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!"

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I Wish It Was Different :: A Story of Fragmented Grace

I slice the bread in half, scooping up a heaping serving of tuna salad. I pull out one of the new plastic plates, recently purchased for potential foster kids to use instead of the heavy ceramic ones we got on our wedding day.

I mix the macaroni and cheese, and ladle a spoonful on the 1/4 segment of the pre-separated plate.

As a last minute addition, I add a small portion of reheated leftover veggie pasta to add a tiny bit of greens to her meal.

Suddenly, my mind is catapulted back in time.

I am 5. My cousin, Wendy, is almost 6. She is my very best friend. It is summer and life is filled with sunsuits, one foot "baby" pools, and fighting over Barbie dolls. My granny dishes out chicken noodle soup or maybe it was Chef Boyardee into our waiting bowls as we sit at the table hungry from our morning of play.

Back in this moment, my granny sits on my couch, sleep holding her captive more and more each day with the necessity of medications to function in the world around her.

I sigh and smile all at the same time.

Today.
I am the grown up.
She is the child.

I am the one now worried about what she will eat and happy that I have crustless sandwich rounds because she always cut off the crust when we were kids and now will eat it no other way.

I place the potluck variety on a tray and pour out half a glass of milk and carry it to where she snoozes, touching her arm to wake her to eat this simple fare that she is really not hungry for anyway.

She smiles at me with thanks and contentment and slowly makes her way through the various presentations on the plate.

It's hard.
This change.
For all of the obvious reasons.
The ones that are a part of the harsh reality of the circle of life.

But harder still for a different reason.

I do not see my grandmother often.
She lives in my town.
In fact, all four of my biological grandparents still do.
And only when my parents are home from Haiti do I truly spend consistent time with them.

I often feel guilty about that.
Some people my age have never even met their grandparents or lost them as children or teenagers.
My husband is one of them.

I grew up away from my extended family most of the year, spending 3 months in the summer and 3 weeks at Christmas with those who share bloodlines and last names.  The reality of my world was not truly on their radar.  And as a child and teenager, I made it work.  I loved to come to my USA home, and I did not really want to think about being the missionary kid during my "vacation" away, so I entered the world before me easily, with open arms.

When I turned 18, I went to college in Oklahoma.
The first in both sides of my family to attend in more than twenty-five years.
And there I changed even more.
My ways of thinking were challenged. My life-long mindsets were shattered.
My horizons were broadened, and my world view was blown wide open.

So, when I moved back full-time, year-round to the place of my parents' birth, where I had always dreamed of living, I really did not fit in that well. Even with my family.

Oh I was loved.
Please do not get me wrong.
But to a girl who values being understood above almost every other thing, a sad reality replaced my optimistic youth.

Things would never be the same again.

I learned through missteps and over-sharing that calculating my thoughts and viewpoints was kinder and safer in the long run. And eventually a semi-ordinary routine came into existence.

Until....

Seven years later, I went to live in Africa for 3 years....and came home feeling even more like a foreigner inside of my own skin than ever before, unable to even remember who I used to be in their eyes yet certain I would never be that girl again.

These days, I teeter totter back and forth between connection and isolation, conformity and independence, embracing and pushing away.

I wish it was different.
I wish I could be the one they need me to be.
I wish I was not so altered by life and circumstances and living away.
I wish I knew how to bridge the ever-widening gap.
I wish I felt connected to them.
I wish they had let their guards down years ago to let me know them.
I wish I could set it all aside and just love them like Jesus.

So for today, I love the only way I know how.
From my own brokenness.
Reaching through the insecurities and generational resistance
And offer my hard-fought gift of grace.
Because I need it too.
Because I do not have the answers.
Because He loves better than I can.

So I smile at my Granny and tell her that she ate so well as I clean off the plate where those leftover vegetables still remain.

And when she leaves my house today, she tells me three times, "I had such a nice time with you today."

