Maybe Hope

Today has been a melancholy day.

I sort of woke up that way.
I may have gone to sleep with those feelings last night, but tiredness reigned and the morning dawned with a sadness in my soul, even as I swept the cobwebs from my sleepy brain.

For the momma who may lose custody of all five of her children due to extended incarceration.
For those young hearts and minds who WILL find a forever home, but at a deeply emotional cost.
For the boy whose past has been a whirlwind and finds himself in trouble...AGAIN...today at school.
For my own body, aching intensely for the third morning in a row.
For the vulnerability that my heart feels when my physical weaknesses are exposed to new ears and I wonder, "Do they really understand?"
For the feelings of trepidation that making new friends and wondering if I can really be myself brings.
For the future of my granny, her care, and how that affects my mom, my whole family.
For a hundred things that my mind and my heart and my soul cannot grasp and contain.

I know that tears are just brimming below the surface and they are felt more deeply than words can truly capture. Although I have shared reasons and potential whys, the deep that cries out to deep senses that I have only scratched the surface of this gloomy reverie.

So here I sit, in my favorite cafe, writing out my heart....squeezed in the minutes between going here and there to purge the recesses of my soul believing for resolution, absolution, or maybe just peace in the convolution.

Maybe the brokenness in my own soul is making me more aware and alive and in tune to the cries of the downtrodden.

Maybe the weakness in me today is necessary to move forward in this haphazardly beautiful journey like Much-Afraid in her pilgrimage of "becoming."

Maybe my heart's tenderness is causing me to smell deep as I walk out my door and pause to remember, "Spring is coming...it's almost here...don't give up....wait a little longer."

Maybe...just maybe....
Hope is here.
Hope is alive.
Hope will come again.

Tears at Christmas and the Greatest Gift of All

It's our annual-shopping-day-with-Dad-for-Mom's-present outing, and we have stopped at Panera for a quick refuel.

My still-recovering-from-a-bad-sinus-infection body slumps into the chair while my dad and sister go and get the food.


**photo credit

Even at two in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, the place is bustling with activity.
Two large groups of ten or more fill the restaurant with the cacophony of holiday fun and camraderie. Close behind me, accents from other lands fill my ears, with the chatter of the local twang mixed in for good measure, and I smile.

A father chases his young son out the door as mommy follows close behind.  A gray-haired lady finds a table by the fire, removes her layers, and settles in cozingly. Moments later, a man her age appears with food and drinks. They munch comfortably, reading papers and soaking in the afternoon lull.

I feel alive with the Christmas spirit around me.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of another woman. Attractive, well-groomed, tailored, also white-haired, and yet her face plummets quickly into her hands. I turn away swiftly, unwilling to intrude in her private moment, but my heart betrays me and I chance a peek again moments later as her friend arrives. Their words are muffled, but I can hear the desperation in the beautiful woman's voice.

I am saddened by her sorrow at Christmas.

A few weeks ago, I reveiwed Mandisa's new Christmas album, and this one song finds its way into my heart in this moment... Sometimes Christmas Makes Me Cry.


{Click here if you are in a reader/e-mail or cannot view video}

While I have walked through some personal losses and continue to live the life of unseen dreams making the past few Christmases...well...hard.... I have found my face full of a torrent of tears more than once, and yet somehow, some way, I have found my way ONE DAY AT A TIME...back to the heart of the Father, back to the Hope of Christmas... Jesus.

And to be REALLY real...it is still hard.
And not without personal loss...

So today from a heart who knows brokenness, my heart aches ...
for the mother who mourns for her child,
for the soldier far from home,
for the loved one dead and gone,
for the relationships broken and beyond repair,
for the lonely and the desperate and the forgotten,
this Christmas.

For you.
For the ones you love.
For the one who lives next door to you.
For the one you pass in the grocery store.

I believe and pray that the tears of sorrow for the woes of this earthly life will be transformed by the Hope that is to come, by the Peace that passes every understanding of our human minds, by the Love that not only lights our way in this world, but shines in and through our hearts. May you know that the Father understands every tear, feels every pain, knows your every struggle because He Himself found a way to surrender His one and only Son in the form of a babe, knowing He would die a painful death because through that .... YOU would be His!

