Unwrapped :: Open-Handed Love

Most days it sounds more like the booming bass of an African drum than the steady ticking of a reliable timepiece.

Thirty-four years of tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock....resounding louder and louder as each day passes.

I have always believed that God has a plan, His own timing for our lives.
Sometimes it just seems CRAZY slow.

I try to focus on the positive, 

but it is hard when little things derail me,

Especially the knowledge that so many friends my age are attending middle school concerts or at the very least kindergarden ones.

My friend, Holley, says we are all on a one lane track, not competing against each other, measuring mile markers at the same checkpoints.

I love that.
It reminds me not to focus on that "I'm getting behind!" feeling.

Which I do.

A LOT.

Yet. The pounding, booming pulses in my head reminding me that I am getting older every day. That my body is not what it used to be. That my curves have not yet held life and time is slowly but surely moving to the point on the scale where the hours are not on my side anymore.

I think that is what I appreciate about my friend, Emily.

I work for her.
She is a Mary Kay director, and I assist her a couple of afternoons a week -- office work, graphic design, babysitting, car pooling, getting dinner prepped, basically whatever she needs during those hours.

Her kids have crawled their way into my heart. 

Jake Ray is 6, almost 7.

Olivia will be 3 in two weeks.

There is play and laughter.
Negotiation and discipline.
Imagination and discovery.
Games and tears.

They know me well now...enough to push the boundaries to see how far they can go...we have our "moments" together.

But they love me.
And I love them.
Very much.

You see, Emily and her husband, Wayne had to wait a long time for these two gifts, so they do not take parenting lightly, and the most beautiful thing, they do not hold it selfishly.

She lets them love me and have a relationship with me
And not just me
But others too
Whom they both love JUST as freely.

Today
as I danced with them in front of the spotlights in the yard, making monster shadows on the house as their parents put up Christmas decorations, I felt thankful to be given this gift from two grown ups who themselves know the deep anguish in waiting in a world that is seemingly leaving you behind.

And I want to remember this open-handed holding in which they love their kids
Inviting others into the joy.

This is how I unwrap the gift of today...

When Tears Come...

Sometimes the ache is so big you can hardly breathe.
Sometimes the sorrow feels so real you cannot separate it from your skin.
Sometimes the movement in your soul
violates the peace,
the joy,
the radiance
He longs to display
within all those broken pieces.

Like a warrior
you fight
Hard and strong,
Swift and sure,
Noble and steady
in your aim.


And then there are days,
weeks,
months,
seasons where
the emptiness is too great to carry,
and you hide away,
fragile from the touch of the world,
lost in a sea of faces,
even the beautiful ones that hold you so dear.

The anguish burns away your passion,
your dreams,
your destiny.

Nothing to hold close
Nothing to draw near
to your heart,
your hand,
your cheek.

And there you stay
for awhile,
as sorrow burns pupils
begging to be released
from the torrent of angst that rages inside.

Until rebelliously
one tear
finds its way
down the curve
of your downcast cheek
past the carefully constructed walls
your heart has long held high.

When tears come,
words fall.

When tears come,
prayers spill forth.

When tears come,
peace floods the abandoned corners,
filling every crook and crack,
lifting shame and condemnation from the shoulders of the weary,
splicing pride and comparison with the very sword of truth,
breathing life into marrow
and felicity into dry bones
where dreams seem lost
and promises seem all-but-about-to-come-true.

And there the still small Voice speaks
with groans that flout intelligence
with whispers that quiet the dissonance
with Light that defies the darkness...

May it be well with your soul, My child, 
right where you are,
right in this season,
right in this moment.

May it be well with your soul.

"Oh yes, people of Zion, citizens of Jerusalem, your time of tears is over. Cry for help and you’ll find it’s grace and more grace. The moment he hears, he’ll answer. Just as the Master kept you alive during the hard times, he’ll keep your teacher alive and present among you. Your teacher will be right there, local and on the job, urging you on whenever you wander left or right: 'This is the right road. Walk down this road.'” 

