many.  Too many for one lifetime, to be sure. But every angry person I have ever known shares one characteristic; they have been hurt, badly and deeply, and they don't have a clue how to free themselves from the bondage of that pain.  So they lash out.  

Some lash out physically, some verbally, often without provocation, always with devastating effects to the people in their lives.

THE SOURCE OF ANGER

I learned from an incredible friend and valued mentor that the source of anger, real anger, is unforgiveness.  Getting to the place where you can identify the core of your own anger is very, very difficult and very, very necessary.

I recently had a long talk with a friend of mine who grew up in a very angry home.  He was beaten, shouted at, ridiculed and betrayed by the very people who should have been his protectors, a fact that birthed in him an anger that eventually consumed him and the people around him.

What I learned about him as we talked was that though he felt he had forgiven his abusers, he could rattle off a list of offenses so quickly and with such deep emotion, that it surprised even him.  

Find the source of the pain, find the source of the anger.

We hold onto anger because it makes us feel powerful and invincible.  It's our way of shouting, "I will never be hurt again." Maybe we don't realize that's what we're shouting, but it is.  

We hold onto anger (or more accurately, unforgiveness) because it lets us feel we hold a debt over those whom have hurt us, a debt from which they will not easily be released.  For in releasing them, we fear we give them power to hurt us all over again.

But anger is a thief.  It is born of unforgiveness and hatred, and it robs us of many things, the greatest of which is freedom.

If you are angry, I have to ask you, do you feel free or do you feel imprisoned?  

WHAT WILL YOU CHOOSE?

Anytime I feel anger over something; deep, real anger, I have to ask myself, what am I so mad about?  Is this thing I am blowing up about the root of my anger, or a symptom of a deeper issue?  And once explored and defined, I ask myself these questions:

• Will I harbor bitterness and unforgiveness, or will I freely forgive others?
• Will I continue to be angry, or will I release myself from the bondage of my anger?

Indeed, will I choose bondage or freedom?  Because ultimately, that's what my choices will lead me to, either bondage or freedom.


But here is our promise:

Galatians 5:1 "But it is for freedom that Christ has set us free . . ."

Christ HAS set us . . . me . . . free.  Not Christ "will" set me free, but he "HAS" set me free. I am already free. Any bondage I choose to live in, is then, of my own choosing.

All that to say, I hope you will choose freedom over anger.  And once chosen, I hope you will walk in that freedom. For it is a choice. 

Bitterness is Like a Chili Dog

I was looking for a quote the other day for a client's blog when I came across this quote by Martin Luther King, Jr.

"Never succumb to the temptation of bitterness." 

Read it again slowly. It has more meaning that way. 

Never succumb to the temptation of bitterness.

Never, not ever, not on any day, in any moment, for even a second, should you allow yourself to give in to the call of bitterness; for she does, indeed, call out to you. She wants you. She seduces you to come to her side. But Bitterness is a liar and a cruel mistress.

Never succumb, nor give in, nor release yourself to, nor shackle yourself to Bitterness. She is cunning, and her chains are heavy and binding.

Never succumb to the temptation. Oh how easy it is to give way to the temptation. To allow yourself that short moment to justify your anger, to rationalize your hurt. 

How sweet the scent of Bitterness as she presses in, whispering seductively, "You deserve to be mad. No one has the right to treat you that way." 

Never succumb to the temptation of Bitterness. For once you have opened the door to her, she will not soon leave.

All that to say, bitterness is like a chili dog, it tastes good going down, but the lingering effects aren't good for you or anyone around you. 

(I thought I'd end sounding more like Carol Jones and less like Henry Ward Beecher.)

Sitting in the Middle of the Road

I was driving home last Friday  morning from an early morning walk with friends.  For a Friday, the roads were surprisingly empty, but I suppose it's because it was the Friday after the Fourth of July and more people than usual were sleeping in.

As I drove, somewhat lost in my own thoughts, I happened to notice a gorgeous black lab sitting in the median up ahead of me.  He sat there, very stoic-looking, and incredibly relaxed for a dog sitting in a median. As I approached, I realized he was sitting next to another dog who was dead.

When I got home, I couldn't shake the image of the beautiful black lab standing guard over what I can only assume was his friend, his fellow traveler, his mate.  He didn't appear to be anxious, or waiting for help.  He simply sat, perhaps still in shock, perhaps mourning, perhaps simply not knowing what to do next.