May your tears find their way back to the beauty of that Love, that precious promise, the greatest gift of all.

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...

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...

Who Should Give Us the Desires of Our Hearts? {Guest Post}

Today, it is my pleasure to welcome Brenda from Triple Braided as she shares on our heart's deepest desires.

Brenda considers herself a "recovering single" after years as a single woman chasing her dreams instead of God's dreams for her. Now she lives with her two miracles: her husband who God physically saved from Cardiomyopathy after a dramatic heart transplant and her baby girl who will be born this month from those three hearts. Brenda encourages women to live a life surrendered to Jesus in every season on her blog, Triple Braided, and she recently published her first eBook, Fall for Him: 25 Challenges from a Recovering Single. You can also connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.

About six years ago I met weekly in an apartment in Atlanta with about five other women. We were all single, and as you can imagine, we all wished we were married. Our purpose for meeting was to have girl time but also for Bible study. Most of the time, however, we ended up having a verse study instead. Every week we would start out with good intentions. We would first eat and talk and laugh. Then we would move into discussing whatever Bible study we were doing at the time.

 For myself as a single woman, the topic of the Bible study at the time really didn't matter. All studies usually wound up being about relationships and dating and marriage. Ours was no different. Whether we were talking about Abraham or David or Ruth, shortly into the discussion our conversation would shift, and we would begin analyzing our lives as single women. There was one verse from the Bible that came up every week. And every week we would go 'round and 'round debating its meaning. It was like the Christian single's mantra.

"Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart." Psalm 37:4

The reason for our debate is most likely obvious. 

The desperate desires of our hearts was to be married. And we were delighting in the Lord to the best of our knowledge. So why wasn't God giving us our desires?

At the time I mistakenly believed that only single people struggled with delighting in the Lord and not getting the desires of their hearts. If you're married, what more could be wrong?

But now that I am on the other side of "I do's," I realize that we all struggle with the tension between our desires and delighting in the Lord.

The desire to have a baby, adopt a baby, or have a healthy baby.

The desire to be a full-time homemaker, get a part-time job, or maybe have a more flexible one.

The desire for a husband who's a Christian, a husband who prays with his wife, or a husband who spends time with his family.

The desire for good health, to lose weight, or to not have a terminal disease.

The desire for children who are respectful, who don't have trouble learning, or who are self-sufficient.

The list goes on and on and on. Doesn't it?

We all have desires. Things that we want out of this world either for noble reasons or for reasons to make life a little more comfortable.

And God says He will give us the desires of our hearts when we delight in Him.

But what does that mean exactly? What does that look like? Obviously we don't get everything we want. So what did God mean when He said He would give us the desires of our hearts when we delight in Him?

I spent some time studying this verse, and especially the word "delight." 

I want to delight in the Lord, but honestly sometimes I don't know what more I can do!

"Delight" in Hebrew is 'anag which means to be soft, delicate, dainty, happy about.

If I am soft, delicate, dainty, and happy about (not complaining or resentful), then my desires are able to be molded into God's desires for me. He will give me my desires. They will be from Him instead of me choosing the desires of my heart myself and then asking Him to comply with them. My desires often begin to change.

It wasn't until after my years as a single woman that I realized the true meaning of Psalm 37:4, and ever since I've been recovering from searching after my own desires.

 I wrote an eBook out of this experience called Fall for Him: 25 Challenges from a Recovering Single. It's available now in PDF, Kindle and Nook formats. The purpose is to help single women see that their life is not waiting out there in the future for them. Their life is now. But it can only be fully revealed by being surrendered to Jesus - allowing Him to plant His desires for them in their hearts. If you are single, this book is for you, to help you have the desires of God's heart now. If you're married, this book is a great gift for that single woman in your life who is struggling with the desperate desire to be married. Maybe your niece, cousin, or sister. Maybe your best friend. Go ahead. Reach out your hand. Bless this special woman with your love. Give her an eBook that will help. You can purchase a copy by visiting www.FallforHim.com.