~Isaiah 30:19-21 

Also linking up with these beautiful communities....
 Hear it on Sunday, Use it on Monday, Playdates with God,
 The Soli Deo Gloria party, and In, On, and Around Monday 

and with....
Jennifer, Mary Beth, Ann, Duane, and Heather
and the encouraging communities they have created here on the web.

also with Michelle and Emily at Imperfect Prose.

So thankful for places like these to share our words together...

31 Days of Story {Day 29} When Your Greatest Fear Becomes Story

The memory is seared into my brain.
I can see it like it was yesterday.


photo by Jonathan Thompson

I walk into the classroom reminiscent of the sixties in hues of gold and blue. I smile as I see my-slightly-more-chatty-than-normal-psychology-major friends sitting in our usual front-row-of-the-class seats. I slide into my seat excited, as our newly-favorite professor begins the study of the day.

Counseling Psychology I.
Finally, it is my senior year and already this material is making my Top Hits list.

Dr. Feller shares scenarios with us and we students engage in a lively, guided discussion, especially the loud mouths on the front row. And suddenly he begins to present the case that would impact my heart for life….

A couple in counseling…. …because they cannot have a baby.

Immediately solutions spouted from the mouths of students in class.

“They have so many options.” 
“Maybe they could adopt.” 
“They could get a surrogate.” 

I raised my hand in frustration, “But what if that is not the point. What if the desire of this woman is to carry this child in HER womb? What if she just needs to grieve THAT loss?”

Would you join me over at Must Love God for the rest of the story today....?

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I Am.....

I Am 

I am whimsy and prose 

I wonder why people don't SEE into each other more 

I hear animals talk
 I see fairies in my forest 

I want babies to call my own 

I am whimsy and prose 

I pretend I am a prima ballerina 

I feel the smell of the Caribbean sun 

I touch the mountains of Hispaniola 

I worry about what the future holds 

I cry for heart breaks and sorrows deeply felt 

I am whimsy and prose 

I understand people are my most valuable possession 

I say Dream Big and Be the Best Version of YOU 

I dream about living an artful life 

I try to give of my whole heart in all that I do 

I hope to show Jesus every day 

I am whimsy and prose

A fun little template filling in the blanks of who I am.....

Want to try it too? It only takes minutes....and the website generates the poem for you that you can post anywhere. I would love to hear your I Am words..... Please come share it with me if you decide to do it...you can even post it in the comments below!

What She Did Not Know {A Letter to My Mom}

"....After many years of having my soil tilled and turned, the ground is supple to receive the God of Hope. And because of His great mercy in my life, to save me from my fearfully expectant heart, my daughter receives new land on which to plant. My freedom won is her inheritance to build upon. The fullness of God I pray almost daily for in my own life, isn’t just my platform for the next age. It’s hers too. And her daughter’s...."
~ Sara, Every Bitter Thing Is Sweet

When she said yes to ministry, to my dad, to missions, and to motherhood, she did not know the road she would travel.

When she embarked on her adventure as a newlywed missionary to the island of Hispaniola, she never imagined the trials she would need to overcome.

When she carried her firstborn child in her womb, accepting the mantle of motherhood at the ripe age of 22, she had no idea the heartache that awaited her, not years but months later.

When she woke up in a hospital with tubes in her chest helping her to breath, learning that the plane crash that she and her love had just survived through, had ended in fatality for their precious daughter, she could not imagine the fears she would need to crush to walk out the journey the Father had lay before her.

When two years later, a second pregnancy brought only anguish and loss, she did not know how this would shape her into the woman God was calling her to be.

When she finally held the babe that local newspapers heralded as "The Promised One" in her arms, she could never know how important her hard-won lessons would one day be in the life of this wee child.

The child who would not sleep through the night for almost 3... okay... maybe 4 years.

The child who would stay under her skirt tails just to be near her until she was nearly 14 years old.

The child who would ask incessant questions, provoke endless frivolity, and observe the slightest nuances in behavior and tone.

The child who would obsess over school work, get lost in a world of books, pour her heart out into journals, dance upon the rooftop, and dream of a world unbeknownst to her little heart where anything was possible.

The child who would with her blessing leave home at sixteen to pursue knowledge, fall in love...more than once..., and remember with fondness the island home that she so often had cried to leave.