Feeling His Pain

And oddly, I felt a kinship to his story.  A very huge part of what I know to be "me" is gone.  And I find that I am simply sitting, somewhat in shock (yes, still), somewhat in mourning, and somewhat simply not knowing what to do next.

On a walk with a friend this morning, I was explaining to her that I feel lost in trying to re-establish community within the church.  And it occurred to me as we talked, that all the reasons I give for not being "able" to find a church to attend are excuses. The real reason is that I am mad "at" the church, and therefore don't really want to attend any church.

She told me that was like having a bad experience with an oil and gas company and deciding I just wasn't going to ever buy oil and gas again. . . (or something like that . . . I was in the moment. It was beautiful when she said it.)

The Middle of the Road

At its core, I have unforgiveness in my heart.  I am frozen in that unforgiveness, and I am the only one who can really do anything at all about it.  It's somewhat disheartening to know that I have within myself, the Power to set myself free.  And yet, like that beautiful black lab, I choose to sit, frozen in the middle of the road, unable or unwilling to move.

All that to say, knowing WHAT to do and DOING it are often two very different things. I can't sit here in the middle of the road much longer, for it's a very dangerous place to sit. I am assured that God's best for me is still ahead of me.  I'm just gonna need to get ON the road and out of the middle of it. 

Carol

Our Battle Is NOT With Flesh and Blood

I went to church tonight, which if you keep up with my life, is no small thing.  (Not because I'm not a church goer, but because I went to my old church, where I used to work . . . it's complicated.)

While I was there, the Pastor was talking about being "in the battle."  And I couldn't help but think that the battle is all around us.  How often do we as believers feel at odds or even persecuted by other believers and treat them as though they are on the "opposing team?'

Far too often I would venture to guess.

I know it's true of me.

While I was there, I thought about the people who had hurt me, or talked bad about me, or blah, blah, blah fill in the blank, and in the midst of those emotions, I had a very superior feeling of righteousness.

Trust me when I tell you, though, open your heart to God in the middle of HIS church, and He's not going to let you feel very superior OR righteous for long, because there is nothing righteous about those feelings.

Those feelings are born solely of unforgiveness.

And I must see the unforgiveness in myself, and forgive.  I cannot be responsible for someone else's unforgiveness.  I can (and should) attempt to be reconciled to them (if they are open to it), but holding a grudge, harboring judgement or unforgiveness . . . simply not an option.

What I should have been thinking about was the people I have hurt, or talked bad about, or treated unfairly, or judged and prayed for forgiveness.

I am not on the opposing team.  They are not on the opposing team.  For the love of Jesus, we are brothers and sisters.  We play for the same team.  There is no glory for God when we, His children, who are called by His name, are content to live at odds with one another.

As I would say to my toddlers, "That is NOT okay."

All that to say, I am grateful that God makes me painfully aware of my sin, my self-righteousness, my unforgiveness.  Grateful because it keeps me from fooling myself into believing that I am healed when I am not.  I like to think I'm good at fooling myself.  God's got my number though.  Thank God.

You Are Not Invisible

I believe God speaks to me, really to all of us, as though we are preschoolers. He repeats Himself, over and over and over because we learn best through repetition. 

Quite some time ago, I saw Zephaniah 3:17 on a large screen during a church service.  The message in that moment was comforting, but I didn't think about it much beyond that. Later that same day, I saw it printed again, and just a few days later, I saw it stuck on a bulletin board in a friend's office.

Zephaniah 3:17

"For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”

I saw this verse over, and over, and over.  So I paid attention.  I read it slower and I deeply personalized it.  

I wrote:

"Carol, your God is living among you. You aren't invisible, nor are the circumstances of your life. He is right there. He is mighty to save you. He's strong. He can handle all of this. He will take delight in you, Carol, because He adores you and you are incredibly precious to Him. With his love, he will calm all of your fears. His love is all encompassing, and it's the safest place you can go. So go. Find peace there. And when you get there, you will hear Him rejoicing over you with songs. He's singing over you. Remember when you used to sing over your children when they were little? Remember how that calmed them? They could feel how much you loved them. They felt safe. He's singing over you now, Carol."