As a woman who was single into her late twenties, I have such a passion for those who are walking the road of singleness to find their deepest heart's desires in Him. I am so thankful to Brenda for braving writing out her own personal journey. Today, Brenda is graciously giving away one e-book to one of you. Yay, right? Whether you are single or have a friend/family member who is single and would like to give this for a Christmas present, please enter below for a chance to have Fall for Him as your very own!

 

  a Rafflecopter giveaway

31 Days of Story {Day 28} A Hard Lesson In Forgiveness

It was 1999, and he was my best "guy" friend.

We hung out mostly in a group of 8-12 friends. We were a tight crew. But he & I had a special connection. He was witty & sarcastic & boyishly charming. I was analytical & strong-willed & intellectually-challenging. Everyone knew we had a unique friendship, but it was "purely platonic."

No. Seriously. It was.

Was, that is, until that summer.
The summer after he broke up with his girlfriend from back home.
The summer we hung out in Maine with our friends.
The summer that everything changed.

We crossed the boundaries of friendship, and things would never be the same again.

At first it was thrill-me-to-my-toes exciting.
We were "us" but now.... MORE!
And it was fun!

But then, real life happened.

We went back to college, back to classes, back to our normal routine.

And she came too -- his ex.
She was now a part of "our" world.
THAT was not supposed to happen.
My world was spinning

Suddenly, he pulled away from me. He needed space from both of us to figure things out. It was hard, but he was my friend, right? So I wanted to give him room to grow and to know his own heart & head.

Then one day the bottom fell out of our relationship.
 In one day my heart broke.

He knew my schedule, so he had been avoiding me, although I hadn't realized that at the time. He didn't count on my meeting being cancelled that night. He didn't plan for me to be in the cafeteria a little later then usual for supper.

That's when I saw them.

The two of them.

Together.

I guess he "figured it out" without telling me.

I couldn't understand.
My mind did not want to register.
Why would he lie to me?
He is my friend.
He WAS my friend.

If Taylor Swift had been selling albums back then, THIS would have been the time to blast one of her angsty love break up songs....

These words pounded over and over and over in my head...

I'm not his choice.

I'm not good enough,

pretty enough,

smart enough,

I'm not ENOUGH!

And HE LIED TO ME!!


That is the moment the darkness crept into my soul, my very being. As the days passed, I would wake up each morning in such agony and pain and HATRED. I felt betrayed, abandoned, stupid, faithless, ignorant, unwise, alone. The feeling in my gut was like someone was daily twisting my intestines. I know that sounds intense and dramatic, but I felt like I was walking in a fog. I would read Scriptures almost mindlessly to just "stuff the Word" into me. I would get ready for the day and just beg the Holy Spirit to help me.

But nothing seemed to work. I would cross paths with him. Or her. Or him & her together. I tried to face things. I tried to let it go. I tried to "get over it!"

But the anger seemed to just build and build and with that the shame. 

How could I let this happen?
How could I be so stupid?

And the bitterness just increased.

Months passed, and one day, I went to a revival service. I don't remember what the message was about or anything that was said in particular except the invitation to the altar at the end. I went forward and I felt that tugging at my heart strings.

It's time to forgive. It's time to let go.

And instructions followed.

Write him a letter. Write her a letter. Ask them for forgiveness.

WHAT, LORD? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!! There is NO WAY! I didn't do anything wrong. He blatantly lied to me, and she rudely ignores me. I am the one who has a RIGHT to be angry.

And the quietest of whispers....

Haven't you held anger, resentment, & bitterness in your heart against them?

Well, yeah, but THEY don't know that! I have been nice.

My child....Forgive.....

That night, I sat down at my computer, feeling compelled by a power larger than myself to such an extent, that I knew if I did not obey, the sky was going to open up and lightening would strike hard.
Not to punish, but to get my attention....

"Hey, girl! I'm talking to you...!!!"

So with trembling fingers, I typed out my battle-worn apologies.