The child who would work hard to change the world, to love BIG, and to give selflessly, just like she saw her mother do.

The child who would marry an African, move across the globe, and miss her mother's hugs and words EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. but keep it to herself because she had learned bravery from her mother.

The child who would face her own journey of loss and struggle of infertility and waiting and pain and sorrow to one day hold a babe in her own arms.

She could not have known how the wisdom learned from a lifetime of battle scars would be the platform of hope for her daughter to find her own way in the valley of the shadows, to "hold onto Jesus for all you are worth" because "my momma said so." and because she watched her live it out.

She could not have known.

But she lived anyway with purpose, hope, integrity, character, grace, and love, modeling Jesus-as-a-woman, with every breath she breathed.

And THAT is her legacy, that she still gives day in and day out....hope to the world, strength to the broken, courage to her daughters to face every obstacle, to conquer every fear, to know that Jesus is bigger than we are, tougher in our hurts, deeper in our despair, greater than every foe...more than we could ever imagine or know.

Mom, 

On Mother's Day {and every day}, I want to REMIND you what a treasure you are to me. I often tell you, "You are a mother's mother!" And I mean it! You are the picture next to the definition in the dictionary {seriously!} and I hope and pray that one day, I will give the same grace to my babies that you gave to me. That as you paved the way for me to stand in the midst of hard times, my own struggles will be a foundation for my children to KNOW who Jesus is, even deeper than I could ever know. You are SIMPLY THE BEST, Mom, and I love you! 

Thank you for being MY mom!

"I learned more about Christianity from my mother than from all the theologians in England.” 

~John Wesley

So considering Mom and Dad have served in Haiti for the past 40 years {this year!}, I felt like this 1000 Moms Project with Ann Voskamp was just the perfect thing to be a part of. Simply by writing this post {which I planned to do anyway}, I am participating in a project to help Moms in Haiti.  Click on the link below to read more about it. 

THAT just seemed like a pretty full circle way to say THANK YOU to my mom, don't cha think?!

To the childless mothers on Mother's Day {including me}

I think last year was the first year that I realized the "hard" of Mother's Day.

As a child, growing up in Haiti, we actually celebrated Mother's Day twice -- once on the American Mother's Day, celebrating my mom, and then a couple of weeks later on the Haitian Mother's Day celebrating the women of the nation.  On that day we would adorn cloth or felt flowers, pinned onto our carefully chosen dresses. We always wore red, signifying that our mom was alive. It was a bit of a highlight as a child. Any excuse to wear flowers, real or otherwise, found me gleeful!

As I moved on into my college and adult years, I found myself away from my mother on most Mother's Days, and while it was never fun or easy to be away from each other, we adapted and adjusted, sending cards or emails, phoning or Skyping or Facebooking, depending on the technology of that year.

When I moved to Africa, Mother's Day was a special treat then too. The church made a really big deal about it, having the children give out chocolates to all of the ladies. We would also honor our pastor's wife as the mother of the church, and as I was the children's coordinator at our campus, the children and the volunteers would give me treats and cards making me feel so special to be a weekly part of their lives.

And then we took an indefinite sabbatical, and I found myself on Mother's Day last year feeling the full weight of my loss and separation from my own mother, from the children and teens and women I had mentored, and from the status quo of having my own biological children, especially given my over-30 age bracket.

So, last year, I hibernated and found others, throughout the blogging world, who were battling with this day like me.  I read their stories and wept for them and for myself. And then I wrote this post about how sometimes Mother's Day isn't easy, sharing their stories with you.

With that surprise emotional attack last year, this year, I decided to be prepared, contemplating my hibernation, avoiding any conversations, blogs, or stories that might bring the sting of loss to the surface, and planning an possible get-together with friends who also walk the same lonely road.

And then I read my friend Annie's post, On Wombs and Women's Work.

I almost did not read it, truthfully, because I was on a mission to protect my mind and heart and soul from "going there," to that ugly place. If determination could shield me, I was armed to the teeth, ready to hunker down and wait out the impending storm threatening me outside of my shelter. But as she is one of my dearest besties and has my heart, I craved her words, her wisdom, her sentiments... and dove in the post until I came across these words, stopping me in my tracks...

