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...

31 Days of Story {Day 30} An Extrovert's Dilemma

Emily Freeman posted this quote on her blog yesterday....

“I’ve often done all I know to do to create space for God. I’ve spent time in prayer I thought was contemplative, I’ve said no to lesser desires to make room for rich fulfillment, I’ve knelt before God with the bread and wine . . . and for all my effort, I’ve felt only increased emptiness. Frustration. Silence. I created space for God and He didn’t fill it.

Or did He, in ways I failed to recognize because I was expecting something else? Or didn’t He, because I was arrogantly working hard, thinking He would be impressed and compelled to show up?”

- Dr. Larry Crabb, Shattered Dreams

I went to Allume with a bit of this underlying expectation....but just in my own special way.
Let me explain.

I am an extrovert.
I have been my whole life because really .... that is pretty innate.
But growing up, I was a quiet extrovert.
A contemplative soul.
Melancholy even.

However, by the time I arrived at Oral Roberts University, I was bursting to come out of my own skin.

I felt like every other freshman on my floor -- alone, scared, insecure, wondering-if-I-should-stay, and if-I-would-ever-fit-in.

So I thought about it.
Cause that is my M.O.

The Bible says if you want friends, be friendly.
Or at least that was what it meant to me.
So I talked to everyone on my floor.

I never got a roommate so I kept my door open probably eighteen to twenty hours of the day.
I am SO not even kidding!
I had a revolving door.
But I took it to the streets, er, ahem, the hallways, neighbors' rooms, even the bathrooms.
I chatted with people in the shower stall next to me, while we brushed our teeth, while...okay, I think that is enough of that example....

I asked questions.
Lots and lots of questions.
What is your major?
Where are you from?
Why did you choose ORU?
Did you have a good day?
What do you think of your professors?
How many siblings do you have?
What is your dream for your life?

And on and one it went.
I made friends.
I loved my floor.
We played together a lot.
We even planned classes together.
We got to know our "brother wing." {partner guy floor}
We crammed for humanities and biology and dozens of other exams, bonding and laughing and developing our own inside jokes along the way.

And suddenly, a whole year had gone by and awards night had arrived.
I was helping my Resident Advisor, Bloodine, sort through the awards, and as we organized the order of the certificates, I came across my name.

Most Talkative.

And I looked at my RA, heart crushed, trying not to be disappointed, as I held back tears.
She was like, "Lindsey, are you really surprised?"
With head bowed low, I nodded, "Yes! Because when you call someone talkative, it can mean that they get on your nerves and you wish they would shut up."
"I can NOT give it out, if you do not want me to?" she kindly offered.
I said, "No, I'll be okay. If it's the truth and people voted that way, you have to give it out. I am just glad I saw it first so I can prepare myself."

So we continued sorting through the remaining superlatives, and suddenly I saw my name again.

Most Encouraging.

Bloodine smiled, "See Lindsey...the floor does not mean talkative in a negative way. They mean it in a good light. So even though you talk a lot, you are always encouraging others and lifting them up and trying to make them feel better and more connected. The floor would not be the same without you and that is the truth."

I have changed a lot from that eighteen year old girl.
And in some ways, I am her all over again, every time I am in a new season.
I am still talkative.
And I think encouraging too.
But life has pushed and poked and prodded me a bit.

And now.
I am a little less extroverted.
I takes me a while to warm up.
I do not walk into a new place being the life of the party.
I may not be the most popular face in the crowd.
Sometimes I wonder if I am even a REAL extrovert any more.

But I am.
Cause I love being with people.
Almost all of the time.

I felt that way at Allume this weekend.
A little overwhelmed at times.
A desire to stick with the people I knew.
But also...I wanted to be THAT girl....THAT girl who asked questions and gave freely.
I watched my other extrovert friends do it....why could I not?
What was wrong with me?
What was holding me back?

By the time my junior and senior year in college rolled around, I knew half of the campus, although I did not actually realize that fact until my friends pointed it out to me. It had been a gradual thing, not a guns blazing the trail kind of impact. Little by little, one conversation, and word of encouragement at a time. One moment of truth here, one letting down the guard there.

And suddenly, I was that girl.
The one who knows people.
A LOT of people.
By name.

This continued on for the next 10 years in ministry job after ministry job.
I knew people and people knew me.
And I liked that.
I AM an extrovert after all.

So, I went to Allume having this unspoken expectation.
I will be the life of the party.
I have done it before.
I will do it again.

