When You Just Cannot Make Sense of it All

Maybe you just lost someone.
Someone you loved with all of your heart.
Someone who meant the world.
Someone whose presence the world is now oh-so-empty without.

Maybe the dream that you have longed for
The one you imagined as a little girl
The one that would make life just perfect
Has all but broken your blooded hands
As the doors have slammed over and over again.

Maybe you just feel desperate
The walls are closing in
The bills are piling up
Your health and mind are not what they should be, what they used to be
You wonder if healing and breakthrough will ever come

The kids have destroyed the house, the car, the yard, the neighborhood.
The man you loved, and to whom you gave half your life, walked out the door
The woman who pledged I'll-keep-your-secrets-and-you-keep-mine friendship just broke your heart
The believers, the brothers and sisters of His body, turned their back on you in your hour of need.

When life is just so hard
And you wonder how to make sense of it all.

Cry.
Cry hard and deep and long and good.

Run.
Run fast and strong.
Beat your chest.
Raise your fist to the sky.
Shout up at the heavens
and scream, "Why?"
Fall into a puddle.
and cry some more.

Sit with your grief
Your questions
Your anger
Your heartbreak
Feel them deep
Deep into your soul
In the place where deep cries out to fathomless deep

Embrace your sorrow
Your should-have-beens
Your wish-it-could-haves
Your want-it-back-that-way

And cry.
Cry some more.

Let yourself mourn.
Give space to be broken
Let go of perfect
Release the noisy pressure of "Its-time-to-let-go!!" pounding in your head
Breathe deep again.

Grieve hard and strong and long, if needed.
Throw out the timelines.
Forget the try-hards.
Abandon should-bes.

Let yourself be human
Real.
Raw.
Afraid.
Honest.
Broken.

Scream into the pillow
Or punch it.
Let the rage run its course.

Walk out into the crisp cold night.
Let the tears come
Draw ragged breaths over and over again
Let your soul mourn.

Cry again.
A lot.
Until you think there are no tears left to cry
And then ...
Cry some more.

And day-by-day
As you let the anger and hurt and disappointment and frustration out,

Breathe in grace and truth and love and mercy

Let it wash over you

Let the contours of your soul find rest

A 

little

more

each 

day.

Exhale hurt.

Inhale grace.

Exhale heartache.

Inhale joy.

Exhale injustice.

Inhale mercy.

Exhale brokenness.

Inhale healing.

And one day...

you will begin to see

that the grace....

....outweighs the sorrow.

May it be well with your soul

As you plumb the gaping depths of your brokenness.

May the warrior be the child

As you crawl into the arms of the Father.

May your scars remind you that you are real

As you see the miraculous signs of healing.

May you be patient with your heart in the process.

May you find refuge in the shelter of His wings.

May you know how desperately you are loved.

May you feel Him wipe every tear from your eye.

Also linking with Jennifer, Mary Beth, Ann, and Duane 
and the encouraging communities they have created here on the web.
So thankful for places like these to share our words...

When Peace Looks Like Leaning In

The house we bought 5 months ago was built in 1980.
Two out of three of the bedrooms carry the trends of a decade later on their floors.
Magenta and hunter green.
{trust me...the green is MUCH "greener" than it seems as this photo was taken at night}

I remember a youth group banquet proudly wearing those same decor colors.
That was 1994.

Now in 2012, not so much.
But the budget does not allow for changes so we deal with the-blast-from-the-past in whatever ways we can.

Right now that is white paint, polka dot bedspread, stripes, and a chalkboard wall {I have ALWAYS wanted to have a room with a chalkboard wall} being painted by our friend who is a professional painter. He's 72 by the way and has the strength and endurance of a man half his age, maybe even two put together. And amazingly, an artistic eye. We're planning a painted tree with leaves and who knows what else. But it is gonna be so much fun!

This is the room for our foster kids.
No. We do not have any yet.
And I do not know their names.
But I am preparing and planning and painting with love like an expectant woman filled to the brim with hope and anticipation of the life that Jesus is entrusting to her.

It has been a hard road -- this foster care journey -- and yet, here I am nesting and planning like I can only imagine a first time mother does as she welcomes her first child.

It is different, of course.
But maybe not so different.

Different circumstances, same emotions, same heart...that is what my friend, James, always said.

And I believe him.

It is not the story I planned.
Not the way I thought I would be "preparing the room"
but convention has never been a part of my dynamic
so why start now?