With a hug and a shake of my head, I say, "Me too,"
as I thank God
for that merciful blessing
sent back to me
fusing together
a few more fragments
inside my wanting soul.




Joining in community with.....

The Voice In My Head

There is no fear in Love, if the Love is real and perfect

 it overshadows all fears and Concern. 

~Author Unknown

The past few weeks, life has taken me by force from surprise party planning, foster care interviews, multiple vet visits, guest room prepping for visitors, general new move house stuff, emotional foster case meetings, and spending a fun, unexpected week with my parents in town on top of all the other day-to-day living stuff.

And somehow, even when I am sitting still, my mind races at a hundred miles a minute screaming at my body and soul to be productive or to make more lists. I feign relaxation on the outside in hopes of tricking my being into believing that it is actually resting.

I know my soul needs to breathe. I feel the words fill me up to the brim, bursting my insides with their heaviness and importance. Yet I cannot seem to find the right valve to release the inner battle that my soul undertakes minute to minute to find the much needed relief.

So I take a deep breath, inhaling in and exhaling out with calculated purpose, reminding myself that this body can only endure so much until it bursts and then I read these words by Emily P. Freeman....

Am I listening to the Voice of Fear or the Voice of Love?

She calls it the one simple question that changes everything.
And for me.
That is the truth.

Whenever the anxiety and pressures threaten to consume and overtake me, I asked myself, "What voice are you listening to?" And somehow, simply in the question itself, I find peace, knowing that His Love will guide me every step of the way.

I know.
It sounds so simple.
You might even me thinking, "I know this. I have heard it before."

But somehow LIFE butts in and we forget.
At least I do.

And I need a reminder that HIS perfect love casts out all fear.
And His love is ALWAYS perfect.
And His grace captivates every fear.

And just maybe you need to remember too...

We love Him because He first loved us...

I John 4:19

May your heart find a home today in His love that storms the fortress 

and His peace that commands the oceans.

Five Minute Friday :: See

Some days I feel like I am seeing myself for the first time.

Like everything that I once knew about my mind and heart and point of view has shifted with radical force.

Like the world has turned up side down and I wonder not only who I am and how I fit in this new place but also what about the way I always thought the rest of the world worked?

Mostly, deep down in my soul, there is a caged animal roaring to life, an artist being set free for the first time in years, a dreamer reattaching her wings preparing to fly.

And I'm scared.
No really.
I am TRULY scared
of what I SEE with these eyes
and yet
Emily Freeman's words reverberate over and over and over in the recesses of my mind and in the shadows of my heart....

"Are you listening to the Voice of Fear or the Voice of Love?"

And somehow in that question...I truly SEE.

Joining Lisa-Jo over 

at The Gypsy Mama 

for Five Minute Friday, 

where we all just stop, 

drop, and write 

for 5 minutes flat. 

Come join the party!

Five {and a 1/2} Minute Friday: Brave

I want to be brave.
Brave enough to swim the English channel
Climb Pike's Peak
And travel around the world on a wing and a prayer.

I want to be brave
Brave enough to say I'm sorry
I forgive you
I love you
I need you



I want to be brave
brave enough to lay down my guard
to open up my soul
to boldly go there

I want to be brave
to be WHO HE created me to be
to write
to sing
to dance
to work
to play
to love

I want to be brave
Brave enough to be still
Brave enough to search deeper
Brave enough to cry without reservation

I want to be brave
Brave enough to demand answers
Brave enough to accept waiting
Brave enough to rest in the tension of the two


I want to fly higher
I want to dream bigger
I want to love better
I want to know the depths of me
and you
and Him

I want to face my own fears
knowing that I cannot change them
tame them
shape them
guide them
into a place where I am comfortable

But I can stand here
shaken to the core
wishing to be anywhere but here
And somehow
because He is with me...

I will be brave.