All the while, more consciously, I was giving myself a different lecture -- to listen more, to talk less, to observe, and to stay tuned in to the people around me.

I somehow thought that I would seamlessly flow in and out of these two very different roles....after all, God has been doing a work in my heart for the past two years, surely, He will miraculously make this happen.

You can probably see where I am going.
Both could not work out very well.
And thus.... a viscious battle ensued....

Come back tomorrow 

for the conclusion of my dilemma

{and my 31 days!} 

and how God orchestrated the kind of conference 

HE wanted me to have for one very specific moment 

on the last evening of the weekend.

Want to read the entire 31 days of story?

Click here to see a list of all of the posts, updated daily.

If you do not want to miss even ONE day, please subscribe 

at the top of this post by entering your email address.

31 Days of Story {Day 27} The Comparison Trap

You could not help but like her.

Her Arkansas drawl, her ear-to-ear smile, her sparkling green eyes
.....and those pipes.

It was hard not to stop and soak in the melodies when this five foot two, perky Southern belle, belted out rifts that could rival Aretha Franklin. It was not uncommon to walk down the 1960's inspired hallways of our dorm and catch girls just standing outside of her door, listening to her practice her musical runs, like they were hoping to get just a glimpse of this star in the making.

 And me, well, I could not deny the overwhelming talent, Candee possessed, but my little heart was crushed and quite frankly, a little....scratch that....A LOT jealous.

Coming from a high school with a graduating class of eleven {oh yeah, you read that right} and a youth group of about fifty, I often led the pack in talent, personality, and character. The proverbial story of being the little fish now in a GREAT BIG pond is not a new one, but for the first time in my life, I found myself feeling truly uninspiring and vitally insignificant.

She was smart, pretty, talented, and funny.

She caught the attention of people, especially boys.
And I could not hold a candle to her.

Or at least, that was how my eighteen year old eyes viewed it.

Jealousy burned deep within my soul, and I hated myself for it.

But in spite of myself and more because of the Father's work in my heart, I took a leap of faith and faced my personal demons, supporting every musical audition, contest, performance, and endeavor for which her firecracker personality and powerhouse voice made space. Months went by until one day when she was the only white girl to be accepted into the Souls Afire campus choir, I felt something different happen in my heart.

True joy.

Sheer delight.

She did it! She did it!
I laughed to myself and I think I even did a little happy dance.

The taste of freedom sweetened on my tongue like ice cream on the 4th of July.

I was free from that ugly monster.

Truthfully and unequivocally free.

As we jubilantly frolicked off to celebrate her new soulful musical journey, I recognized that stirring in my heart to come clean. A time of confession was in order. I blurted out quickly, before I lost my nerve...

"Candee, I am have been jealous of you since I first met you. You are so pretty and you're voice is so amazing. The boys always notice and like you, and I just wanted to have all of those things like you do. But tonight, I don't feel jealous any more. I truly feel happy for you, almost like it was me. I am so sorry. I hope you will forgive me." 

She looked at me with sincerity,

"Oh my gosh, Lindsey. I...have been jealous of....YOU!!"

What?!?!?!?! I thought to myself. The idea was simply ludicrous. What did I have that she did not have? She practically light up a room when she walked in.

"You have this way with people," she carried on. "You always know how to encourage and the right things to say, and people REALLY like you and want to be around you. I wish I could be that way with people."

I started to laugh out loud, long and hard.

"Oh, Candee! Imagine what God must be thinking right now.....'My silly girls...just be who I created you to be. Stop comparing yourselves to each other and trying to be something you were not called to be."

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that

we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness,

that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant,

gorgeous, talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking

so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, as children do.

We were born to make manifest

the glory of God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,

we unconsciously give other people

permission to do the same.

As we’re liberated from our own fear,

our presence automatically liberates others.

~Marianne Williamson

Revisited from the archives of March 14, 2012....
Here are my friend Candee's thoughts after reading my original post...

"Literally crying at my keyboard 

remembering that conversation. 

To think it has been fifteen years...wow! 

Thanks for the reminder to be 

who God created me to be no matter what. 

Love you friend!"

Want to read the entire 31 days of story?

Click here to see a list of all of the posts, updated daily.

If you do not want to miss even ONE day, please subscribe 

at the top of this post by entering your email address.