So I am stepping out, a little afraid, but with amazing peace, which almost rattles me right there.
But I lean into it anyway.
That peace.
I have learned nothing else will do.

God never asked me if I could, 

He used me 

because He knew I trusted 

that HE would. 

- J.D., writer at Compassion Can 

{Beyond Measure}

 

Also linking up with these great communities....

When Peace Floods Your Soul

Toes digging through grains of sand.
Ears tuned to the lullaby rhythms of the East Coast waves.
Thunder rumbles in the distance threatening to release its pent up aggression...
And somehow I find complete peace in the moment.

These two play with their dog.

A man and woman sit reading in quiet companionship.

A 4 year old laughter & curiosity pull her mother along as they walk the beach.

Wave artists face the potential storm with dogged determination.

My love flies his kite in spite of the winds fickle temperament.

Rain drops fall on me now,
steadier by the moment,
blurring ink on the pages of my old leather-bound journal.

Yet somehow I feel calm, still in the recesses of my soul.

The rain comes harder now, so I tuck fragile belongings and myself under a twin fitted sheet grabbed last minute seemingly at random. Now the action makes me smile with contentment, as I curl up with book-for-review in hand, listening to the rain beat down like the sound of distant drumbeats echoing across the African plains.

Buried under my self-made mountain, the heaven-sent moisture begins to cling, and slowly, I become one with my safe haven. Cocooned from the world around me and cut off from sight of any impending change to my environment, I lose myself in the world of story & make believe on the mountains of Alaska over 150 years ago.

Thirty minutes pass, and the sky begins to clear. I emerge from my private little world, and the changes in the landscape around me hit my senses immediately. The once busy beach, is now barren with all but die-hard enthusiasts like us, determined to hold out against mother nature's downpour. Other shifts are subtle in nature. New discoveries unearthed by the movement of the sands and winds.

I have spent years in a love affair with the mountains.
Their majesty.
Their strength.
Their fortitude.
Their certitude.
Their dependability.

But the older I get, I find peace flooding my soul when I slow my being to the pace of the wind and waves at the ocean's shores. Oxygen fills my lungs as I close my eyes, breathe deep, soak in the rays on my face, and let the wind flow sweetly through my hair.

I am undone in all the right ways. My soul finds oneness with His creation. I sense Him expanding my artist's lung to breath deep of the art He longs for me to see, to experience, and to create.

To live purposefully
Intentionally.

I stop.
I reevaluate.
I listen.
I breathe deeper still.

Floating in a place of stillness that is foreign
to a normally-anxious soul such as mine,
the enticement of this peace draws me in close.

I long to find the magical GPS of grace to help me navigate permanently on this road of inner rest, even in the days of chaos and uneasy acceptance.

But my longing to know, to understand, to figure it all out, quiets, as I simply close my eyes again, lift my chin to the sky, and inhale deeply, feeling chest and abdomen rise and fall as His peace gently washes over my soul.

There is nothing new about my story.
Nothing magical or earth shattering or especially amazing.

Except maybe there is.

When peace can flood an anxious soul, stilling the activity, accessing grace by the gallon-ful, there is a mystery there too beautiful for words.

Linking up with:

Life in a Holding Pattern

I have never been in labor.
Never grown new life in my womb.
Never known the aches and pains of my body's expansion.

But from what I've learned from listening and observing, the last trimester is often the hardest.

First trimester symptoms return, the weight of the extra poundage begins to take its toll, swelling seems to be a part of every day life, and sleeping -- fahggettaboutit.

But beyond the physical symptoms, the psychological change of longing for this little life to COME SOON and being TERRIFIED of taking care of that precious bundle for the REST OF ITS LIFE looms heavy upon a mother's heart.

I think maybe I am there.
In the psychological holding pattern

BUT...

With no guarantee of when it will happen or how old the child will be or if we can handle it and will they like us.

Sometimes I feel like I am living someone else's life complete with a new home and fenced in back yard. Add in filling bedrooms with beds and dressers and child-lock proofing potentially hazardous places around the home, and I wonder sometimes who I am.

I have lived so long in this couple phase of life that in spite of longing to multiply the family for the past four years, now that the reality is closer either via foster care and/or adoption, I find myself more terrified of the unknown than I expected.

So on Mother's Day as I lounged on the beach watching my love fly his kite as he trains for kite boarding in the ocean one day, rejoicing with him in the moment he finally found HIS holding pattern with the kite, I looked around me.