I think about this business of babies and birthing, and how all of it starts in the first place. A mother becomes what she is because of her willingness to let a miracle grow and expand and exist within her.

At best it begins with love and vulnerability, and it grows, day by day, in womb swelling to make room for new life. We are enlarged and able to sustain wild, beautiful life growing because of a miracle conceived in vulnerability. (Even in adoption, this rings true.)

My guard descended, and I cannot help but wonder if maybe she was even thinking of me, reminding me that I am not a forgotten soldier abandoned on the battlefield.

You see, I, too, am a mother.

Maybe not in the obvious ways, with physical stretch marks and a memorable birthing story, yet I wear the lines of expansion on my heart, in the recesses of my soul, where no one but me and Jesus can see. Because after all, He is the one stretching me to love children not my own, to surrender myself to love those who may never wear my last name, to give selflessly to as-of-yet nameless faces who will never have my eyes or my husband's smile, and to have relentless faith that He will fulfill His promises to me of one day delivering my own biological child{ren} into this world.

And the swellling hurts.
A LOT.

I often wonder if it is worth it...
And yet...
...I press on.

That is what a mother does, right?

Vulnerable, scared, petrified of what is coming, yet hopeful that God will some how, some way break through the barriers, giving us the strength to bring forth Hope with skin on into our awaiting arms and hearts.

photo credit

And I know I am not alone.

Maybe you, too, have felt the sting of Mother's Day without a child to hold, a little voice calling you Mama. With an ache that transcends words, a sorrow that seems to cave in on you.

Can I tell you how precious you are, childless mother? Can I remind you that your mother's heart transcends the natural here and now? Can I breathe hope into your bones {and mine} that God is stretching and pulling and shaping you on the inside to hold a promise in your hands that will surprise the world?

May I just love on you until you know deep, deep down in your soul that you are not alone, not forgotten, not abandoned by the Father....and by me? May I offer you grace in the questions, in the thrashing, in the moments where you cannot go on? May I gently give you a piece of His strength in the midst of your storms?

Isaiah 54:1-3

                    “Sing, O childless woman,

you who have never given birth!

Break into loud and joyful song, 

O Jerusalem, 

you who have never been in labor.

For the desolate woman 

now has more children

than the woman 

who lives with her husband,”

says the Lord.

“Enlarge your house; 

build an addition.

Spread out your home, 

and spare no expense!

For you will soon 

be bursting at the seams.

Your descendants will occupy 

other nations

and resettle the ruin."

(click HERE to read the whole chapter...it kinda ROCKS!)

Will you share your story, your hope, your promise from the Lord with me? I would love to stand together with you as we believe in the God who holds our future.

Proverbs 13:12

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, 

But when the desire comes, it is a tree of life.

When You Just Need ONE Thing....

"Oh, Lord, please don't let me bleed again this month..."

My heart held up this plaintive cry heard only in the recesses of my soul.

After four years of no birth control, some doctor's visits, possible prognoses, and A LOT of waiting in between, this monthly emotional cycle is no stranger to me.

But somehow, this month the pang and squeeze of my heart feels a little deeper, a little tighter than it has in a long while, and I find myself consciously remembering to take deep breaths lest the sorrow overtake me.


Four years of waiting to be pregnant, three years of unknown chronic illness, 2 years ago since I almost lost my parents in the Haitian earthquake, a year and a half since we stepped down after 10 years of full time ministry, 6 months since we decided to pursue foster care, 5 months after we put in an offer on a house....and in every circumstance...silence, SLAMMED closed doors, windows sealed shut, and when I look at the ugly realities, I can truly often wonder, "Where is God?"

To read the rest of my post 

AND to hear about a new phase 

that is opening up for us 

where I DESPERATELY need your prayers, 

please come over to Must Love God!

Five Minute Friday {And Then Some}: Ache

Everything's changed.
Nothing is the same anymore.
And you would think that with all 33 years of me, that wouldn't be a surprise...

Yet...it is.

Relationships have changed...distanced....some family...some friends, and I find myself at a loss of what to do or say anymore.