31 Days of Story {Day 12} A Five Minute Friday Edition :: Race

Ready, set, go!

by Barb Henry

And off we would go across the field, grasping, reaching to touch the chain link fence on the other side. Twelve year old bodies move with rhythm and motion to the beat only they can hear in the recesses of their mind.

My mantra, "Beat the boys, Lindsey. Beat the boys."

And I was fast.
Very fast actually.
I could beat all but one, okay maybe two, boys in class.
I was proud of that.
I only raced to win.
Or at least to place high, in the winner's circle.

This striving became my life.
My very own song played in steady beats.

Run faster.
Strive more.
Reach higher.
Go bigger.

Until the twelve year old girl inside of me cried out....
There is nothing left to give.
You spent it all.

But the race is not over, the voice inside rails.
PUSH.
PUSH.

But I cannot.
I have nothing left.

Until I yield to His mantra, His dance, His rhythm, His song.
And I am learning...
...this is a one woman race. {thank you, Holley Gerth}
I don't really have to "beat" anybody.

Want to read the entire 31 days of story?

Click here to see a list of all of the posts, updated daily.

If you do not want to miss even ONE day, please subscribe 

at the top of this post by entering your email address.

Five Minute Friday {And Then Some} :: Change

So yeah, I am one of those people.
You know them.
The one whose heart races when a big event is coming
The one whose mind gets carried away with the "certain" impending doom of a life transition.
The one whose paradigm getting shifted feels equivalent to the moving of Gibraltar.

I kinda hate change.
Okay, I really do.

I live with lots of variety and flexibility in my schedule and day.
I discover new interests or amazing truths weekly, if not daily.
I view dressing myself as an adventure, a canvas with where I can showcase my artistic heart.

And then...
It's time to move to Africa.
Or get married.
Or get into foster care.

And I am like, "WHOY! Back up the truck! I've gotta think!!

I.
NEED.
MORE.
TIME.

And then I feel faithless and guilty about my reticence, hesitance, unwillingness to jump blindly into the seasons that the Lord has planned, so He usually gives me SOLID, LARGE road signs as a flail wildly behind the wheel to let me know that I am indeed going in the right direction. And maybe, if I would just let Him drive and SHOW HIS ART for a minute, I might discover an amazing view along the way.

He is so patient.

Loving me.

Holding me.

Keeping my heart,

that He made,

close to His heart.

So I take a deep, deep, deep breath {AGAIN} and promise that I will try to keep my eyes open for the next roller coaster He wants to ride with me.

But I am pretty sure I will still scream.

Cause that's aloud right?

Fridays are the days where I join with this amazing posse -- Lisa-Jo and her Five-Minute Fridayers. The sole mission of this band of writing mavericks is to throw caution completely to the wind and pour heart on paper {ahem...screen} for just 5 minutes without editing or fixing or making it perfect and just so. Today, I needed a few extra minutes....just to get past the incessant editor in my head and the kitty determined to sit on my laptop.....and you know what....this place....there's grace for that too, even when it is scary to press publish and wonder if your words make sense or if your voice matters.

But I do it. 
And they do. 
And it does......and so do you, my friend.

Have you ever thought about joining?
Why not try it today?
Risk the change!
I would love to share in your journey.....

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 {And Then Some} :: Community

"You painted the WHOLE house in a week!"

That's the response I usually get when I tell or show people the progress that we have made around the house.

"No...we didn't paint the WHOLE house," I say, but then I start counting...one..two...four...five rooms maybe. We didn't start off planning to do so many but it just seemed right because the colors did not feel like "home" and I did not know when I would have this uncluttered house again.

The response it often amazement at how much work was accomplished in just one week, and my response is always the same, "It took a village."

Fred with his basically professional painting skills, teaching me how to paint well as he moved his brush across my walls.

His wife and daughter coming in here and there to help us clean along the way.

Alison, fully pregnant, sitting on the laminate floors painting my bedroom trim as her 16 month old played happily around the room as we worked.

My parents flying across the Caribbean Sea, sacrificing their time and energies to help build a fence, paint more rooms, move furniture, iron clothes.

And I still I remember.

Aunt Bonnie showing up the day we got our key with balloons and flowers to just celebrate with us.

Uncle Ranny using his dry walling skills to patch and restore in his beautifully perfectionistic way.

Cousins arrived to paint my new walk-in closet, giving up hours of their afternoon, just because, and I cannot help but think of them every time.

Mom Mom and Aunt Bonnie bringing meals, wiping counters, washing dishes, feeding the army so busy hands would not have to stop or be distracted.