All that to say, my Savior, He can move the mountains.

Wandering in the Desert

Sometimes I wonder why it is such a struggle to find a church.  I remember when I used to be on staff at a church,  I was always surprised at the people who would say things like, "We could just never get connected," or "No one really reached out to us."  I knew our church was friendly, so I didn't understand why they couldn't find community with us.

But here we are, 8 months out from me losing my job, still struggling to find a church.

We've been attending the same church for most of the time since we left, but just couldn't decide if it was the right place for us.  It's not that the people weren't friendly.  They were very friendly.  And it's not that our kids don't love it.  They do.  We just can't seem to get connected.

Maybe we thought we'd fall right back into our old "friend circles" (since we were members there for 10 years before we moved to Georgia).  But that hasn't happened.  We see familiar faces, and everyone is nice, they speak to us, but we aren't "in" if that makes any sense at all.  Maybe I'm just rambling.  Maybe I don't exactly know what I'm expecting.

Invites for lunch after church?

Get togethers with the girls?

People wanting us to join their small groups?

I don't know.

And maybe that's the majority of the problem.  I don't know what I want.  Or Mike doesn't know what he wants.  Or together we don't know what we want.

We thought maybe we were just wanting a service with a more contemporary flair (we've been in that style of church for over 9 years, so we thought maybe that's what we needed).  And yet, we visited a church for the last two weeks that has a very contemporary flair and it wasn't "it" either.  And honestly there was a much stronger sense of the Spirit of God moving at the less contemporary service.

Clearly the music style has nothing to do with it.

The girls love the church we've gone to for the last two weeks. And the people are very friendly. Someone even invited us to join their small group (on our very first visit, and it was a Facebook friend, no less! . . . Thanks Todd.)

And yet, I still feel lost.  I miss my community.  And at the core, that's my problem.  I know it is.  I'm just not really sure what to do about it.

All that to say, perhaps I am being overly transparent today.  I think I'm just tired of wandering.  I don't know how the children of God did it for so many years.  (Jesus, I'd like to not do it that long, please. It's exhausting.)  

A Million Dollar Yes, A Million Dollar No

I recently had the opportunity to make millions of dollars.  I'm not even kidding. (I kind of wish I was.)

It's hard to turn down millions of dollars.  Trust me, I know.

I know because I didn't turn it down. I said yes.  I said, "Hell yes."  (Sorry.  I did.)

But I didn't say yes without running it by some very important people.

I asked my husband what he thought.

I asked my friends what they thought.

I asked some really great business gurus what they thought.

And they all said "Do it!"

So I jumped in with both feet.  But then I started second guessing myself.  I couldn't put my finger on it, but I had a pretty compelling feeling that I wasn't "supposed" to take the offer.

But I pushed forward and kept going.  Soon, the "feeling" became a loud pounding in my spirit.  It got so loud that I finally just shut down, curled up in my bed, and asked God what I should do.

I felt like he said to me, "Great question, Carol.  Maybe you should have asked me in the first place."

Ummmm . . . yeah . . .

Ouch.

Truth hurts.

Funny thing about asking God what HIS plan is.  Once you know it, and relinquish your control  (and possibly millions of dollars) to obey it, all the questions, all the second guessing, and all the wrestling is over.

I'm not telling you it was an easy decision, but obeying God's will is always, always, always, the best  and only real option.

All that to say, I guess I won't be buying the house of my dreams out in the country, with a pool and horses (two things I've been told would be GREAT for the girls).  But hey, if God wants us to have a pool and horses, we will.  And if not, that's okay too.  He's probably got a better plan. Probably.

When I Am Afraid, I Will Trust in You

When my oldest son was a very little boy, he had a terrible anxiety about storms. It started when we lived out in the country and a tornado ripped through a nearby town, leaving in its path a trail of destruction.  When he saw the sheared off trees and the splintered piles of wood that used to be homes, he was overwhelmed that a storm could do that.

Try as we might, there was no convincing him the type of storm that wipes out an entire town is not the typical type of storm that pitter patters on your roof.  When lightning struck and thunder boomed, he was thereafter terrified.