There is something about these Five Minute Fridays that....{shew}....just blow me away sometimes...plumbing the depths of my heart. I read the prompt but did not have time to write immediately so I let the word....brave...marinate in my soul...and this is me...so much of the REAL, RAW me in a way that I have a hard time doing because the analytical, incessantly-demanding editor in my head often demands his own way.

So I hope you will join me for my favorite writing time of the week and BRAVELY write your own 5 minutes...or at the very least...visit some amazing women over at

Lisa-Jo's...some of them I am even privileged to call "friend."

To Be Fearless

Tippy-toeing on broken glass
Holding new life in my hands
Walking through the creepy forest

of fairy tale lore

Grasping
Wailing
Bleeding
From fear that holds me hostage

Like a rattlesnake poised to strike
Like the family home set ablaze
Like falling in love
For the very first time

Catching air with my fingers
Embracing tightly to a reality
That yields its soul to a memory
now faded

I rise
But only in this outer shell
Inside I am bowed low
Fighting the frailty of my humanity

Yearning to prove to the world
Yet mostly to myself
that I am still
Boundless
Blameless
Relentless
Fearless

I fail
Again
Spinning on the wheel of try-hards and do-betters
I falter
I fall
I come short of the glory

In the hollow echoes of

my empty cries
my lonely nights
Praying
Hoping
Longing for redemption
Grace
Wholeness
Healing

There I am conformed
Transformed
Reformed
into Imago Dei
The Great I AM
knowing that this mercy
for THIS morning
Has arrived

And tomorrow

is another day
to shed this skin
all
over
again.

Linking with...

...with a post using the phrase "catching air with my fingers."

and

On the word "fearless"

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...

Complete Abandon with My Jesus {Guest Post :: Kamille}

It is my pleasure to introduce you to my friend, Kamille from Redeeming the Table, our inaugural guest post at The Little Missionary Girl as well the launch pad for our Relentless Love series. Being that we are both ENFJs, it is no surprise that not only did we "find" each other on the web last October, but that we clicked immediately. Kamille, barely knowing me prayed for me to be able to go to Relevant, even when I had laid down the hope, thinking it was not in God's plan for me last year. As the story goes....I went to {and loved} Relevant. We met. And a friendship via Twitter, e-mails, texting, and phone conversation has developed. Kamille, her husband, Ben, and her two sweet girls reside on the gorgeous West Coast. Her blog, Redeeming the Table is where you will find Kamille sharing stories, hospitality, & food with friend & stranger. Kamille passionately believes that gathering around the table is where the body, mind & soul will be nourished. Please go visit her...you WILL NOT be a stranger for long at her table. Kamille also writes at Sisters in Bloom, Real Food & Health E-magazine, and soon at MomHeartBlog.

Complete Abandon with My Jesus

(This is part of a song I wrote in college)

Twirling in a sundress, singing pretty,

thinking of honey & the bumble bee.

Oh how sweet the taste is of Jesus.

Father you're lovely for making me.

Cause I know that this is love.

For I see it in your eyes.

Yes I know that this is love,

cause it's been there all my life.

Strumming my guitar as I sat on my daybed with the high morning sun warming my room. When my heart ached, I would pull out my ole Washburn & dog eared green spiral notebook to begin scratching down lyrics & chords. The same was true the morning of my wedding. I gave my roommates explicit instructions of not letting anyone in, because I just needed time to sing & play.

When I sing, I feel complete abandon. I let my fingers strum smoothly or clumsily; as I sing in cadence or fill in with some "mmm's," because my Jesus doesn't take score. When I sing, I feel like Lucy riding on the back of Aslan, stroking his mane. She knew how to plunge right in.

I often forget that place; but, as a little girl, I knew that place all too well. I knew my Jesus. I wasn't ashamed of him. I simply loved him for who he was & who he said I was. But, like any story, the world's waves came crashing down on my seven year old heart. What I knew of this world was Jesus' goodness. I had an untainted love & pride for him that came out through my boldness in speaking & song.