{Photo Credit}

It was hard.

It was real.

It was honest.

The next morning, I went and dropped them off at the campus post boxes.

When I walked out of the CPO that day, it was the funniest thing. I am THROUGHLY convinced, the sky was bluer, the clouds were fluffier, the bird-song was sweeter, and there was a spring in my step.

Something amazing happened.
Something surprising and wholly miraculous
Accepting God's forgiveness and requesting it in return from others with NO AGENDA resulted in this beautiful thing...

Freedom!

Forgiveness set me free!!

"Therefore if the Son makes you free, 

you shall be free indeed."

John 8:36

From the archives -- 2/24/2011

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31 Days of Story {Day 25} The Freshman Diaries

Isn't it funny how the beginning....of anything really....is always filled with the largest learning curve?

My first semester in college felt like that...

I learned how to take notes in a lecture-driven classroom without freaking out.  I literally cassette-tape-recorded every lecture in at least three classes that first semester. I NEVER actually went back to listen to any of them...just the backup plan made me feel better. I abandoned that going into semester two.

I learned how grace was more than just a Sunday school phrase. Loving Jesus from the time you are four years old has its advantages, yet understanding grace is not often one of them. I remember when God revealed this to me, "But for the grace of God, I could be the prostitute on the streets." Romans 7 leading into the well-known Romans 8 verse 1 held revolutionary meaning to me for the first time at eighteen years old. If you have never read that chapter and the first part of chapter eight together before, do yourself a HUGE favor and do that. It's totally life-changing! No condemnation, baby....the gift is RICH and FULL.

I learned how to accept failure. I had applied for what I deemed, the coveted chaplain of a floor position. My chaplain was thrilled. She said I was a shoe-in and gave me a glowing recommendation. Fueled with this knowledge and support, I went to my first interview, confident and sure. A few months later, I got the letter....you know the one....the thin one, the pink slip, the Sorry-try-again-next-year letter. And I was crushed. MY chaplain felt terrible for her assurances. But now it was time to deal with rejection and failure. A lesson preparing me for what was to come...

I learned how to persevere. After a challenging first semester with NEW class styles, NEW friendships, NEW part of the world, NEW, well, everything!, this perfectionist came home a bit deflated, especially about grades (not to mention the whole chaplain thing). It was not as easy as it had been in high school. Shocker, right? But now I was, in many ways, on my own. No parents in the dorms with me to stop at my beck and call to teach me a missing puzzle piece in my learning. I can remember calling my dad, in Haiti no less, and crying about Biology and how hard it was to absorb all of the information. I was never a BIG science-y girl anyway so Dad talked me through some study techniques until I calmed down enough to absorb his words. Somehow I made it through with a C I believe in both Biology AND Humanities. The girl who had never received a C in her ENTIRE life for a class!  Now, I got TWO! I was devastated! I mean really and truly and desperately devastated! I cried and moaned and complained to my mom for what seemed like hours on my Christmas break. With her soothing way, she reasoned and cajoled and stroked until finally....

"I just cannot go back, Mom! It is not for me. I failed. I obviously cannot do this work....I must not belong in college!"

I blurted out these barely-understandable words, for probably the twenty-seventh time.

This time, my mom, very calmly, yet firmly, {I wish you could hear/ that voice and face combo...it is really effective!} said, "Well, Lindsey, I guess you will have to quit then."

Quit.
QUIT.
QUIT!?!?!?
Is she serious?
We are not quitters.
Why would she say that?
Why would I quit?
I have to finish.
I HAVE TO!

And suddenly I knew in that moment with that open door to throw in the towel, that I would not.
I could not.
I actually WANTED to go back.
In spite of everything.
I would live to fight another day.
C's or not.
Popular or friendless.
Accepted or rejected.
I would go on.

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31 Days of Story {Day 24} Waiting in the Wings

Sometimes you feel small.
Insignificant.
Unimportant.
Unnoticeable.

In the fall of '96, I knew just such a feeling.