I used to blame myself -- this cursed, silent, invisible illness that plagues my days and my nights preventing me from living "normal" in the world. I used to blame that drastic earthquake that not only shook building but also me -- right to the core. I blamed that lonely place of infertility where people fear to tread and eventually walk away. I blamed my inner battle to allow people into these struggles and my blessed pride that pushed people away.

I blamed everyone. I blamed God.
And now ... I just do not know anymore.
Placing blame isn't really fair and it changes nothing

And yet....that ache...that miserable ache won't go, won't stay away.
That longing for what "used" to be, even if just in "feeling."

I am tired of the trying, tired of the questions, tired of the wondering, tired of all the whys, tired of the try-hards and the do-betters.

I cannot.
And maybe THAT is just the point.
This strong little fighter girl in me who just does not want to quit, who never says die, who will not yield or surrender, must learn to trust in Him who takes all the aches and wipes every tear from our eyes.

Give all your worries and cares to God,

for he cares about you.

I Peter 5:7

In the day of my trouble I will call upon You,

For You will answer me.

Psalm 86:7

I couldn't help thinking of this song that I learned as a little girl, "I Cast All My Cares," so I looked it up and found the version with Psalty the Singing Song book that I used to listen to, and it brought tears to my hear it and remember His faithfulness to me my whole life and how as an adult I try to solve things for myself. I hope this "kids' song" will encourage you like it does me.

If you cannot see this video, click here.

Battle Scars & Crooked Toenails {Guest Post :: Anna}

I met Anna my freshman year in college at Oral Roberts University. Anna was bffs with my floor chaplain, Alison, and getting to know someone in the light of a beautiful relationship, you always get to really see their heart. God placed her in a strategic position to be able to speak on my behalf to be a part of the chaplain leadership program for 3 years thereafter that truly changed my life in so many ways. Anna and her husband, John, walked through the infertility journey for 3 years before finally conceiving and giving birth to little Ayla, who just turned 1 last month! They make their home together in this nation's capital with Anna's bloggy home being Anna's Joy. Her fresh and funny way of looking at life, even in the hard, will remind you that it is possible to have hope, JOY, and even a sense of humor no matter the circumstances.

Battle Scars & Crooked Toenails

I have a few really messed up toenails. I brutalized them in years (too far) past by running a couple of marathons, causing them to die and grow back in lumpy and crooked. Even though they look somewhat normal when painted and pedicured, I know what they really look like and that they will probably always be this way.

That’s what my heart is sort of like, too.

You’d never know it by my usually hilariously awesome personality, but I had a broken heart at least one day a month for almost three years.

Anyone who has run the infertility marathon will know exactly what I’m talking about. The heartbreak on days of yet another negative pregnancy test, or not even needing to take one, is truly relentless (severe, harsh).

Like many newlyweds, my husband and I laughed and blushingly smiled at people’s insinuations of lots of children and carelessly answered when people asked what our plans for children were.

We were naive kids, jumping into what we thought would be an easy float trip down a scenic river. It turned out to be a test of everything inside of us as we fought our way down a rushing torrent tumbling by treacherous rocks.

On those days, I was not feeling the relentless love of God.

On those days, He was this giant stone face; present, but silent.

On the “not yet” days, I often begged God to tell me, “No.” The endless wait, the hollow ifs, the just-freaking-don’t-know-whys, were so hard on my heart. If He would just put me out of my misery and tell me that we weren’t going to get pregnant, I could get on with my life and start looking for other ways to start a family.

God would not, in fact, tell me, “No.” He actually (finally) said, “Yes.”

No, it was more of a, “Yes, but.”

Yes, we got a baby. But, she was born a few weeks before my husband was scheduled to be transferred overseas for a year without us.

At the risk of losing some of the dramatic moment here, I must ask you to not feel too sorry for us. We are very close to the end of the year!

I am still not out of that darned river, though it’s different now.

Over the years of infertility, even through the days of the silent God, He was lovingly, patiently teaching me how to swim. He showed me when to float, when to kick, how to navigate around dangerous obstacles, how to hold my breath longer, what to do with my arms and so on (I don’t know how to actually swim that well, so that’s all I’ve got for swimming terminology).