One night, when he was five years old, a storm came in the middle of the night.  When I heard the first roll of thunder, I laid in my bed, wondering if it had awakened him.  I could hear a slightly muffled voice coming from his room, so I got up and silently made my way down the hall.  I could hear him whispering over and over and over,

"What time I am afraid I will trust in thee. Psalm 56:3."

"What time I am afraid I will trust in thee. Psalm 56:3."

"What time I am afraid I will trust in thee. Psalm 56:3."

Just as I reached the doorway of his room, the lightning exploded in the sky and I could see him sitting under the covers in his bed.  The thunder crashed loudly and he screamed, "What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.  Psalm 56.3!!!!!"

I remembered that story today as I was thinking about Boston.  About how to respond to the evil in this world.  And Zack's prayer came to my mind.

What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.

All that to say, I will not fear.  But I will trust and I will pray.  Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

When Friendship Seems Elusive

I was talking with a friend the other day about close personal relationships, especially close personal friendships.  Her struggle was that no matter how she tried, she just couldn't seem to connect with someone in a way that didn't end up a mess, or complicated, or frustrating on some level.


She said, "It's almost like God doesn't want me to have a close friend."

I swallowed hard at that sentence because I totally understand what she was saying, and yet, at the same time, it seemed counter intuitive to what I know about God.  I mean, He created us for community, right?

Her struggle is not unlike mine and many other women I know.  We are very emotional beings.  We need close friendships.  As Dr. Christina Yang would say on Grey's Anatomy (don't even think about judging me right now) "We all need our person."  We need that someone that we can go to with anything; someone who can look beyond what is seen, into the deepest darkest places, the places where we hide our secrets, our wounds, our desires, our dreams.  Someone that we can trust to see those things and not run away in horror. And even more importantly, someone who won't betray us when we become fully transparent with them.

For me, for her, for many, we find that we so desperately need a human being to share those things with, that we forget God's role in our life.  HE is that person for us.  His Word tells us, I will never leave you nor forsake you.

I have spent a lifetime trying to find a friend, a best friend, my person.  And I have been very blessed to have some incredible friendships in my life.  But here is the funny thing about those friendships.  Every single one of my close friends lives far away from me.  Every. Single. One.  Surely that cannot be a coincidence, right?

Here is what God has taught me about my friendships lately (just being really raw right now):

Lesson one is that I have a husband who would love to be my person, the person I share my hurts and hopes with.  And lesson two is that I have the personality type that would likely abandon having a close personal relationship with God if I had someone on earth to take His place.  That was difficult for me to grasp, but I recognize the truth of it.

My sweet friend and mentor of 15+ years told me once that she had struggled her lifetime to have a close personal friend. She believed God didn't want her to have that person here on earth because it would be a distraction for her.  I remember thinking, "You are the most godly woman I know.  How in the world could ANYTHING be a distraction for you?!"

And I'm not saying that I'm some super godly woman and that's why God doesn't want me to have a close friend. (In case you were about to make that correlation)  I'm saying, it comforts me to think back to that conversation because it tells me that God isn't being some ego maniacal Creator that doesn't want me to have friends.  It's comforting because it tells me He knows me.  He knows what I need, and He knows what would be dangerous for me.

All that to say, I'm kind of all over the place today. But what I'm trying to say, if I'm not saying it well, is this.  God loves you.  He knows you.  He knows what you need, and what you can't handle.  And He loves you enough to show you both.

What is God teaching you about your friendships?

Drowning

The other day we were visiting some friends whose house backs up to a lake of sorts.  It's really more like a really, really big pond, but nonetheless, a substantial body of water.  We took a walk, my friend and I, and our two sets of 4 year old twins, down a path that eventually led to a gazebo that overlooked the lake.  Very picturesque, even with the lifeless pall of winter overshadowing the scene.

The girls, all armed with a small twig, knelt down at a small pool of water just alongside the gazebo, pretending to fish, as my friend and I talked.

And then, almost as if it were happening in slow motion, Shannay leaned ever so slightly too far in and the weight of her off-balanced body caused her to topple, head first, into the lake.  My friend moved with ninja speed (I don't actually know if ninjas are fast, but in my mind it sounded right) and rescued Shannay from the water.

The other girls thought this was delightful and laughed with glee, but Shannay didn't think it was too funny.  Once she stopped screaming, she said, "I kept draining."