"Waiting...waiting in the wings....
I know how it feels to be
just another face in the crowd....
In the crowd...
To feel like a whisper
In a world that's much too loud...."

The lyrics from Anointed played a running sound track behind the scenes of this new strange season of my life.

In my high school youth group, I had been popular, talented, musical, and a leader.
Now I was just one more freshman, trying to find her way to class.
And praying, "Dear God, please do not let me look stupid."

Plus being me.
A girl who cares more about individuality than belonging, I have recently learned, {thanks, Sis, for that insight} navigating through the minefield of the million unknown social faux pas felt daunting as well as like selling-out if I drank the Koolaid.

So I did what any self-proclaimed "individual" would do on the first day of class. While everyone else was choosing the best, the prettiest, the cutest outfit in their wardrobe, I chose the opposite -- a hand-me down skirt that was truly the ugliest thing in my closet. I had never worn it before, nor did I ever wear it again. It served its ridiculous statement purpose.

I will show you the photo but you may not fully appreciate the ugliness unless you think back to what was in style then. This skirt was NOT.

This is me with my sister. She looks cute, right? Yeah. She was 14 at the time!! She had some skills that I did not yet possess. Here's a better view of that crazy skirt.

Think 90's southwestern style restaurant tablecloth with pink hues instead of red.
My skirt was probably made from the same material.
Seriously.
Yet there I smile.
Determined not to care.
Pretty brave for a seventeen-almost-eighteen year old.
Or stupid, depending on how you look at it.

Yet off I went to class that day, caring, but determined not to.
Probably looking every bit the missionary kid that I felt inside with my ridiculous costume.

And you know what is funny.
In the end.
It didn't really matter.
On way or the other.
The person INSIDE was the one who made friends.
Who found out that belonging might just be okay.

She connected with people who embraced her crazy antics or at least learned to love them dearly.

As I prepare to head out to my second year at the blogging conference, Allume, I feel struck with many of these same feelings.

I am not good enough.

My writing is sub par next to these ladies.

No one will notice me.

I am just another face in the crowd.

I still plan my outfits, which are decidedly more style-centric now, yet still filled with individuality.
I haven't changed THAT much in seventeen years.

And somehow I remember what that seventeen year old girl learned.
It does not matter somehow.
Those outside looks.
The best writing.
The most skilled conversationalist.
The praise.
The accolades.

It's the inside that counts.
BIG TIME.
I think I will keep reminding myself of that.

"Don't ever forget whose child you are..... Though others may fail to see the diamond that lies beneath ......He know just how priceless you are....while you are waiting in the wings...Keeping waiting...."

P.S. I did wear that shirt again. Looked much better with jeans, right?

P.P.S. Sorry for the blurriness of some of the photos....SO not digital back then! ;-)

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31 Days of Story {Day 10} Bloom Where You Are Planted

"Bloom where you are planted."

I do not remember much else from that letter, but my nearly thirteen-year-old heart needed those words.

"Bloom where you are planted, Lindsey."

The angst of becoming a teenager is experienced by every human being. Add on top of that being a belongs-to-no-culture-for-reals missionary kid, and the evolution to adolescence feels more like being trapped in a magician's death chamber than a whole new world of possibilities.

For years, I had dreaded the transitions, saying goodbye, living far away, being different from people in both cultures, but somehow, when all the facts-of-life hormones began to surge, the distinctions felt insurmountable.

I wanted to be normal.
Like other American kids.
I tired of being incompatible with the world around me.

I cried and railed against this planet that was my life.
Why me?
Why our family?
Why God?
Why did I have to be so DIFFERENT?
Why did I have to be so weird?

And then my youth pastor uncle sent me this letter to remind me that I was not forgotten by God. This was not haphazard. I was not just a side effect of my parents' calling. There was purpose for me here in this place too. A place where I could bloom, in this season, into the woman God was calling me to be, one day.

Sitting on that concrete balcony overlooking my Caribbean mountains through the black railing protecting the 3 story drop, I breathed those words into my soul.

"Bloom where you are planted."