While giving me swim lessons, God was also building us a community. We had hundreds of people praying for us to have a baby. We took a risk by letting so many people in on our painful journey, at times we even wished we hadn’t been so open. It was necessary for us, though, to have this army around us. They were how God showed His love for us, a constant, present force, holding our arms up, pointing our eyes up to the hills, then rejoicing with us as our prayers and theirs were answered.

Now, these people are still lifting us up in prayer, seeking out ways to help us and making what could be a terribly hard time of separation a season of reaping with thanksgiving.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s still really hard. My daughter isn’t the only one who cries in this house!

But these lumpy toenails of mine, I mean, my strengthened, battle-scarred heart can keep walking on abundance-filled paths (Psalms 65:11), where others wondered how the timing of this separation and baby could have possibly been from the heart of a loving Father, I cannot doubt it.

His relentless love led me, protected me and taught me in the days of waiting for a baby. I learned to trust Him wholeheartedly, to rejoice in the provision of Today and to hold on to the hands of others on the journey. Then was just one long training session for now.

I’m pretty sure even this now is preparation for what’s next, but we’ll take those steps when we get there, crooked toenails and all.

This month I have asked some of my fellow bloggers to join me here at The Little Missionary Girl All Grown Up to share how they have seen the Relentless Love of the Father in their lives in moments of brokenness, heartache, and valley-of-shadow moments. This post is the 10th in the series of that exploration into the passion of the Father for us across miles, across personalities, across hearts that are His. To read more of the posts, click here and here.

It's Just NOT Fair!

I had a thing about fairness when I was a kid.
I guess a lot of kids do, but mine was sort of ultra.
If my sister and I did something wrong, we had to be punished THE SAME.
If there was candy to be divided you could count on me to be equal.
Even now as an adult, this mantra of "Fair. Fair.....fair, fair, fair." constantly resounds in my head. I can see it in how I relate to my husband.

"I picked the restaurant last time so now it's your turn." or even when I am unfair, "Sorry that I am being unfair, I'm a girl...you're a boy...that's the way that it is." {Amazing that THAT one actually works at times!}

But seriously.....

I think, as a good girl, I truly believed in my heart that if I did the right things, if I spoke the right words, if I loved the right way.....well....hard work, good manners, right thinking, kind words should be given more merit, more rewards, more accolades than those who do NOT do "the right thing," right?

And I know that God's grace is the answer.

I know that it is by faith alone that we are saved.

"It is a gift of God, not by works so that no one can boast."

Ephesians 2:9

I know these things. I believe them. I have taught them to others. I have prayed them over my life and over my disciples, family, friends. But somehow, when I am honest, I want my "goodness" to count for something.

"In the safety of isolation, I take off that mask of good performance, hang it up for the night, and dare to ask the Lord why the rebels and the renegades get the parties. Why do the prodigal daughters get the glory? Where is my fattened calf? I begin to question if I can ever experience the full measure of God's grace since my stores are so straight laced. Then, Shame chooses that moment to walk in and reintroduce herself, smiling as she sits on the corner of my bed with her I told you so and her sarcastic You're not so good after all. I am forced to agree with her. I'm not so good after all. I have issues. I still believe the crazy lie that God's acceptance of me is based on my performance. I'm still living in a small story that is all about me. That is the raw of it, straight from my ugly." ~Emily P. Freeman

Emily goes on to describe the story in the Bible of the prodigal son, the father, and the older brother and how as the good girl, she relates to and feels for the older brother.

"Good girls think there should be consequences for the actions of the prodigal, not a party."

A husband and a happy ending for the girl who saved herself for marriage, not the promiscuous girl.

The fulfilling dream job for the woman who has labored in tough positions for years, not the one who just got there by a fluke.

And here's the one that really hit home for me:

"There should be a baby for the couple who have faithfully prayed to get pregnant, not for the sixteen-year-old girl who had miserable sex one time with her boyfriend."

Ouch. I have felt that way.

Angry.

Hurt.

Looked Over.

Cast Aside.

Forgotten.

"We hide behind this mask of indifference, pretending it doesn't bother us, because the only alternative is to face the source of the anger and what we are afraid to admit we believe: How can he choose to reward them and ignore me?"