I feel it important to note that at no time was she actually "draining," a fact she realized as soon as she stood up in the knee deep pool of water.  But nonetheless, a very scary thing for a 4 year old.

Today, I was thinking about her feeling like she was drowning, and as her fear overtook her, she was incapable of simply standing and taking a deep breath.  In her mind, she was actually drowning.

I understand that feeling some days.  I think I'm drowning, but in reality, if I could just look past my fear and stand up, I'd realize I'm actually okay.

All that to say, fear has a lot of power in our lives; too much power.  Funny thing is, it only has the power over us that we let it have.  So to you, Fear, I say, "I'm not draining.  I'm standing.  And I'm breathing. Boo ya."


So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10

Always Kiss Me Goodnight

When we brought the girls to this house over two years ago (TWO YEARS AGO!), I wanted their room to look like it was "their" room and not an eclectic garage sale version of the room they'd had before when we were fostering them.

Even though we were very grateful for all the furnishings that people had loaned us in the early days, we wanted their room to say, "You belong here.  You are ours."


But I didn't have a lot of money to spend on decorating, and I'm pretty thrifty, so I shopped at a local online resale site and bought matching, white, Jenny Lind cribs.  Then I finished them in high princess fashion, complete with tulle crib skirts and matching, handmade crib blankets.

We were given a really cute little blue rocker (courtesy of a sweet friend, Shauna Maness) as well as an adorable bookshelf that Zack insisted we paint lavender.  And then rounded out the room with a garage sale dresser ($5!) that Zack refinished, and a sweet little lamp and nightstand that I paid $7 for at a garage sale and refinished.

Perhaps the greatest amount of my budget dollars were spent on three pieces of wall art from Pottery Barn and an adorable little sign that says, "Always Kiss Me Goodnight."

I was so proud of that sign.  I attached a piece of pink grosgrain ribbon to the back of it, and hung it from a pink crystal drawer pull that I screwed into the wall between their cribs.

Last night while I was rocking them to sleep, (yes, I still do this . . . they need the skin to skin contact, and it helps them sleep better) I looked at that sign and I was overwhelmed, to the point of tears, at just how far they have come.

Two years ago, when meltdowns were a daily part of our lives, they would stand in their cribs and reach up to that cute little pink sign, barely able to reach the edge of it, and they would push it as hard as they could, causing the sign to swing wildly from that pink knob.  I hated that sign in those days.

But I left it hanging there because it was my reminder that no matter how bad their meltdowns were (and they were very, very bad)  I needed to kiss them goodnight.  It was my reminder that they needed me to kiss them goodnight.  They needed my unconditional love and acceptance, no matter how horribly bad their meltdowns had been or would be.

And every night when I would sing made up lullabies to them, and rock them to sleep, I looked at that sign and begged God to heal their little hearts and minds.

And now, when I look at that sign, I am grateful for the healing work He has done and continues to do.

All that to say, I imagine that sign will always hang somewhere in their room.  It's a great reminder of God's faithfulness to us, to them.

We Cannot Choose Fear

My favorite time of day is bedtime.  Bedtime at my house has always been relatively easy.  Our girls don't get out of bed, not even once. No requests for a drink.  No excuses that they need to go to the bathroom.  They just go to bed and go to sleep.

Not only that, they go to bed at 7:00 p.m. and sleep until 7:00 a.m.

It really is bliss.  (Minus of course Nikki's head banging that sounds like someone is building furniture, but even that is getting better little by little, and we are assured that someday she will outgrow it.)

They would get in their beds and lie down and go to sleep if that's what we wanted, but they always request me to rock them to sleep.  Whenever possible, which is most every night, I do, in fact, rock them to sleep.

On the nights that I don't rock them, they don't sleep well.  They toss and turn.  They have bad dreams. Nikki bangs her head particularly hard.

And on the nights that I do rock them, they crawl up into my lap, wiggle themselves into a little ball, snuggle under their blanket and melt into my arms, and fall fast asleep.

It is one of the best moments of our day.

There is something incredibly comforting about crawling up into the lap of the person in your life that provides you comfort, security, unconditional love.

It's how I feel about Jesus.  And some days, I don't know what else to do but to crawl up into his lap and melt into his arms.

Putting my kids on a school bus, thinking about their safety all day, thinking about the parents whose children went off to school one day and never came home again.  It's too much.