I saw a beach gear laden mom alone with her two toddlers struggling to walk back to her car with a tearful 2-year-old lagging behind and a 5-year-old forging ahead. I observed a middle aged dad giving up his afternoon to play with the kids on the beach so his wife could relax. All around me I witnessed the ebb and flow of family life.

And there I sat alone.

And instead of feeling sorry for myself, I basked in the moment. The time that I had to myself to sit, to read, to close my eyes and feel the wind on my face, to take a Sunday afternoon just watching my love enjoy his new hobby and we could just be....

Because while I will love the next season....the one right now where it is just the two of us, young and carefree, is fleeting...

Yeah...this is definitely a weird transitional season...
but in spite of it all....I am thankful.

What are you thankful for in your current season, even if you are waiting or hoping for the next thing? What do you do to combat that TRANSITIONAL nervousness/fear?  How do you overcome the "holding pattern" syndrome?  I would love to hear your advice and/or feedback.

Five Minute Friday: Loud

I used to describe my mind like this....

There is a factory filled with workers and at least a hundred floors. Everyone is busy constantly with important business to attend to. The moment a message arrive at the penthouse, the boss is screaming for the poor peon to already be on his way to the mail room with the next message.

Shouldn't you have been moving already?

When I told a girlfriend this in college, she said the boss in her mind would tell his bottom level worker to take a load off and have a drink.

I remember being in awe of such a mind.
A mind at rest
Or at the very least,
A mind that could SUCCESSFULLY choose rest and enjoy it.

The cacophony in my head resonates as a part of my being the same way as my heart cries for the oxygen it desperately needs.

And still He teaches me.
This Father of mine.
He is so gracious, so gentle with me.
He has to be
For I, left to my own devices am a taskmaster, seargant general commanding the troops relentlessly...

And somehow He gets that about me...He really understands me...He is acquainted with all my ways.

And He daily, hourly, even minute-by-minute leads me beside still waters...



Wonder what this Five Minute Friday is all about? Here it is in the words of the creator of this precious space....

"We finger paint with words.

We try to remember what it was like

to just write without worrying if it’s just right or not.

Want to play Five Minute Friday? It’s easy peasy!"

Hop over to Lisa-Jo's place and join in....come on...be brave...you will not regret it...promise!!

Joy Dare :: Dancing with Peace

I love new things.
New calendars.
New journals.
New highlighters.
New pens.
{I might just have an obsession with office products!}

I enjoy starting fresh.

We all do, don't we?

Beginning anew in January with a clean slate, it seems, makes our hearts feel that we can conquer anything.

This month each day has been filled with excitement for the latest challenges, wanting to meet them head on, yet some days anxiety grips like a vice ready to squeeze you until you beg for mercy. It is almost as if the pessimistic, fatalistic, devil-on-my-shoulder is determined to conquer the year, the month, the day, even the hour.

And I find myself wondering what all of these "things" are for, these routines and goals and aspirations that seem to drive me forward. Why do I, the one who is falling back into grace again, constantly need this regimen to keep me from going mad?

I am a structured free spirit
A disciplined revolutionary
A conventional maverick

I want to march to the beat of my own drum and yet still make sure the tune blends in harmony with the world around me. The days bleed together in madness and ecstasy as I am both sorrowful and inspired to charge forward.

And I find myself counting my gifts, the graces in my life, not because of an emotional thrill but because I have made a decision to SEE. Sometimes the seeing is just merely stopping to remember -- the week, the day, the moments, the love, and sometimes there is an odd twinge of delight drawing me forward.

For fleeting moments, I even see Peace on the horizon dancing wildly like the Pied Piper beckoning me to follow her merry tune on a journey of discovery that is stranger to me than my own worries, which hold me in their uneasy comfort.

So....I dance.

and choose again to follow her song

until one day

it truly

becomes my own....

70) USPS and how it takes packages to my parents

71) Blue ink -- the new printer arrived to finish off the EWO Haiti newsletter

72) Blue bean bag warmer for my back & neck

73) Time with my goddaughter, Macy Hope

74) How my heart is changing in the foster care process

75) Mom's love of people

76) The freedom to set my own schedule

77) My friend, Ashley, coming to help me clean my house

78) Color pampering with the girls!

79) If I didn't go to Relevant, I would never have known her encouraging words in the very moment that I needed to hear it.