It would not eliminate the whys from my mouth.
But it would give me a mantra that I would repeat over and over again for the rest of my life.

"Bloom where you are planted."
"Bloom where YOU are planted."

Bloom, girl, bloom....

Do you remember the first lesson you had 

in being fully there in your life? 

What was it? How old where you?

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In the Tension of the Waiting

I mean to write more each week.
Like I used to.

I blame it on summer. On foster care prep. On planning fundraising for Haiti. On spending time with my family before they return to their life-long mission home.

Next week will be better...
When things slow down, my heart and soul will spill words out like wet paint from a fresh can's tip....
Once the summer is over, my schedule will get "back to normal"....

And on and on it goes...this big top mental circus filled with merry performances merry vying equally for immediate attention. And somehow my soul shrinks from the cacophony. I need stillness and silence, not in reality per say, but in the recesses of my being.

You know... where deep calls to deep.

But I often fail at allowing my heart and my soul and my mind to halt and to "go there" ....
Because it is scary and it is raw and it needs work.

How do you bare the broken before the healing is complete?
How do you show the scars when tomorrow they might break bloody again?
How do you give of yourself when "getting TO Him" seems a feat equivalent to rescuing the princess from the clutches of the fiery dragon?

Inside I feel small.
Insignificant.
Unimportant in the sea of artists, photographers, designers, administrators, counselors, professors, ministers, pastors, teachers, writers, mothers....

Juxtaposed is the heart of a warrior princess bursting to fly.
Longing to dream big, to follow rainbows to the pot-o-gold end, to dance on clouds Care-Bear-style.

The once-too-broken-to-ever-think-she-could-be-filled-again girl inside of me flaps her wings with impatience while the Great Physician holds still the body of that broken soul, willing strength into the bones for the latter to be greater than the former before letting the full expanse of the newness fill the sky.

And in the waiting, the girl both heart of warrior and heart of a child reaches to her Daddy, whispering words of longing and regret, sorrow and angst, desperation and pleading, forgiveness and surrender.

Where do we go from here?

Will I ever be ready again?

Am I forever to be waiting in the wings?

Where are you in your journey of waiting, of longing, 

of wanting to burst into your dreams, of feeling insignificant? 

What specific Scripture, mantra, prayer, promise 

do you hold onto in those moments? 

If you have none, feel alone, or simply long 

for the extra lift in this moment and space in time, 

would you slip your words into a comment 

or even in a private e-mail in the Contact Me link. 

I would love to share the broken moments with you 

and agree with you that God DOES 

have an answer just for you in the midst of it all.

The Miracle of the Little Things

"Ow!"

I said to myself as I woke up with this nagging thingamagjig moving around my eye. I blinked a bit and pressed my eye, and went on to get dressed.

I visited with my mom, met the French lady from California waiting in our house for her friend to arrive from the airport, baked cookies, and planned for the day. All the while, the foreign entity in my eye just would not seem to quit its persistent annoyance. We searched for drops to bring some ease, alas to no avail. I scoured Google for natural cures, imploying them immediately with vigor gaining only increasingly, severe irritation for my trouble.

With frustration and exhaustion, I collapsed upon my bed fighting tears and hysteria. {Sometimes reading Google DOES NOT help the psyche}.

Yet in the midst of the unrelenting aggravation, I couldn't help but think about those little things.

You know the little foxes that ruin the vines....

...getting rained on on the way to a meeting
...babies and pets throwing up on those newly cleaned floors
...constant nuisance of an invisible speck in the eye

Little agitations and frustrations fling unwittingly into the day and threaten to overthrow our sanity. Before we even know it, we find annoyances and hurts and anger to be our companions. They destroy our peace and shatter the cadence by which we move and breathe.

When no relief would come to my eye, I eventually fell into a fitful sleep, and when I awoke, the pain and redness and displeasure was completely gone.

I fought the rest because I had "things to do" and "came to Haiti to help" but apparently, for today at least, those were not in the plans.

Just like my body needed tears and rest to heal itself, so does my soul, my heart, my character.