In the second grade, I signed up to sing for my school's talent show. The song I chose was 'Arky, Arky.' I knew that song backwards, forwards, upside & in between. I could sing it in my sleep. My eagerness to sing for all my peers about Jesus were riding high, until the principal informed my teacher that I was not allowed to sing the song.

Why?

It's because it was "religious." In my seven year old head I began to question what would make this song bad, because that's what they were communicating (children can read between the lines). Was there something to be afraid or ashamed of? Was I not suppose to love my Jesus like I did? Was it not cool? Did others really think my Jesus wasn't all love & goodness? Did they view him like the White Witch did toward Aslan, because my Lucy heart couldn't quite comprehend it.

As my mom thwarted the principal's plan, I was given the chance to sing again. It was the day of the talent show, which meant all the kids performing would do a practice run for a school assembly...the whole school. My teacher leaned in to tell me that I would be going next, but my heart stopped. I couldn't sing. I couldn't remember the words to the song. I seriously forgot them. I looked at her with more than stage fright eyes, "I don't remember the words right now. I can't!"

It was at that moment when the serpent of the garden came whispering the lies. The lies that my Jesus wasn't really good. The lies that I shouldn't want to love him so much. The lies that spread into anxiety that circulate fear and bring death to the soul. It was my first encounter of not inexplicably trusting Jesus' love.

The evening of the talent show came. I was in my blue dress with fear in my eyes & dread in my heart. My mom saw it all, and although I wanted to wake up the next morning with no recollection of singing, she wouldn't let me. She saw the fear, but she pushed me, because she knew deep down...I would regret it if I didn't.

I slowly walked up the steps and across the stage to the center. I felt like Noah, stepping out in faith--would God be there? The curtains began to open, I imagined running before anyone saw me. The crowd seemed to have tripled since I got there. Just like Noah, building that ark, having the multitudes laugh & scoff at him...God was present. As the music started, I looked out in the crowd and only saw one lady.

She had long blonde hair and the biggest, brightest smile that lit up the room, and my soul. I sang as if she was the only one in the cafeteria. My hands went through the motions, smile beamed on my face & my lungs breathed in & out with charisma. The audience cheered. My heart leapt and I quickly ran down the steps to see that lady....

...but she wasn't there.

I don't know if she was a mother who had to quickly tend to her child, or an angel in the flesh. What I do know is that God gave me a gift at the young age of seven. It was him saying, "Oh, my sweet little Kamille. Don't believe those lies. Don't let that fear seap into you. You are my beloved & you listen to who I say you are, not anyone else. You have nothing to fear."

Friends, we have nothing to fear with our Jesus. His love is safe & good, never failing & casts out that fear in the darkest of nights. Sing your heart to him and he will shower you with his unrelenting love.

What fears have you/are you facing?

Where do you need or have you seen His Relentless Love in the midst of your fears?

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 1st 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 of the posts, click here.

{RE}discovering Him :: Day 5 - The Lonely

Today, I sat with a friend.

We talked about weddings - hers, mine, our friends'
We discussed money, budgets, houses, and cars.
We pondered on children and the changes they make to your life.
We ate and laughed and chilled and relaxed.

I have missed spending time with people, feeling valued and safe, wanted and loved.
This season has been one of loneliness and desert time, some by choice, most by design.

But I know that God places the lonely in family, in relationships, in connection.

Today, I am thankful for those in my life who love me where I am at, in this strange season of "the sabbatical", of waiting to be a parent, of "undefined" health issues, and of not really "fitting in" anywhere at the moment.

And while I am aware that it is just a season, a drop in the bucket of time, it is sometimes hard to feel so alone, and yet what the Father promised me from the time I was a teenager was, "There will always be someone."

{RE}discovery :: I have not been abandoned by Jesus and He has given me people that love and support me, even when it seems that I am all alone. It is such a simple, basic thing, right? But sometimes, it seems like the simple things are the ones we forget so easily.

Or is that just me???

Previous - Day 4 :: The Loved

Next - Day 6 :: The Secret