80) Walking out after midnight to put out the mail, the air and stars and chimes just took my breath away

81) Downton Abbey {all because of Twitter}

82) Alison's listening ear

83) Tricia's jokes

84) Ashley's servant's heart

85) "All Things New" {reminder of 'my verse'}

86) "I came to give you a kiss."

87) The way the light shone on Morris' orange coat on the step

88) My Apple

89) Old pictures edited and shown

90) Planning for our "new" house with the "old" stuff

Joy Dare :: Snow-Quiet Moments

I peeked my nose outside first.

Maybe it is a habit I have picked up from my cats, assessing the outside world before I step into it.

And yet either way, I know that I must step out into the midnight darkness to send off those newsletters prepared for consultants of beauty to plan their weeks and months ahead. With my nocturnal tendencies, getting them out in the morning for the Saturday post is too great of a risk, so I brave the nighttime cold.

I step out with trepidation, anxiously awaiting the biting winter winds to whip through my too-often-sensitive and aching body, my senses are flooded with awareness and memories all at once, and I turn around and run to my love, slumbering on the couch,

"It's snowing! It's snowing."

Considering the Haitian and African heritage from where our childhood remembrances come, snow is a precious and rare commodity in our house, so his eyes alight and look out the door, but the precipitation has just begun and barely visible to the naked eye so his oh-so-tired eyes fall back to sleep with a smile.

With more energy and life now, I pick up my postal delivery and flit out the door to bask in the not-quite-yet-wonderland. As magical as the morning dusk to some, this midnight hour is to me. The world is quiet. The snow falls tiny and unnoticed. There is no one around.

THIS.

This is....MY gift, and I will enjoy it.

I breathe deep this oxygen-soaked air, lifting my face to the sky allowing the barely-there flakes to fall upon my cheeks and nose and eyes. I cannot help but raise my hands to the sky, for they do not want to miss out on the joy of this moment.

It is only a few minutes before the chill in my bones beckons me back inside, but I am enraptured as I amble back into the living room.

"I love the sound when it snows."
His words pull me out of my reverie.

"You can hear it from in here?" I ask him.

"The whole world is so quiet when it snows. I like that sound," my ever-laidback man sleepily answers.

Hmmm...his words make me ponder. This anxious heart of mine. This one who craves peace like an addict. How I fill my world with noise so the noise inside does not overwhelm me.

Emily Freeman at Chatting at the Sky talks about the kind of faith that can change your life, the kind that is life-BREATHING to this easily troubled soul. It makes me realize that I am not alone in my madness of a mind and heart.

"Even though the house is quiet, I'm running on the inside

as if things are in full swing.

My feet haven't moved by my soul is rumbling."

Oh! Isn't this me?

EVERY.

SINGLE.

DAY.

"Everything in me wants to fight the unveiling of the anxieties that threaten to overwhelm, push them back from showing up in my day. Christians aren't supposed to be anxious, right?....But we must let them rise up, so that we can release them into His hands. Speak fear out loud, so that He can give words of truth."

So while for me those snow-quiet moments of the soul are few and far between, I am choosing like Emily and like Ann and like SO MANY OF YOU.....to LOOK and to SEE Him...to breathe and to receive HIM in....to choose and to accept HIS peace...

49) Olivia & Jake Ray laughing as I "fake cried"

50) My friend, Holley

51) The 35 minute ride home when my phone died {making me soak in the quiet}

52) Isaiah 43:19

53) grace

54) Judge not lest you too will be judged by that same measure.

55) yummy, healthy microwaveable meal on a busy day

56) Beautiful sunshine in the brisk winter day

57) Learning about grace from the judgments still deep in my heart

58) The way of my own reflection through the lens onto the mirror, seeing the fresh skin

59) My URL friend, Alece's, pic with LONG hair

60) The little "m" on the M&M's

61) Beautiful snow falling on my head

62) Last year's 2 feet of snow {we do not see much around here most years}

63) The rain melted the snow {sad} but the puddles on the pavement were pretty in spite of the muddy places.

64) Those pesky little laugh lines forming around my face

65) The Ragamuffin Gospel gifted to me by Christy Polek

66) Newsletters - a job I get paid to do from home

67) His daily new mercies

68) His RELENTLESS love

69) His peace in the midst of my storms

Won't you join me? Take The Joy Dare!

Here is a list of ideas to daily help you to SEE in the midst of the anxiety-driven world...