And while the little things COULD destroy me, they could also be the very thing that lead me back to the safety of His arms, if only I take the time to trust in His ways.

"He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.”

~Psalm 91:1-2

When You Feel Like You Are Just Not Cut Out For This

The room began to clear. Resource papers had been generated. Congrats-You-Did-It certificates were placed into our hands. A desire to exchange phone numbers rippled through the graduates after these 9 emotional weeks together, preparing to be foster parents. With just half of us remaining from those who launched into this endeavor in January, and even now we find ourselves only at the beginning of our journey, we discover this amazing growth as people, together with open discussion and heartfelt banter. But there is another growth, silent, deeper, within the stretching of our own skin.

And for me, it's been a hard road. A broken road.

On top of waiting months longer than anticipated to walk through the threshold of the house that is STILL not yet ours; daily sorting through the mystery that is chronic pain; and constantly questioning, "Who am I?" and "Why am I here?" now that I no longer function in the role of pastor, the longing mother heart continues to beat strong and the silent, constant, dull ache of my empty arms never truly deserts me.

And then these classes...these blessed classes....bringing to the surface every negative emotion I have ever felt in my entire life, about all of the above and more -- unforgiveness, selfishness, pride, prejudice, remorse, shame, and fear....all with a vengeance, especially fear....dear, sweet, terrifyingly hideous fear....

What if their needs are too much for you to handle?

What if your health...and sleep...issues get in the way of caring for them?

What if you get overwhelmed?

Or can't relate?

Or they want to switch homes?

With the loudest fear screaming in my ears,

"What if you just are not cut out for this?

In fact, half way through the course, I found myself legitimately physically ill, and I knew that while I might be able to push my physical body, I would never be able to take on the emotional burden of those 3 grueling hours of real-life-training, so we took our one-free-miss pass.

True Story.

So knowing now that tonight would be the last night, my heart sighed a HUGE sound of relief. My emotions felt let off the hook for a little while at least. It makes me wonder if this isn't what parents go through every day, spread out across 18 years of life and somehow we are supposed to be "ready" after these 9 short weeks because we might get any age, any issue, any circumstance, and yet our hearts must be ready to love and to discipline and to work through the long haul.

Am I crazy?
Maybe certifiable?
To take on this reckless disruption to our quiet little world?

I listened to the currently active foster parents share their stories tonight, and I felt the thumping of my heart beat louder and louder with delight and hesitation and desire to make a difference as well as to crawl into a hole and hide all at the same time.

So with all of these emotions coursing through my veins, we prepared to leave this final night, saying our eventual goodbyes, and one of our classmates, an elegant woman maybe 20 years older than I, says, "I was talking about you two this week with a friend of mine," pointing at Arno and myself," and I told her, 'This couple that I am in training with would make great parents.'" She went on, "There is just something about both of you, an air, a way about you that I just know you would be amazing parents."

We both say thank you, say our goodbyes, and walk out the courthouse doors. We drive home, with our usual banter, stopping at the drug store for toothbrushes and Kanka, and I look over at Arno and I say, "That was pretty special what she said to us, wasn't it?" And without question as to whom or what topic, he says, "Yeah. It was. That meant a lot."

Sometimes a healing word comes from the most unexpected places, in the most unexpected ways with God's voice behind it reminding us WHO we are IN Him, WHAT we can do THROUGH His power, and THAT we can trust His plans, timing, and ability to take care of even the smallest details.

While I really AM NOT cut out for this, HIM in ME is....and that makes ALL the difference.

I got you, Babe....I can almost hear Him say with that knowing smile and comforting wink.

I got you.

You know everything I'm going to say

before I start the first sentence.

I look behind me and you're there,

then up ahead and you're there, too—

your reassuring presence, coming and going.

This is too much, too wonderful—

I can't take it all in!

Psalm 139:4-6

{The Message}

Would you pray for us as there is a young teen mom that we have been asked to consider adopting with baby in tow? While it's just in the possibility phase at the moment, the details and parameters are terrifying yet so hard to ignore. We want to make the right decision for us and for her and baby. Thank you...

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.