Sis painting all week and then shopping with me to find the loveliest bathroom decor to suit our taste and space.

Her man, giving of his skills to finalize and complete household projects and decor.

David and his girls coming for an evening and helping to paint.

Watching those 6 and 13 year old hands paint my walls, and something feels so right about it to my former children/youth pastor heart, that their love and efforts are poured into my office, where new dreams will be made and realized. And their dad, taking the time to smooth out their mistakes, and the process is seamless.

Greg bringing his landscaping tools and working with my love to freshen our new yard, and then traveling back and forth and back again to load the contents of our life onto his trailer to bring them to this abode that we now call home.

And as the week goes on, I feel overwhelmed, humbled, delighted, and amazed at the gifts given to me by these precious souls, who give expecting nothing in return, but simply as an act of love, rejoicing with us, together, in how God has placed a promise in our hands.

And if I am honest....I have been a bit discouraged and disillusioned with community over the past two years, withdrawing into my own hurt and pain for some reasons valid and for some protective, scared of letting go, reaching out, giving in to that vunerable place again.

And still they came...loving, giving, rejoicing, hoping, praying, believing, laughing, serving...

In the brokenness of my soul, I am finding community again.
Little by little.
Day by day.
Promise to promise.

As the veil opens to show me a glimpse of what is really there,
I see I have never truly EVER been alone.
Never been far apart from those who hold my heart to Jesus so often.
And I feel humbled with the revelation,
Moved by the raw humanity.

The God Who Sees {Guest Post :: Katy}

Meet sweet Katy. Yes. I MUST say "sweet" as I introduce her because that is how I think of her whenever I read her words. Her heart pops off of the screen EVERY. TIME. She is a masters-learnin', Africa-yearnin', words-lovin', soul-searchin', raw, honest soul. She blogs at her own personal space, B'ahava, which means "with love." When you visit her blog, I know that you will be as captivated with her tender transparency as I am. So without further ado....here's Katy.

The God Who Sees

He will make her deserts like Eden...

joy and gladness will be found in her.

Isaiah 51:3

I stare at this verse and wonder what wondrous work God will do to turn my desert and wilderness places into places like Eden. Eden conjures up images of a beautiful, perfect, and lovely place. A place where there are no tears, no mourning, no hurt, no fear, and certainly no heartache. Eden--where I can walk hand in hand with my Savior who loves me, likes me, and delights in me. My Beloved who has eyes only for me. Jealousy banished. Envy out the door. Anger not in sight.

Just love.

Love pouring out the windows and through the doors into my soul. Love that captures me and screams My heart has heard you say, "Come and talk with me," and my heart responds, "Lord, I am coming!" (Ps. 27:8). I am coming. I am coming to make an Ebenezer. I am coming to declare the Lord is GOOD. I am coming to find my refuge and hiding place. I am coming to carve out a place called Eden where I can rest. I am like Hagar desperate in the desert waiting to call her Lord El Roi—the God who sees me.

In the midst, I wait. Oftentimes, impatiently. I wonder why my cacti bristle instead of turn into works of art. I scratch my head wondering why my heart tugs with questions about the discrepancies between what I’ve asked for and what I’ve been given. I’m the little girl who asked for a pony and received a stuffed animal and who is trying to be thankful, but is looking a little skeptical and disappointed. All the while, watching everyone else seemingly get ponies and the things they’re praying for slipped into their hearts and hands.

Yet, the God who sees me is relentless. He whispers to my heart, “Do you really only love me for what I can give you? Will you really only love and praise me when I give you those tucked away prayers you don’t even know if you should still be praying? Do you not trust that I have this, even this under control?”

I whisper back, “I’m sorry, Lord. I’m hurt and I’m learning to be honest while still holding fast to Your truth. I’m here. I love you. Help me trust, believe, and celebrate that your plan will be and already is truly beyond all that I can imagine and that it is for good.”

He whispers love to me in the doubt and the questions. He lets me wrestle with Him as tears pour down my face. He hears my pleading cries and loves me the same. Nothing I can do can separate me from His love. No fit of rage. No streak of jealousy. No rash words. No accusing voice. Ever patient. Ever kind.

I continue this dance of raw honesty mixed with gentle nudges to renew my mind with the truth that sets my heart free to experience peace.

He sees me. Even when I can’t tell yet.

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 2nd in the series of that exploration into the passion of the Father for us across the miles, across the generations, across the hearts that are His.

To read more posts in this series, click here.