All that to say, I have long since learned that we cannot protect our children from all this world can do to them.  And I have long since learned not to live in fear of those things.  We simply cannot choose fear and all that it will drive us to do.

I have learned to pray and trust God.  And sometimes, when I am overwhelmed by life, I crawl up into His lap and sleep.

What Else is There to Do?

I haven't blogged about this in a while.  Honestly, because I was gun shy from some hate-filled responses I got.  But the purpose of this blog is to live my life out loud, in a real, transparent, and authentic way that  hopefully connects with you, helps you, challenges you, makes you laugh or shake your head.

I lost my job in August.  And by "lost it" I mean I was let go, fired, canned, dismissed.  I don't want or need to make it prettier or uglier than it is.  It's just a harsh reality.

I would disclose the reasons to you, but in all honesty, I don't fully know or understand the reasons, nor is this about the reasons.  I'm not trying to say someone is or isn't to blame.  I'm not trying to say I am or am not to blame.

That's not the point of this post.

The point is that though I am 3 months down the road, doing something I LOVE to do, making more money than I ever thought possible working part-time from home (and Starbucks . . . and McDonald's . . . they have free wi-fi, aren't crowded and their coffee is cheaper!)  Anyway, I digress.  I LOVE what I am doing, making great money doing it, am home with the girls except for 2.5 hours, 2 mornings a week.  Even though my outside circumstances are not remotely bleak . . .

I still struggle.  I have days that the grief and loss that I feel wash over me like a tidal wave.  I struggle to speak, to interact in a decent way with my family, to function.

I miss little things and big things.  I miss my work.  It was life-giving.  I miss helping people get connected to their calling, to community.

I miss prayer days.

I miss interacting with my co-workers that I have done life with, some for 5 years.

I miss the security guards.  They're such great people and have taught me so much about how the world perceives Christians.

From what I understand, these feelings of loss and grief are normal, and I can expect them to be like this for a long, long time.

So what do I do with these grief waves that threaten to tow me under on some days?

There is only one thing I can do.  I run to Jesus.  I run to His Word.

Proverbs 12:25 says, "Anxiety in a man's heart weighs it down, but a good word makes it glad."  I find the most incredible comfort in the Word, the Bible.  God's holy and spoken word to us.  It speaks peace and comfort over me and gives my soul rest.

All that to say, I find comfort today in this from Psalm 33, "By the word of the Lord the heavens were made, and by the breath of His mouth all their host.  He lays up the deeps in storehouses.  Let all the earth fear the Lord; Let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of Him.  For He spoke, and it was done.  He commanded, and it stood fast."  God's got it. And even if I don't understand, he's still in control.  Totally in control.  And I can trust this He is for me and for my good.

All That to Say: Pinch Me

My grandmother used to make this cake that she first baked, cooled, frosted, the whole bit.  And then when it was all looking pretty, she'd dump it and crumble it!  Then she'd layer it with vanilla pudding and whipped cream mixed with cream cheese.  It was unbelievably good!

I remember the first time I saw her take a beautifully frosted cake and turn it upside down in a bowl.  I almost had a heart attack! But she assured me she was making something even better.  And she was right.

That's how I feel about my life right now. 

I felt very comfortable with the life I had.  I enjoyed my work, the people I worked with, my church, our friends, all of it.

And then all of that got turned upside down.  And I almost had a heart attack.  (Truth be told, I still have hard days every now and then).  There was no way that I could see the whole mess turning out okay.  But God assured me He had a better plan.

So here I am a couple months later, and I am just so amazed at everything.

Mike and I are in such a great place, marriage wise. Probably because we have more time for each other!  Maybe because our family order has returned to normal.  I don't know.  But it's awesome!

I'm writing.  For a living.  And I'm making very good money to work part-time.  From home, well technically from Starbucks.  I'm working with some people who are doing amazing work and for some reason feel like I have something to offer in the process. 

And every. single. day, I am home when my daughters get off the bus.  Every day.

And now we are getting to foster babies.  Because I'm available.  Last week we had a sweet little 4 month old boy.  And this week we are getting a 3 day old baby girl. 

All that to say, I feel like I have awakened to find that I am living the life I was created to live.  And it's pretty incredible.  Pinch me . . . yep, it's real.