The fairness quality in me rose up with a mighty vengeance about a year and a half into the journey of trying to conceive. Teenage girls were getting pregnant. Women who were unmarried and living life the way they pleased were getting pregnant. Friends were on their second and third pregnancies. Women who had barely been Christians for two minutes were getting pregnant. And even today, almost 4 years later, it is still hard.

It seems so easy for some people.

No waiting. No trials. No testing. No "character" growth.

Just badda-bing-badda-boom.

Pregnant.

Something that the Lord has begun to reveal to the little, LIFE-MUST-BE-FAIR, good girl inside of me is this -- we all struggle with something. Life is never just "easy," without experiences that stretch our hearts, our sanity, our faith.

Maybe it is being single well into adulthood, lack of finances, issues with health, strain in relationships, marital problems, or infertility. Either way, we all battle with the loss of dreams or feel frustrated in God's timing or wondering why our "good works" are not paying off.

And the bottom line is whether you relate to the prodigal's journey or the older brother's frustration, they both had one thing in common: the love of the father AND the NEED for that love.

Because even the older brother needed to see himself as the prodigal....

"If he had come to his father in the same way the prodigal had, he would have experienced the same love and acceptance every time. The beautiful, redemptive truth is, I am free to identify with the Father, the one who offered unconditional love and acceptance to both sons."

His strength is perfect when our strength is gone;

He’ll carry us when we can’t carry on.

Raised in His power, the weak become strong;

His strength is perfect, His strength is perfect.

~Steven Curtis Chapman

I am reading and writing through Emily P. Freeman's book Grace For the Good Girl with Momma Day by Day and some other brave recovering good girls as we delve into our "good girl" tendencies and share our journeys in {RE}discovering His grace, His heart. This post is a reflection of chapters 8 and 9, mostly chapter nine.

Read more about my journey through Grace for the Good Girl....

Intro & Chapter 1

Chapters 2 & 3

Chapters 4 & 5

Chapters 6 & 7

My Hope for Christmas

Christmas is my absolute favorite time of the year.

Picking out the "perfect" tree

Decorating with years of collectible and handmade ornaments

Sitting by the fire watching "It's a Wonderful Life"

Spending time with those I love

It's special.
It's wonder-filled.
It's absolutely magical.

But last year something changed.

Something about the magic was gone.
Something inside of me seemed dead.
Maybe even forever.

I was broken.
Lost.
Hurt.
Scared.

And Christmas seemed to have lost the wonder.

How do you keep seeing through the eyes of a child when you are waiting and waiting and waiting to look into the eyes of your own child?

How do you go through "one more Christmas" without that suckling babe to hold, without hearing that little voice say, "Momma" for the first time, without experiencing the wonder of the next generation in the eyes of your own parents?

And a week before Christmas, out shopping with my mom, I broke.
I sat in the car, poured out my soul, and we cried together.
It wasn't pretty.
It wasn't redemptive.
I couldn't wrap up our conversation into a neat little package with Lesson Well Learned.
It just sucked.....BIG TIME.

And now I find myself a year later...

Still waiting,

Still hoping,

Still dreaming

Of those tiny little hands and feet that will grow our happy couple into a family.

And while much has changed from last year -- renewed hope, restored purpose, rediscovered joy -- I am honestly scared.

What if I lose it again?
What if I cannot hold the longings at bay?
What if I forget his promises in the midst of my own deferred dreams?
What if....??

So my hope for Christmas this year is that where I am weak, He would be strong.

When I am faithless, He would show Himself faithful.

When my eyes are upon ME, He will remind me to look to HIM.

My hope is that I will love others beyond my capacity to give.
My hope is that I can look beyond the surface to the heart of the needs around me.
My hope is that I will rise above my earthly limitations to see THE HOPE for the world
My hope is that my life will radiate that HOPE, even in the midst of the wandering wilderness.

This is my heart cry.
This is my prayer.
This is....

My Hope

Joining with The Faith Barista community this month in Unwrapping Jesus. This week

"My Hope for Christmas this Year."

and

with Emily at Canvas Child sharing my imperfect prose this week